Page 102 of A Problem Princess

“I hope you can help children,” she explained. “They often have no one to support them, especially the orphans and foundlings.”

Clayton said nothing, unable to do anything more than stare and attempt to convince himself that she wasn’t a ghost. Or an angel.Sweet Lucifer, she looked simply stunning, even in a plain muslin day dress and wrap, without both tiara and sash.

How much he’d missed her hit him like a punch to the gut. How would he ever be able to recover once she was gone from England and completely removed from his life?

“Then I think we’re agreed that our work here isn’t done,” Marcus announced to the group, “and that the Armory will rise from the ashes.”

A cheer went up from the group, and Cordelia beamed a smile at the decision, albeit a nervous one, as her eyes returned to Clayton. This time, she didn’t look away.

Around them, the women corralled the men toward the training room under the pretense of discussing repairs, leaving Clayton and Cordelia alone.

His chest tightened with an unbearable ache. The time to say goodbye had finally arrived.

***

Cordelia held her breath as Clayton slowly approached her. Not breaking eye contact, he took her hand in both of his and raised it to his lips for a lingering kiss. She trembled.

“What are you doing here?” he asked and squeezed her fingers as if he simply couldn’t fathom that she was there.

She didn’t blame him. She could barely believe it herself.

“Marcus Braddock arranged it.” Instead of slipping her hand away, she curled her fingers around his.Dear God, how much she’d missed him! “He sent word this morning that I was needed here, along with Captain Reed and several Horse Guards to escort me. Apparently, not even the palace is willing to thwart the Duke of Hampton.” She hesitated. “He also sent me your letter.”

The same letter in which Clayton had confessed his love and how much she meant to him, which had made her soar with happiness…until she read the part where he told her to marry another, to find a prince she could love and build a future with, both for herself and for Monrovia. And then he’d asked for the impossible—he’d asked her to forget him.

She would do anything he asked.

Except that.

“Marcus shouldn’t have done that.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and slowly shook his head. “It was meant only to say goodbye if…”

She finished, “If you didn’t survive. But I’m glad he did anyway.” She pulled in a deep breath. “You should know…I’m no longer in consideration for marriage to a royal duke.”

His eyes snapped up to hers.

“My royal cousins care nothing about me now except for ensuring that I don’t die on English soil before they can send me packing to the Continent to become someone else’s problem,” she explained bluntly. She never would have said such a thing only weeks ago, before she’d arrived in England, before he’d entered her life. “That’s why they’ve sequestered me in the palace. My uncle has already been exiled to Florence, along with the comtesse. He’ll live out the rest of his days there, carefully guarded, and my aunt Wilhelmina will return to her family in the Netherlands.”

Concern darkened his face. “And you?”

“Back to Monrovia, I suppose, at least for a few months. I’m no threat to anyone there. Until the Crown Council can name a new ruling prince, I should be there to lend my support however I can. My people need me.”

“I understand.”

Oh, she prayed he did! Because what she had to ask next… “I’ll need a trustworthy guard to protect me while I travel. Do you happen to know of anyone you could recommend?” she asked, far more nervously than the teasing question implied. “Perhaps a brave and clever soldier? It would be helpful, I think, if he were also a viscount.”

Yet instead of grinning as she’d hoped, he grimly shook his head. “I don’t think my peerage will be coming now that I’ve single-handedly scuttled the royal dukes’ plans for a convenient marriage.”

“I haven’t properly thanked you for that. Yet I think I should—now, and every day for the rest of my life.”

Instead of chuckling at her quip, he only grew even more somber.

“I can’t go with you to Monrovia,” he said, and each quiet word tore into her heart. “We are still who we are, and I could never bear to part with you once we reached the end of the journey.”

She slipped her hand away from his and placed it on his chest, right over his heart. She couldn’t bear to part from him either. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to.Perhaps…“You could stay in Monrovia.” Her fingers curled into his waistcoat. “With me.”

“And continue to serve as your personal guard while you marry a prince? No.” His eyes filled with grief. “That’s a hell I never want us to suffer.”

“Then it’s a good thing we don’t have to.”