Page 94 of A Problem Princess

He forced a smile and admitted the awful truth, “Gloriously.”

Twenty-Eight

Covered in a tentlike cape and hood to keep her identity secret as long as possible, Cordelia watched out the window as the Duke of Hampton’s coach rolled past the main entrance to the Palace of Westminster and stopped at the west-side corner.

The streets were filled with a crush of people here to hear her uncle’s speech to Parliament, but many others who’d not be allowed inside had also gathered to be part of the historic moment. She bit her lip. How many of them were members of Scepter? How many would cry out for revolution when the moment came and proclaim that her uncle should be Britain’s monarch? How many would take up arms to bring revolution by force, if necessary?

She shuddered with dread.

“I have that exact same reaction myself every time I think of entering Parliament,” Clayton commented from the bench across from her and Danielle.

Of course, he would notice even that small reaction from her, she decided. He noticed everything about her. But then, he’d also come to know her better than anyone else in the world.

Danielle placed her hand on Cordelia’s arm. “I’ll be at your side every moment.”

Cordelia took comfort in that. The duchess’s husband had been a powerful officer in the British empire, second only to Wellington in respect and influence, and had become one of the most important peers in England. Everyone knew of her husband, so everyone knew of the duchess. Even Queen Charlotte couldn’t have provided a better personal guard than Danielle Braddock.

“How do we slip inside?” Cordelia asked. She wanted to be as brave as Clayton claimed she was, but even she could hear her voice trembling. “Once I step out of the carriage, everyone will see me and know who I am. I’ll be mobbed, and if some of those people belong to Scepter, we’ll never be let inside.”

“I’ll create a distraction,” Clayton told her. “When I do, you and the duchess will hurry inside. Try not to call attention to yourselves, and keep your cloak wrapped around you as much as possible, especially over the tiara and sash. Let the duchess do all the talking once you’re inside. She knows to whom to speak and what to say.”

Danielle nodded and patted Cordelia’s hand.

“Tell the chamber guard that you’re here for the address as special guests of the palace. You’ll most likely be seated high up in the women’s gallery.”

“How do I stop Uncle Ernest from speaking if I’m all the way up there?”

“You don’t.” He leveled a no-nonsense gaze on her. “Your uncle will not step into the chamber. The men of the Armory will ensure it.”

She swallowed hard at the implication behind that.

“When the time comes for his speech, you’ll stand up and address the room in his absence.”

She blinked. “From the women’s gallery?”

“Most likely. But everyone who sees you will know exactly who you are and will listen to what you have to say, no matter where you are.”

“Like a ghost rising from the graveyard, since they all think me dead,” she murmured. “Where will you be?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter where I am. What matters is stopping Scepter.”

An icy coldness moved through her. “You said you’d be arrested, possibly— No! I won’t let you sacrifice yourself like that.”

“It’s what good soldiers do,” he said quietly.

“No!” she argued vehemently, fear for him trembling in her limbs. “You serve at the pleasure of the princess, remember? And this doesnotplease me at—”

He rose up from his seat, leaned across the compartment, and kissed her.

His kiss was intense, filled with longing and affection, remembrance of all they’d shared, and regret of what could never be. Cordelia fought back her sobs, not wanting her tears to be the last memory he would ever have of her.

When he finally broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers to linger with her a precious moment longer, his eyes remained squeezed shut, and anguish darkened his face.

“I love you,” she confessed in a whisper.

“You’d better.” He forced a grin for her, but his teasing only broke her heart.

Then he was gone, throwing open the door of the carriage and bounding down to the street. He jogged away from the coach until he stood several yards from the entrance, then belted out in song at the top of his lungs—