Page 18 of A Problem Princess

She pulled in a deep breath. “And what do you do, exactly?”

“Uncover secrets.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And I’ll uncover yours, too. All of them, no matter how long it takes.”

Thatwas exactly what frightened her. “No,” she assured him, “you won’t.”

Suddenly, it all became too much—too much fear and grief, too much fatigue, too much duty, too much…everything. A tear broke free and slipped down her cheek, and she angrily swatted at it with the back of her hand.

“This is all because of me, and I don’t even know why,” she rasped out as another tear followed the first. “I put your life at risk.” Her tear-blurred eyes slid to the grisly mound on the floor. “And he’s dead, too—because of me.”

“No,” Clayton assured her. “None of this is your fault.”

“But it is!” She shook violently, struggling to keep back a flood of tears but failing miserably. “How can I ever—I canneverforget…”

His strong arms encircled her as he pulled her against him to comfort her.

Cordelia sagged against his front and clutched his lapels in her hands. She desperately needed the strength and reassurance emanating from him, and she craved the protection he offered.

“Tighter,” she begged. “Hold me tighter…please.”

No mere words could put her at ease, slow the pounding of her pulse, or steady her fast, shallow breathing. She needed his resilience and confidence, his determination and composure. She needed the hero he’d proven himself to be tonight when he’d saved her life and become the only man in this unfamiliar country she could trust.

At that moment, she simply needed…him.

“Please,” she repeated, so softly barely any sound emerged at all from her lips.

His broad shoulders sagged with capitulation, and he tightened his arms around her. She let out a tremulous breath of gratitude.

“It’s going to be all right.” He nuzzled his cheek against her hair. “I promise you.”

Oh, he was wrong! She would never be all right, never again. Too much had been lost in the last decade, too many crimes uncovered, too many reparations required to ever make amends…

Then she felt it—the light caress of his lips at her temple.

She caught her breath. She’d expected his lips to be as hard as the rest of his muscular body, but to her surprise they were soft, warm, inviting…and as comforting as his strong embrace.

Craving more of his solace, she lifted herself toward him to press into his arms and brought her mouth to his.

He tensed against her for only a moment, then softened and returned the delicate movement of her lips on his.

Her head spun. This wasn’t the peck to the lips he’d given her earlier when he’d only wanted to capture her attention and stun her into following his orders. This wasn’t one of those fumbling kisses that visiting princes and young diplomats had stolen from her in shadowed gardens when they’d wanted to insinuate themselves into her good graces. No, this kiss was completely for her and given unselfishly, not because she was a princess but simply because she was a woman in need. She could almost taste the strength and protection—

The door burst open.

She gasped and darted away from him, but Clayton was even quicker. He’d put the space of several feet between them within a heartbeat.

“Cordelia!” Uncle Ernest charged into the room.

Behind him followed the Duke of Hampton with the prime minister, Lord Liverpool, hot on his heels. Two palace guards came after. In their wake scurried the comtesse, who had most likely been lingering right outside this entire time, and Devereaux, still clutching her notebook.

Uncle Ernest’s face glowed red as he stopped abruptly in front of her. He darted a furious glance at the lump beneath the blue drape.

“What the devil is going on?” he demanded. Then his narrowed eyes landed on Clayton, and he snarled to the room at large, “I demand to know who this man is and what he is doing here!”

“He’s Mr. Elliott, undersecretary for the Home Office,” Cordelia explained. “He was questioning me about what happened tonight.” She forced herself to remain composed and drew herself up as tall and regally as possible. “The man is a hero who saved my life.”

“Is he?” Her uncle cast a contemptuous glance over Clayton. “And certainly he was just leaving.”

Seven