Page 87 of A Problem Princess

Clayton’s chest tightened with dread. “Then we have to stop those events from playing out.” Clayton rapped his knuckles on the stack of papers. “We stop the prince from addressing Parliament, and we use our secret weapon to do it.”

They all frowned, yet as Clayton swung his gaze between the men, a rash and reckless hope surged through him.

“They’re expecting Scepter,” Clayton explained. “We send in the princess instead.”

Their frowns melted into expressions of disbelief.

“Let Parliament see for themselves that she’s alive and unhurt. That will put an end to any potential conflict between Britain and Monrovia, and her claim of support for the royal family should help suppress sedition. Parliament won’t have cause to support calls for deposition of the monarch and replacement of key government officials then, no matter who makes them.”

Marcus shook his head. “Scepter won’t allow her to come anywhere near Westminster.”

Brandon Pearce was even more blunt. “If we take her to the palace, she’ll be dead before noon.”

“Then we don’t take her to the palace,” Clayton countered. “We take her directly to Parliament, and we make certain Scepter can’t give any orders or signals to his army.”

The men exchanged knowing glances.

“So let me see if I understand you correctly,” Merritt Rivers summarized. “You’re saying we should kidnap a reigning foreign monarch, force our way into Parliament, and bring a woman into Westminster Hall to address the country?”

“Yes,” Clayton answered firmly. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”

The men stared at Clayton as if he’d gone mad. Then Marcus shook his head. “If it goes wrong, we’ll all hang.”

Clayton folded his arms over his chest. “Then let’s not get it wrong.”

***

An hour later, the other men left the Armory to put their plans into motion, and Clayton slowly climbed the tower stairs to visit the princess.

The aunties were sound asleep and snoring loudly from their room across the landing. The evening’s excitement had caught up with them, and also most likely Lady Agnes’s famed spiked tea that they’d surely been imbibing when he whisked them away from the town house tonight.

He’d had no choice but to involve them. Again. Cordelia needed proof she hadn’t been alone with a man for three days, and the aunties would lend just enough respectability mixed with convenient absentmindedness to provide a solid alibi. Anyone who had seen the two ladies out and about in Mayfair would simply be told they were mistaken, and certainly, the two older women could confuse anyone enough to cast doubt into even the sharpest minds.

Besides, no one would dare call Lady Bromley and Lady Agnes liars, not when their nephews were the deadliest dueling shots in the land.

He knocked lightly. “Cordelia, it’s me.”

When she opened the door and stared up at him with red-rimmed eyes, his heart broke.

He pulled her into his arms and gently kicked the door closed behind him. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she buried her face in his chest. All of her shook as she sobbed.

He lowered his mouth to her hair and whispered, “Don’t cry, darling. I can’t bear it.”

“You’re a soldier,” she argued, her voice muffled against his waistcoat and choking with tears. “You’re supposed to be braver than that.”

He smiled against her temple. “Yes, ma’am.” He tightened his arms around her, and his smile faded. “It’s going to be all right, I promise you.”

“No, it’s not.” She lifted her head and gazed up at him in the candlelight. “My uncle…” Her voice broke, unable to put words to the harsh truth. “You were right about him. I know that now.”

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “And so the issue becomes what you plan to do about it.”

Her slender shoulders sank, and she slipped out of his arms to pace the length of the large bedroom. There were no windows to shutter against the cold, only a narrow arrow slit converted into a window that revealed the rainy black night beyond.

His eyes drifted to the bed that was still made. She wore her shift as a night rail, yet she hadn’t bothered attempting to sleep. Too much weighed on her mind tonight, he knew, and he wasn’t certain he could ease any of it.

“WhatcanI do?” She wrung her hands as she paced. “I don’t have enough solid evidence to present to the Crown Council to have him removed from the throne, and even if he were…”

He paused a moment before finishing for her, “Then what becomes of your family and country?”