Surrender (The Reckless Rockwoods #7)

Chapter 1

Genevieve Rockwood urged Galahad into a gallop as she rode away from Callendar Abbey. The family had gathered at her great-aunt’s Scottish estate for a quiet celebration of Aunt Matilda’s birthday.

For the past two days, she’d come to understand her cousin Amalie’s aversion to being surrounded by people. It was why she’d quietly slipped away to ride out to the old farmer’s croft.

It would allow her time to be alone with her thoughts and grief.

She was also trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and the overly-protective behavior of her brothers and male cousins.

A loud snort of disgust echoed in her head.

It went far deeper than that, and she was lying to herself for not admitting the truth.

The past was the only thing chasing her across the moors.

The painful knife wound on her shoulder was an uncomfortable reminder that one could never outrun the past. Not even time could prevent deeply buried memories from rising to the surface.

Dark images of the past that would always be a part of who she was.

They were shadows of what she’d lost and the reason she’d never find the kind of happiness her parents had found in each other.

She’d even had the temerity to believe being the ward of Rhea and Percy Rockwood meant the past was behind her—that it couldn’t touch her anymore.

Two nights ago, Genevieve had been forced to admit how deluded she’d been about everything.

It had been seven months since she’d entered the East End for the first time since her parents had rescued her.

She’d known returning would not be easy, but Genevieve had confronted her fear and entered the devil’s den.

She’d taken comfort in the knowledge she was making a valuable contribution in her service to the Crown.

With every small piece of information she delivered to C, hope had taken root in her heart. Genevieve had actually dared to think it would help her find closure to the past. But Peter’s death had made her careless, and now she knew she’d been a fool.

For the past two days, the knife wound on her shoulder had been a constant reminder that the past would always define who she was.

It was also a reminder of just how deeply Peter’s death had affected her.

Profound and intense, she’d not allowed anyone to suspect how crippling losing Peter was for her.

Until his death, he’d been the only one who knew all of her secrets.

The evening of Peter’s death, she’d been terribly shaken, and her ability to think clearly had not been strong enough to keep from revealing more than she intended.

When she’d gone to Sommerville House to convey C’s instructions to Jamie and Val, she’d not anticipated Jamie’s vehement reaction and disapproval of her working for the Secret Intelligence Service.

The moment her cousin questioned her ability to work for the Crown, she’d brutally lashed out at him.

Her explanation as to why she was more than qualified to work in the East End had shocked and horrified the two men.

At the time, she’d been too angry with Jamie to realize divulging such an intimate detail of her childhood had been unwise.

The following day, when everyone had gathered at Melton House, Genevieve had sought both men out. Although she knew it was unlikely Jamie or Val would betray her unintended confidence, she’d secured their word they would never reveal her secret to anyone.

Galahad veered off course, and she corrected him with a slight pull on the reins.

The fierce, sharp twinge in her shoulder was a powerful reminder of how wrong she’d been about so many things.

Raw fury crashed through Genevieve for being so na?ve, and for being powerless to punish a dead man who’d destroyed her so many years ago.

Muttering an oath beneath her breath, she urged the gelding to run even faster.

Thirteen years ago, Ruckley had died at the hands of the woman she now called mother.

The terrible event had left its mark on Rhea Rockwood, but her bravery had given Genevieve and her siblings their freedom.

Within weeks, things had changed dramatically for all of them.

They’d all moved to the safety of Green Hill House, which had been paradise after her life in the East End.

She’d been young, and her new life had made burying the darkness easier, at least until she’d begun working for the Secret Intelligence Service.

Not long after her parents had married, Percy and Rhea Rockwood had made her and the other children their wards, while requesting a royal license to change their surname to Rockwood as well. Although none of them were related by blood, their common background had created unshakeable bonds.

Just as when they’d been under Ruckley’s thumb in the East End, Peter had continued to act as her big brother after they’d moved to Green Hill House.

Genevieve had adored him, and he’d been her sole confidant.

Her brother was the only one who knew almost everything about her sordid past. Things not even her parents were privy to.

Years ago, she’d vowed never to reveal the truth to them.

The knowledge would devastate her parents, but worst of all, Genevieve knew her mother would blame herself forever.

Rhea Rockwood had been deeply protective of her and her siblings when Ruckley had controlled all of them.

But the crime lord had been clever in his explanations as to Genevieve’s whereabouts whenever she was gone for days at a time.

The crime lord had told her mother that Genevieve was working in big houses as a scullery maid on the pretext of learning where money and jewels were kept.

Ruckley had ensured Genevieve’s silence with the threat of killing her loved ones.

She’d only been seven when the crime lord had first sold her to a nobleman, and she would have done anything to save her family.

By the time she’d moved to Green Hill House, Genevieve had been old enough to realize confessing the truth would mean causing her mother anguish.

While Peter’s death had affected all of them, for her it was as if she were a ship lost at sea without any hope of finding a safe harbor.

Peter had been her rock, and the depth of her grief had sometimes been difficult to hide from everyone, especially her father.

As one of the Rockwoods who possessed the gift of sight, Percy Rockwood had the uncanny ability to know when he was needed.

Almost as if he could actually hear her heart breaking, her father would appear at her side.

Genevieve was certain it was the an dara sealladh that told Percy Rockwood when her grief was making it especially difficult for her to function.

He would simply wrap an arm around her shoulder and hold her without speaking, allowing her to lean into him, drawing from his strength until she was able to muster onward.

Although she never cried, her father’s loving embrace helped soothe her sorrow.

After several moments of silence, her father would produce several pieces of chocolate.

With a smile, Percy Rockwood would say chocolate always made one feel better. A tear slid down her cheek at the thought, and she swallowed hard. Blinking rapidly to clear her blurry vision, Genevieve saw the low-lying building she was headed toward appear in the distance.

The croft would give her a place to sit and think for the next several hours until she was forced to return to the abbey for supper.

The Rockwood clan sometimes used the vacant dwelling for shooting parties, but there would be no shooting parties until the end of September, when their mourning period ended.

Aware Galahad needed to be cooled down, Genevieve slowed the animal to a walk for the last quarter of a mile.

By the time they reached the croft, the animal was breathing evenly.

In minutes, she had tied the animal up in the shed attached to the croft and entered the small dwelling.

It appeared to have been cleaned recently, and firewood was in the woodbin as if someone had expected her.

Pulling her riding gloves off, she shivered at the chill in the air.

Tomorrow might be the end of July, but it was cloudy out, and the day held a crispness to it that said fall wasn’t far away.

Genevieve quickly set about making a fire, and in minutes, flames licked at the wood she’d pulled from the bin.

The croft was soon warm, and she gingerly sank down into a rickety rocking chair.

While it groaned slightly, it was much sturdier than it looked, and her feet pushed against the floor to put the rocker into a slow, smooth motion.

As she stared into the small blaze in the fireplace, her mind jumped from one random thought to the next until images of that dark alley in the East End two nights ago flooded her head.

A man who’d once worked for Ruckley had recognized her in the tavern.

She’d denied knowing him, but she knew Scully hadn’t been convinced.

Eager to avoid an altercation people would remember, the moment the man was distracted, she had left the Blind Beggar. Her efforts to escape had failed as the bastard had followed her out of the tavern. It had taken him only a minute to catch up to her, and he’d dragged her into a side alley.

With just a few words, the man had brought the past to the surface.

The moment Scully had tried to force himself on her, Genevieve had struggled to free herself.

His laughter at her efforts had ignited an explosive, volatile rage inside her.

Using a move Peter had taught her long ago, she’d viciously driven her elbow into his stomach and slammed her head back into his face.