Page 41 of A Problem Princess

But Merritt set the chase most likely just to tire him out, and like a fool he fell for it.Double damnation.

“I saw the evidence against those three men, and it was solid,” Merritt assured him, once more going on the attack. “They’d raised an army and were marching toward London. That was high treason.”

No. It was the work of William Oliver, the Home Office’s greediest spy. Merritt might have seen the evidence, but Clayton knew how it had been gathered.

The pressure that Parliament and the crown were exerting on average Englishmen would come to a head soon, he was certain of it. God help them all when it did.

It was time to change the conversation. Clayton jumped across a bench and called out, “Speaking of judges—”

“We weren’t.” Merritt followed over the bench, not losing the rhythm of his strikes.

“How’s your relationship with your father these days?”

“Fine.” He ducked in time to miss Clayton’s glancing blow to his left shoulder. “He’s proud as a peacock to have a grandchild on the way.” Merritt feinted to his right. “How’s your relationship with yours?”

Surprise stunned Clayton. He missed a defensive block of Merritt’s rapier and cost himself the easiest touch imaginable.

He stopped fighting and lowered the rapier to his side as he straightened out of his fencing stance and heaved hard to catch back his breath. Not all of it was lost due to the exertion of the sparring match.

“My father’s dead, remember?” Clayton yanked at the leather fencing glove on his right hand. “Has been for a very long time. There is no relationship between us.”

Merritt grimly shook his head and set his rapier down on a nearby table. “Then why are you still trying so hard to prove your worth to the world?” He paused, his hand lingering on the blade, before adding, “And to your father?”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Clayton kept the sudden pain of his tightening chest from registering on his face. “Odd. I thought I was working hard to carve out a good life for myself.”

“If that’s all it was, you could have stopped two years ago with a successful military career and a commission that would have kept you in luxury for the rest of your life. That alone outshines most men in the British empire, and you were happy. Since then…not so happy, and least of all since you’ve been back in England.”

“Is that why you’re bringing this up?” Clayton forced an amused laugh. “Because you’re worried I’m not happy enough?”

“My wifeis worried you’re not happy,” Merritt explained, “and when my wife is worried, I’m worried.”

“Your wife wields a sword,” Clayton reminded him, “and my happiness is what worries you?”

“Especiallywhen she wields a sword.” His old friend arched a brow. “I mentioned that she’s with child, didn’t I? Being angry at one moment, breaking down in tears the next, eating the most peculiar foods…” Merritt blew out a hard breath, registering all the domestic hell that had beset him recently. “If there’s anything I can do to ease her through this, I am going to do it, including checking in on you. Veronica is concerned that you’re not happy.”

Clayton smiled. “Well, you can tell the baroness I’m just—”

“AndI’mconcerned about you for other reasons.”

All his amusement vanished. “No need to be.”

Clearly not believing that, Merritt shook his head. “I know whyIkept pushing myself, why I didn’t want to settle for an average career in the Inns of Court, and it wasn’t because I had a driving ambition to become a King’s Counsel. The wars burned that out of me.” His voice turned low and contemplative. Not harsh, not combative…empathetic. “I’d thought they’d burned it out of you, too, yet you haven’t rested one moment in the past few years.” Merritt studied his old friend. “I was hunting ghosts. What areyouhunting?”

Clayton set down his rapier, and it rattled on the tabletop next to Merritt’s, the sound not jarring into him nearly as much as Merritt’s soft words.

That was the problem with living, suffering, and fighting shoulder to shoulder with best friends in the heat of battle and the cold of winters. They came to know each other too well.

“I do it to serve crown and country,” Clayton defended himself. “That’s all.”

Unfortunately, best friends also knew when they were being lied to, just as the look on Merritt’s face proved.

“You do it around the clock,” Merritt pressed, “passing up rest, running yourself ragged, and associating with men who would eagerly slit your throat if given half a chance.”

“Because that’s what it takes to protect England and bring reform, and I am dedicated to both.”

More—he was driven to change the system so that innocent men wouldn’t be arrested in the first place when all they wanted was more say in their government. Even the Americans when they were still colonists half a world away had more representation in Parliament than the entire city of Manchester and far, far fewer taxes than those levied in England. Hell, even the Americans had first tried diplomatic means to avoid conflict.

Not Scepter. They wanted to change the system through cold-blooded violence, ignore the constitution, and seize power by insurrection. They wanted to put in control their own despotic politicians who cared more about keeping themselves in power than in preserving the rights of ordinary Englishmen. In that, they were no better than Napoleon and his minions. Different players, same game.