Page 33 of A Problem Princess

“Look on the bright side. At least Grafton’s not one of the royal dukes.”

That did little to ease the inexplicable knot in Clayton’s chest. It also raised a new puzzle. Whywasn’tone of the royal dukes here to escort her? “Doesn’t the palace worry that Grafton might vie for her himself?”

“The exact opposite, I’d wager. Even Grafton isn’t daft enough to confuse royalty with aristocracy and overreach himself.”

Oohs and aahs went up from the half dozen ladies in the box when Grafton reached into his jacket and withdrew a red rose. With a deep bow, he handed it to Cordelia.

Clayton threw Marcus an I-told-you-so look.

To his surprise—and annoyance—Cordelia accepted the rose with a bright smile.

“What is it with you damned dukes?” Clayton growled beneath his breath.

Marcus grinned and crossed the box to join his wife, but Danielle said something to him that wiped the smile from his face. Then she waved over Clayton, who had no choice but to join the group.

“Wasn’t that rose romantic?” Danielle said, squeezing Clayton’s hand in greeting. “I just said to Marcus that he never thinks to give me roses at the theatre. Don’t you think he should?”

Clayton knew better than to entangle himself in this discussion. “The lamps are dimming.”Perfect timing.He nodded out toward the stage and the audience seated on the floor of the theatre. “We should take our seats. Wouldn’t want to miss the overture.”

“A devoted follower of opera, are you, Elliott?” Amusement danced in Grafton’s voice at the idea. “You’ll have to give us your thoughts on the libretto.”

A flash of embarrassment for Clayton crossed Cordelia’s face, but her practiced smile returned immediately. “I’m sure the general has more important things to be concerned about tonight.”

“At an opera?” Grafton scoffed. “I can’t think of a better topic to discuss than music.” He gestured his glass of port at Clayton. “Which do you find more awe-striking about opera, Elliott? The libretto or the bravura?”

Clayton knew better than to entangle himself inthisdiscussion, too. “The beauty of the ladies in attendance,” he dodged, drawing soft laughs from those in the box. “And speaking of beautiful ladies…” With a smile, he bowed smartly to the princess. “Good evening, Your Serene Highness.”

“General Elliott.” She inclined her head regally, but she couldn’t hide the faint smile that touched her lips at his compliment. She paused as if she wanted to say something, but the orchestra struck up the first notes of the overture and interrupted. She turned toward Grafton and gestured toward the front of the box. “Perhaps we should take our seats, Duke.”

Grafton didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed on Clayton. “Tell me, Elliott. What do you think of Rossini’s most recent works?”

“I’m afraid I have no opinion.”

Grafton chuckled at Clayton’s expense. “Perhaps not so devoted to opera after all.”

Clayton refused to let that barb go unanswered, certainly not in front of the princess. Why he should care what she thought of him, he had no idea. But it mattered, damn it.

“I haven’t had much time for opera in the past few years,” Clayton countered with a lazy smile. “I was too busy saving Europe from Napoleon.” He cast an assessing look over Grafton, from his overly starched cravat to his highly polished shoes. “What wereyoudoing?”

Anger flashed red over Grafton’s face. The duke bit out, “You forget your—”

“But Icantell you that I find Mozart’s, Queen of the Night, aria to be sublime. The dichotomy between the vengeful lyrics and the breathtakingly beautiful rise of the soprano’s voice is simply…” He slid his gaze to Cordelia and softened his voice. “Captivating.”

Her pink lips parted slightly as she stared at him, her thoughts at that moment unreadable. Then, so softly that her response was almost lost beneath the scattered applause of the audience, she said, “I agree.”

Grafton puffed out his chest. “AndIthink you should—”

“Excuse me.” Marcus deftly interrupted what Clayton feared might become the first fisticuffs to break out in a royal opera box. “We should take our seats.” He held out his hand to Cordelia. “Your Highness, may I have the pleasure of escorting you to your chair?”

“Of course, Duke.” She allowed him to lead her out from between the two men and to the velvet chairs in the front of the box, yet the glance she stole over her shoulder wasn’t for Grafton but for Clayton. As if she simply couldn’t fathom him.

Understandable. At that moment, he had no blasted idea what to make of himself.

Eleven

“I was in attendance at Mrs. Billington’s last performance,” the Duke of Grafton whispered into Cordelia’s ear, ruining the soprano’s aria for her.

Cordelia did her best not to roll her eyes, although Grafton’s near-constant chatter annoyed her to no end. It was as if he needed to share his knowledge of opera with her at every opportunity, and his interruptions proved so many that she’d lost the plot of what was happening on the stage.