Page 32 of A Problem Princess

“Yet you have no proof.”

“I have no proof that he wasn’t.” And one hell of a feeling in his gut that he was.

They fell silent as the remaining crowd in the hall thinned to one last couple who kept casting glances toward the royal box. A frustrated soldier turned attendant tried to convince the couple to take their seats.

Marcus pressed, “Do you have any information at all about Scepter’s recent activities?”

“Only what my informants have been saying for months,” Clayton grudgingly admitted. He knew exactly how his insistence about the connection between the palace attack and Scepter sounded, even to his best friend. Defensive. And wrong. “That Scepter has stopped all their operations.”

“I’ve never doubted your instincts before.” Marcus watched as the lingering couple finally gave up on spotting any royals and made their way, disheartened, toward their own box at the end of the hall. “But perhaps Scepter truly did die on the gallows along with the Marquess of Hawking, and the attack on the princess had nothing to do with them.”

No. Clayton had seen the attacker’s face when he’d mentioned Scepter. The fear that had gripped the man was real. “Or perhaps they’re simply holding their breath and waiting for the signal that Hawking promised would come.”

“But what signal?” The frustration in the former general’s voice matched his own.

Clayton grimaced. “No bloody idea.”

“So we’re back to our original question.” Marcus leveled a no-nonsense gaze on him. “Why would Scepter want to kill the princess?”

Clayton shook his head. “I’ve asked around the palace about her and her family.” As discretely as possible, too, using his new position as an excuse. If Scepter had returned and found its way into the palace’s inner circle, he didn’t want to let them know he was stalking them. “I’ve discovered nothing credible. Just baseless rumors.”

He was at a dead end and frustrated. His only way forward was the princess and whatever secrets she was keeping, but he’d also learned enough about her to know that pushing her would only cause her to dig in deeper.

Marcus reached to open the door and head into the box. “Then best to stay on our guard about everything.”

“Agreed.” Clayton followed him inside. “I think we should—” His eyes fell on Cordelia, and he froze.

Sweet Lucifer, she was simply stunning.

Except for a small tiara whose diamonds shimmered in the lamplight, she wasn’t dressed at all like a princess tonight. No billowing gown, no ermine wrap, no long strings of jewels dripping from around her neck or bobs dangling from her ears. Tonight, she wore a simple gown of peach satin cut in the current high-waisted style and was all the more striking for it, her dress standing out boldly against the low-cut, jewel-toned velvet gowns draped over the rest of the audience. Her dark chestnut hair was pinned up in casual curls, and a few stray tendrils dared to caress the back of her slender neck and the sides of her oval face. Her eyes were big and bright with excitement at being at the theatre, and she laughed lightly at something one of her companions had said.

The sight of her made his chest clench.

So did another sensation he couldn’t name when she rested her hand on the arm of the man standing beside her—

The Duke of Grafton.

Why the hell washehere? Clayton forced a smile for the box at large to hide his irritation as he reached for one of the glasses of port offered by the attendant. He couldn’t stand the man. Obsequious and self-serving, Grafton had never done a day of hard work in his life. Nor had the dandy served his country in the military, been educated at university, or done anything of merit except be born first to the previous duke, who had done almost as little as his son.

“Why is Grafton here?” Clayton muttered to Marcus against the rim of his glass as he took a long, welcomed swallow. He pretended to ignore both Grafton and Cordelia as he swept his gaze around the box, yet he noticed the far too intimate way Grafton leaned over to say something into Cordelia’s ear that made her smile. “He wasn’t on the guest list I was given.”

“The palace chose him to be Princess Cordelia’s official escort for the evening when her uncle begged off.”

Clayton knew the princess well enough to know that Grafton’s ingratiating, smarmy demeanor was exactly the behavior she didn’t like or trust, yet she returned the duke’s attentions and flattered him with her smiles, even as she took surreptitious glances in Clayton’s direction. Was she attempting to convey the message that she had a different guard to protect her now and no longer needed his watch?

Laughable.

Marcus followed his gaze. “Does it bother you to have Grafton here?”

“It bothers me that I wasn’t told about the change.” Clayton swirled the port in his glass. “I can’t protect her if I don’t know what to expect.”

“He’s the Duke of Grafton,” Marcus reminded him. “Not Napoleon.”

“I think I’d prefer Boney.” Clayton set aside the rest of the port. What he craved tonight was whiskey, and lots of it. “Grafton exemplifies the worst of the English peerage.”

“Says the viscount who’s one of us.”

Christ.“Not yet I’m not.” He had until arrangements could be made to introduce him into the House of Lords to find a way to wiggle out of the title. Or to flee England.