Page 52 of A Problem Princess

“I don’t know exactly,” he answered. “But I don’t think your ankle is broken. Just a twist, and a minor one at that. You don’t have much swelling and no bruising I can see.”

That was a dodge if ever she’d heard one. She leaned forward. “Clayton—”

“We’ll wrap it to keep it stable, and you’ll have to be careful with it for the next few days. But it shouldn’t be too much trouble for you.” He nodded at her forearm. “Should I look at that, too, in case you reinjured it when you fell?”

“It’s fine.” She sat forward, her fingers folding tightly around the whiskey glass. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He eased her foot down to the floor and sat back on his hip, his forearm resting across his bent knee. “If I tell you, I’ll only put you in more danger.”

Moredanger? She wanted to laugh at the terrifying absurdity of that. “Someone has tried to kill me. Twice. I don’t think there’s any worse danger to be placed into.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her carefully, and she could practically see his mind weighing his words. Or how much he could trust her.

“There are groups in England who want to reform the government,” he told her. “A few want a complete revolution. They might have used tonight’s attack as a signal.”

Cold dread tightened her belly. “A signal for what?”

“Declaration of war. The moment for all their members to rise up and overthrow the government.”

Oh God…“If they knew I was there,” she whispered, so softly her voice was barely above a breath, “if they wanted to…”

“No. Whatever happened tonight—and why—isnotyour fault.”

But it was, she knew it. Just as she knew it had nothing to do with her father.

“There’s something you need to know.” She suddenly felt smothered. She set down the unwanted whiskey on the little side table and pulled at the buttons of his coat to open the heavy collar so she could breathe. “About me.”

Concern darkened his face. “What is it?”

“I’m in the line of succession for the British throne. So is Uncle Ernest.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. A confession to a priest about her sins would have felt less damning.

“I know. So are half a dozen royal dukes and half the crown heads of Europe. If Parliament doesn’t grant the prince regent a divorce, then the crown passes to his brothers and—”

“I mean, if the House of Hanover is excluded, then I am the nearest non-Catholic relative. The Hanoverians descend from Elizabeth Stuart, the oldest daughter of King James the First. So does my family, just from Princess Henriette Marie, Elizabeth Stuart’s other daughter, and not Sophia of Hanover.” She pulled in a deep breath that seared her lungs and said bluntly, “I’m theverynext in line after the current king’s children. Putting aside the Act of Settlement, my claim is as legitimate as theirs. Perhaps more so.” A terrible taste covered her tongue. “If someone wanted to remove the Hanoverians and put their own ruler in place, then…”

“Then they would have to remove you from the line of succession, too.”

She gave a jerking nod.

“But they wouldn’t have to go that far. They could use your father’s misdeeds to exempt you. If he had been deposed, the resulting attainder would have removed his entire line from succession, in both Monrovia and England.”

“But it wouldn’t exempt my uncle, who is second in line after me.” Her fingers tightened around his. “I think that was why the town house was attacked. Those men didn’t know my uncle had stayed behind at St James’s Palace. I think—” Her voice grew impossibly softer. “I think they wanted to kill us both.”

He remained as still as a statue at her feet, for one long moment doing nothing more than staring at her as he absorbed all she’d just confided. Then he wordlessly reached out, snatched up her glass, and downed the remaining whiskey in one gulping swallow.

“Undersecretary Elliott,” a husky voice purred seductively from the doorway. “Nowthere’sa secretary I’d love to be under.”

Cordelia’s eyes darted to the main door of the suite.Who on earth…?

A striking woman with raven-black hair and a red satin and velvet dress stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the door handle and the other placed provocatively on her hip. Her full lips spread into a predatory smile as her gaze landed on Clayton. Goodness, did she just lick her lips?

With an enticing sashay of her hips, the woman closed the door behind her and slipped into the room. Her eyes never left Clayton as she stepped slowly toward him.

“You naughty boy,” she scolded, “showing up unannounced when I would have been pleased to personally welcome you.” When he rose to his full height, she raked a hungry look over him from head to boots, sighing heavily when her eyes lingered at his waist on their return back up his body. “Deliciouslypleased.”

Her gleaming green eyes slid down to Cordelia, who was too stunned to do anything more than blink.

“And how thoughtful of you to bring me a gift!” Her lips curled into a smile that reminded Cordelia of a lioness. Right before it devoured a gazelle. “I do so love a new toy.”