Page 77 of A Problem Princess

He sent her a defeated look. “Is there really no way out of that?”

“I don’t think so. But why wouldn’t you want it? Youhaveearned it, you know.”

He lifted the mug to his lips for a swallow of wine. “The same reason you don’t want to be a princess, I suppose.”

She lifted a brow. “Because you’re tired of state balls and diamond tiaras and don’t want to marry a royal duke?”

“Exactly,” he muttered with mock sincerity. Yet in the moment’s pause that followed, he turned serious. “Where’s the valor in being a peer? What’s the purpose of that kind of life?” He shook his head as he stared down into his mug. “Knowing your cousin, Prinny also gave me a large estate to go with it, thinking he was doing me a grand favor by bestowing it.”

“Wasn’t he?”

“Torture, more like, by making me have to worry about tenant farmers, building repairs, maintaining good relations with the local village… That life isn’t for me.”

“Then hire an estate agent to oversee it and move to London where you can be a man about town.”

He gave a dark laugh at that idea. “Whose biggest concern is the cut of his waistcoat and whether he’ll be blackballed at White’s? No, thank you.”

“You’d never be like that,” she assured him. “But youwillbecome a voting member of the House of Lords. You’ll be able to speak your mind about all kinds of affairs, from political representation to international relations and trade. You’ll be able to argue for reform.”

“I’ll be laughed out of Westminster.”

“Perhaps at first. But eventually, they’ll stop laughing and start listening.” She envied him that. She was never allowed to speak her true mind about anything. Except with him.

“You don’t know the British Parliament very well if you think they’ll ever start listening to reason.”

“I think you could convince them.” With the warmth of the fire enveloping her, she let the shawl slip from her shoulders and puddle around her on the rug. “I’d support you.”

He quirked a grin. “Even with your support, Princess, it’s going to take a long, dragged-out, knockdown fight before England has any kind of constitutional reform.” His grin faded. “Perhaps that’s how it should be, though. Steady and gradual instead of rash and revolutionary.” He stared into the flames and admitted, “I don’t know what will become of me.”

Her heart skipped. That didn’t sound at all like a man set on starting a new life. “Clayton, what’s—”

“Something will come along,” he interrupted and gave her a charming smile. “It always does.”

She frowned. But before she could press for more, he stretched out on his side on the rug beside her, leaned over, and took the piece of apricot from her fingertips with his lips.

“And what would you do, Miss Plain Jane Smith,” he asked around the bite in his mouth as he chewed and deftly changed the subject, “if you could find a new purpose in life?”

She gave an exaggerated scowl of irritation at losing her apricot, even though the act sent heat spiraling low in her belly and had her wondering how long they had to wait before they could make love again. “I don’t know for certain.” She reached into the basket to fish out an orange biscuit. “But I do know that I’d like to help children.”

She snapped the biscuit in two, then laughed as he opened his mouth for half. Dutifully, she placed it on his tongue, and he winked at her as he chewed it.

“I want to provide protection to children like little Elizabeth who have no one in the world to fight for them.” She paused, resting the piece of biscuit against her lips. “Do you think she’s doing all right with the aunties?”

His eyes gleamed. “I think the aunties have most likely adopted her by now and given her a pony and a toy shop.”

She laughed, certainly hoping so!

Cordelia studied him as he refilled their mugs with wine. Sometimes, Clayton was simply an enigma. What she wouldn’t give to be able to dig beneath the surface and discover who he truly was beneath, what drove him to risk his life the way he did.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “What makes you so dedicated to England?”

He shrugged as he set down the wine bottle. “I love my country.”

Was that…a lie? Something she glimpsed deep in his green eyes made her suspicious. “Most people love their countries, but they don’t risk their lives for it the way you do.”

“I’m a soldier. It’s what we do.”

Another lie. This time, she was certain of it. And this time, she wouldn’t let him dodge the truth. “You’re also the son of a wrongly convicted father.”