Page 34 of A Problem Princess

“She deserved respect for her storied career, of course.”

Cordelia shuddered at the feel of his breath on the side of her face and neck.

“But by then, her voice had lost its vitality. A shame, really, to see how far her talents had declined. Those of us in the audience gave extra to the charity that night simply out of pity.” He paused. “You know how that is, I’m certain.”

Not at all.But she certainly couldn’t say that here in the midst of the box with the eyes of the entire theatre on her, no matter how much she wanted to.

She gave a silent breath of relief when he leaned away and settled back in his chair beside hers.

Oh, Grafton wasn’t so bad, she supposed. She’d suffered through formal events with other men who were far more boring and self-centered and those who had no inkling of cultural awareness at all. He would have been a perfectly adequate escort for tonight’s performance, except…

That he wasn’t Clayton.

From her seat in the front row, she couldn’t see him in the back of the box where he’d taken up his post in his role as her personal guard. But she felt his presence as palpably as if he were sitting next to her, and she knew his eyes had barely strayed from her since the curtain rose an hour ago.

His reaction to Grafton was very out of character. She had no idea what animosities he and Grafton shared for the other, but the two had behaved like opponents sizing each other up before a fight. The general had wounded Grafton’s masculine pride, and in response the duke felt the petulant need to prove that he knew more about opera than Clayton.

She groaned inwardly when Grafton leaned toward her again. “I’m hoping to hear Signorina Pasta later this season when she—”

“Duke, please.” She smiled to soften her interruption and nodded toward the stage. “The aria.”

With a sniff of pique, he shifted away and silently turned his attention back to the stage.

Thank goodness.Free of his immediate attentions, she turned her head to look at the others in the box with her to discover if they were enjoying themselves.

A lie. She simply wanted a glimpse of Clayton.

He lounged on a chair at the rear of the box as if he were nowhere more formal than his own parlor, with his long legs kicked out in front of him and crossed at the ankles and his left arm stretched across the back of the empty chair beside him. His relaxed posture made him appear like a rake instead of a respected government official, right down to the lock of golden hair that fell roguishly across his forehead.

Or perhaps she simply thought that because of how handsome he looked in the shadows, how much more broad-shouldered and solid than the other men in attendance. He wore the same evening finery they did, cut in the same current fashion. But he seemed nothing like the others, nothing like—

His full lips curled into an amused smile.

Caught.

Her breath hitched with a silent gasp, and she immediately turned back toward the stage. Thank goodness the theatre was too dark for him to see her blush.

She hadn’t been able to speak with him since yesterday’s garden party, having been kept in her room just as she’d feared and only let out tonight due to the insistence of the Duke and Duchess of Hampton that she attend the opera with them. She knew Clayton had been asking around the palace about Monrovia and its monarchy, but she also knew he’d discover nothing incriminating. Uncle Ernest had made certain her father’s misdeeds had died with him, even if no reparations had yet been made.Shewould make certain that restitution was paid, however necessary, just as soon as she could.

Until then, she had a different worry on her hands. A very tall, blond, and broad-shouldered worry.

Clayton wanted her to trust him…but how far could she extend that trust?

Alone in her room today, she’d had plenty of time to pace and think. Whatever motive someone had for wanting her dead, it simply could not have been because of her father. She’d traced through every possible reason connected to that, and not one made sense for why anyone connected to the Monrovian military would attack her in England when doing so would have been far easier in her home country. No, there was another reason, and she was afraid she’d figured it out.

She needed to speak with Clayton, and after the incident in the garden, Marie would be more watchful than ever. But she couldn’t wait any longer, and she didn’t trust anyone to deliver a message for her. She had to do it herself, and she had to do it tonight.

No. She had to do itimmediately.

With an apologetic smile at Grafton to her left and the Duke and Duchess of Hampton to her right, she stood and waved all the men back into their seats as they rose politely to their feet. Including Clayton, whom she didn’t dare glance at as she slipped past him toward the rear of the box and the door leading out into the hall.

“Your Highness.” The comtesse was immediately at her side. Concern shown on Marie’s face as she reached for Cordelia’s hand. “Are you unwell?”

“I’m fine.” She lowered her voice to a private whisper. “I simply need to use the retiring room.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Stay, please. There’s no need for you to miss the performance. There are guards in the hallway, and I’ll only be gone a moment.” When Marie continued to hold her hand, Cordelia pulled hers away. “I insist.”