Page 13 of A Problem Princess

At the end of the evening, they would all return home drunk, filled with dreams for power and influence, and none the wiser that someone had been killed tonight only a few yards from where they’d stood.

“Saved the princess, though,” Clayton added.

He lifted his gaze to Cordelia as she sat on a settee on the far side of the room.

Two ladies-in-waiting fussed over her in an attempt to ease the princess’s nerves, but he could see from even this far away that they were only upsetting her more. One woman in jewels and a fine maroon satin dress that boldly proclaimed rank and privilege sat beside her on the settee and held her hand, but Clayton could tell from the way Cordelia leaned away that the princess didn’t want the woman’s solace. The other woman—tall and skinny with a notebook tucked beneath her arm and dressed in far less regal attire—stood beside her and attempted to wave a bottle of some noxious-smelling concoction under Cordelia’s nose.

To the princess’s credit, though, she waved away the unwanted stuff. She was in no danger of fainting, Clayton knew. She hadn’t swooned yet at what she’d been through tonight, and the worst was over.

For now.

As if feeling his attention on her, Cordelia lifted her eyes and met his gaze. Her expression was carefully controlled, but she couldn’t hide the lingering fear in her big brown eyes or the incredulity that someone would want to kill her.

The well-dressed woman at her side called the princess’s attention back to her with a quiet word, and Cordelia lowered her gaze to her arm as it rested across her lap. It was freshly stitched and bandaged by the regent’s physician, who hadn’t been sworn to secrecy by Clayton and Marcus so much as threatened to within an inch of his life not to speak a word of what he’d seen tonight.

“But I didn’t know she was the princess,” Clayton mumbled thoughtfully. “And ifIdidn’t know, then…”

“Then a footman wouldn’t have known either,” Marcus finished beneath his breath.

“Unless he was told.” Clayton stared grimly at the lump beneath the drape and put words to his deepest fear. “Scepter’s back.”

“What proof do you have?”

“None.” Marcus knew as well as Clayton that everything they’d heard about Scepter in the past few months pointed to its demise. “Yet.”

Clayton knelt beside the dead man and pulled back the drape just far enough to search the body. He yanked aside the old-fashioned collar and frilly neckcloth of the regent’s household livery to search for the key-shaped tattoo worn by Scepter’s men.

He half undressed the corpse as he searched for a key symbol anywhere on the body or hidden in the livery, yet he came up with nothing. No tattoo, no pin…no key anywhere. The man was unmarked.

“Not Scepter, then,” Marcus said quietly so the women wouldn’t overhear.

Damnation.Clayton tossed the drape back into place and rose to his full height. “He was part of it, I’m certain.”

“Did he admit that?”

“No.” Clayton bit back a curse at how feeble that answer made his argument sound. “But I saw his face when I mentioned Scepter. He recognized the name.” He winced. That argument wasn’t any better.

The way Marcus lifted a doubting brow proved it.

“Someone inside the palace is working for them.” Clayton tugged at his sleeves. He’d mostly lost that old habit since leaving active service, but standing here beside his former general, once more discussing the enemy and with a dead body at their feet, made him feel as if he were back in the wars. “Someone who was able to hire him as a footman so he would have the uniform and not be noticed, who told him the layout of the rooms and exactly where the guards were positioned.” A bitter taste covered his tongue. “Someone who knew when the princess would be alone and that the orchestra would hide her cries for help. Only Scepter could do this.”

Marcus tensed. “You’re saying someone in the prince regent’s own household could have—”

“No. Not staff or servants.” Clayton’s chest tightened as he remembered Burton’s words…snobs and nobs. “I’m saying someone much higher than that.”

“Who?”

“No idea.” He gave his sleeves one final tug. “But I plan to find out.”

He turned on his heel and crossed the long drawing room toward Princess Cordelia. Her pale face was drawn, and her hands trembled as she held them folded in her lap. The grim press of her lips grew firmer as he approached, and her slender shoulders rose and fell as she pulled in deep breaths to steady herself.

“Your Serene Highness.” He stopped in front of her and gave a formal bow. “Might I have a word with you?” He looked pointedly between the two ladies-in-waiting. “In private.”

The woman in satin and jewels spoke up. “That is not at all—”

“Of course.” Cordelia never looked away from Clayton’s face as she rested her good hand on the woman’s arm and gently silenced her. “Comtesse, if you and Lady Devereaux would give us a moment?” When the woman wasn’t convinced, the princess added firmly, “Please.”

The comtesse grudgingly relented. “As you wish, Your Highness.”