Page 56 of A Problem Princess

The boy’s scowl deepened. “Can’t read.” He spat on the floor. “The man downstairs didn’t say nothin’ about ’aving to read to earn me coin.”

“You don’t have to.” For the only time in his life, Clayton was thankful a child was illiterate. There would be no chance of the boy putting his life in danger by reading the note. “Take this to Justice Rivers at number ten Sloane Square. He’ll pay you a second coin when you deliver it.” Clayton reached into his waistcoat pocket and held up a coin. “Repeat that.”

“Sloane Square, number ten, Justice Rivers.” The boy smirked. “And a second coin.”

Clayton gave him both the coin and the note. “Better hurry,” he warned, “or Justice Rivers might not pay you.”

The boy clenched his teeth with determination and flew down the stairs.

When Clayton came back inside the room, Cordelia was pacing, wringing her shaking hands, and limping on her sore ankle.

Without a word, he scooped her into his arms.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“I said you need to rest,” he reminded her as he carried her to the bed. “Pacing isn’t resting.”

He set her down gently on the counterpane. Instead of letting him go, however, she kept her arms wound tightly around his neck and forced him to remain leaning over her, half lying on the bed.

He froze even as his heart leapt into his throat.

“What you said before, when you introduced me to Madame Noir…” She searched his face. “Plain, average, normal Jane Smith, am I?”

“Yes.” His mouth poised so uncomfortably close to hers that he could taste her sweet breath as it teased across his lips.

A flicker in her eyes registered that lie. Yet she didn’t challenge it and silently let him go, slipping her arms from around his neck. Her gaze never leaving his, she slowly removed her hairpins, set them on the bedside table next to the pistol, and shook out her chestnut tresses. He fought back an aching groan.

Finally—mercifully—she lay back and closed her eyes.

He stared down at her as she lay across the bed in the soft shadows of the candlelight. Even in a rumpled and dirtied dress, she looked more alluring than all the women in jewels and furs at any grand ball. It would only take a small surrender to crawl into bed with her and distract her from her fears.Sweet Lucifer, he was tempted. Soverytempted. Only a small surrender leading to comforting kisses and touches…

And with that, he’d lose everything he’d worked so hard his entire life to achieve. She might as well have been the devil himself asking for his soul.

He blew out a long, silent breath and turned away.

There would be no rest tonight for either of them.

***

The boy returned three hours later.

Clayton traded him a coin for the message and locked the door. This time, he also wedged the desk chair beneath the handle.

He broke the seal. Cold dread pierced him as he read Justice Rivers’s message, one that had been carefully encoded. But even the most difficult encryption couldn’t hide the truth staring back at him—he was now considered a rogue agent.

What he held in his hand was notice of his arrest warrant.

He ran trembling fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to keep the rest of him from shaking even harder.A rogue agent…No matter that he saved the princess’s life—twice—or that he’d placed the guards around the town house who ultimately saved the MPs and peers tonight, the palace blamed him for the attack because they needed a scapegoat, and the Home Secretary wasn’t coming to his defense.

Worse, his message to Lord Sidmouth that the princess was safe hadn’t reassured the Home Office. Instead, the palace—and her uncle—had taken it as little more than a ransom note.

He was wanted for kidnapping the princess. If he didn’t return her immediately, it would be the end of him.

Cordelia sat up and stared at him from the bed. Her soft brown eyes that had always reminded him of warm chocolate were wide and dark with fear, and even from across the room, he could see her holding her breath.

“What does it say?” she asked.

“Very little.” Howverylittle it took to threaten the end of a man’s life. The irony would have made him laugh if he didn’t feel like punching the wall. Her uncle had pushed him into a corner. Clayton either had to take Cordelia to the palace, where she’d be placed back into danger, or let his career, his reputation, his search for the truth about his father—everythinghe’d worked so hard to achieve—be destroyed.