Page 53 of A Problem Princess

Warily, Cordelia sat forward and reached to take Clayton’s hand as it dangled beside his thigh.

A throaty laugh bubbled from the woman’s red lips. “Three is always so much more fun than two, but don’t expect…”

Her eyes narrowed on Cordelia in a look of recognition, and she froze. All her teasing flirtation from only moments before vanished, and a look of incomprehension warred on her face with stunned disbelief.

“Dear God,” she muttered. “What have you done?”

Sixteen

“Madame Noir,” Clayton said with as much formality as he could muster under the circumstances. “May I introduce you to Jane? Jane,” he repeated with emphasis and a squeeze of Cordelia’s hand to convince her to play along, “this is Madame Noir. She owns this place.”

Madame’s eyes never left Cordelia’s face. “You arenot—”

“She’s Jane,” he repeated firmly. “Plain, average, normal Jane Smith.”

“And I’m no fool,” Madame countered. “I know exactly who she is.” She gave Clayton a look so fierce it could have cut glass. “The question is…what the hell is she doing here? Because whatever the reason, it cannot be good.”

“It isn’t.” He crossed to the window, pulled back the drape, and peered out into the street below. Everything seemed normal, right down to the well-dressed gentlemen finding their way to the front door. “The king’s cabinet was attacked tonight. I have no idea how many were killed.”

“Good God,” Madame mumbled.

He dropped the curtain back into place and turned around. He never thought he would see Madame shocked, yet her face had gone ghostly.

“I’m certain you’ll hear about it soon from your…guests.” He didn’t dare glance at Cordelia for fear of what he’d see onherface. “Try to act surprised when you do.”

“Don’t worry,” she recovered herself enough to assure him. “I’m very good at acting surprised with men.”

He was certain of that. “We need a room for the night.”

She pointed at Cordelia. “You need more than that.”

“We’ll start with a room. You will, of course, be well compensated by the Home Office for your trouble.”

Madame shook her head. “There isn’t enough money in all the coffers in Whitehall to pay me well enough for this.” She walked to the side table and poured herself a generous glass of brandy. She eyed him over the rim of the glass as she raised it to her lips. “I don’t want to know what you had to do with the attack, do I?”

“No.” He crossed his arms. “And we were never here, understand?”

“Of course.” She smiled and seductively swirled her brandy. “Discretion is my business.”

Clayton knew that smile just cost the Home Office an additional five hundred pounds.

“How long will you be staying?” Madame asked.

“As long as we have to.” He allowed himself a glance at the princess. She sat huddled in the corner of the settee and absently rubbed her hand over her forearm. “Not until it’s safe to leave.”

“I don’t think—”

“How did you know who I am?” Cordelia’s question came quietly, but it stopped both of them in midconversation. She looked up from her arm at Madame. “You recognized me, but I’m certain you haven’t been to any of the palace events.”

Madame raised a questioning brow at Clayton for permission to answer.

He nodded.

“I read in theTimesthat the Monrovian royal family is visiting London,” Madame explained, choosing her words carefully. “And how uncanny, Miss Smith, that you should so resemble the late Princess Marguerite of Monrovia. In fact, one might say, you could be her daughter.”

Cordelia rose slowly to her feet. “You…saw her?”

“Iknewher.” Madame traced her fingertip slowly around the rim of her glass. “In Vienna and Paris before the wars. A long time ago.”