Page 80 of A Problem Princess

When she kissed his cheek, unable to find the words to express what he meant to her, she tasted his salty tears.

***

Clayton slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Cordelia, who lay wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. She was exhausted, and he’d done little to give her the rest she needed.

But he couldn’t help himself. Making love to her was more special than anything else he’d ever experienced in his life. He had no idea how long they would be alone together, and he didn’t want to miss a moment with her.

He also didn’t want to think about the future and forced all thoughts of it from his mind. She was adamant they couldn’t live in the past, and she was right. She’d helped him see that it was time to accept that and move on, no matter how deep the cuts to his heart.

But they also had no future together. Andthosecuts might never heal.

He silently pulled on his trousers. He saw his jacket lying discarded on the floor where she’d dropped it in her rush to undress him last night, picked it up, and pulled from its pocket the letter from Justice Rivers. This was as good a time as any to read it, he supposed, especially with Cordelia waiting warm and soft in bed to help ease away any bad news it might bring him.

He headed downstairs. He picked up the basket of food still sitting on the floor in front of the fire where they’d left it and carried it to the table. He rummaged through it, selected a small chicken leg, and popped it into his mouth. Good lord, he was famished! He grinned around the chicken at the reason and crossed to the hearth. He snatched up a candle from the mantel shelf and lit it on the banked coals. The small flame was just bright enough to read the letter.

He checked the red wax seal—unbroken. Then he cracked it and unfolded the paper. A piece of newsprint fell out and fluttered to the floor.

Dear Son—

Clayton’s lips twisted, bemused. He’d always considered Merritt and his father to be like family, but this salutation was meant to hide their friendship, not testify to it.

The book you borrowed needs to be returned right away. I hear the library is as good as a fortress.

His grin faded. The letter was cryptic in case it fell into the wrong hands, but the message was clear. Cordelia needed to be taken back to London, and not to the palace but to the Armory.

We’ve had a patch of bad weather here in London. The reign is causing problems in your home, and you should avoid it for fear the damage might be irreparable.

Bad weather…Justice Rivers was referring to riots and confusion in London. More—his home referred to the Home Office, which still blamed Clayton. The judge’s warning was obvious. If Clayton encountered anyone from the palace or Whitehall, he was as good as dead.

I saw this piece in the Times about the benefit for the hospital and thought you would be interested.

—R.

Clayton bent down and picked up the piece that had been cut from theTimes. He scanned it. It was an advertisement for a benefit concert for the Royal Hospital in Chelsea, just as Justice Rivers had written. But the inclusion of it in the letter was a ruse.

He turned it over, and a second announcement caught his attention. A special meeting of Parliament had been called in the wake of the attack on the king’s council and Princess Cordelia’s disappearance. Amid swirling doubts that she was still unharmed and alive, His Serene Highness Prince Ernest of Monrovia had asked to address a joint session of Parliament in Westminster Hall. Two days from now.

Then his eyes fell onto the drawing of Monrovia’s royal coat of arms, and his heart stopped. He stared at it, unable to believe…

He’d been such a damn fool! All along, right in front of him in plain sight and staring back at him—

He tossed the newsprint into the fire and watched as the flames devoured it. The paper blackened to ash until all that remained was the coat of arms, and on the shield, the symbol of a key. The same secret symbol used by Scepter.

His blood turned cold. The attack on the king’s council at the town house wasn’t the signal that Scepter had been waiting for. This announcement was.

The revolution had begun.

Twenty-Four

Through the fog of sleep, Cordelia heard a soft shuffling in the bedroom, and her eyes fluttered open. The pale blue predawn light fell coldly through the window and lit the room just enough for her to make out a broad, tall form in the shadows.

She smiled.Clayton.

“It’s still early,” she purred in a sleepy voice. “Come back to bed where it’s warm.”

“I wish I could.” He buttoned his waistcoat as he approached. “But we have to leave for the village at dawn.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold room moved over her, and she sat up, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders to cover herself. “Why?”