Page 81 of A Problem Princess

He held his back ramrod straight as he tugged at his shirtsleeves to bring them into place at his wrists. “We need to leave Mersea. We’ll hire a carriage at the inn and leave as soon as possible.”

Her belly tightened. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re needed back in London, Your Highness.”

Icy fingers trailed down her spine, and she shivered. He was putting more than the barrier of his clothes between them, she realized. Cold, distant, painfully polite…the affectionate man she’d spent the night with was gone, once more replaced by the loyal patriot who put his duty to England before all else.

She’d known this magical time with him would have to end eventually, but she hadn’t expected it to come so soon. Or how her heart would tear so painfully.

“What happened?” she whispered, unable to find her voice.

“I received a message from Justice Rivers. He advised bringing you back to London. The world—and your family—think you’ve been kidnapped, possibly even killed.”

So much confusion swirled through her sleep-dulled mind that she could barely sort through it all. “But you wrote to the Home Secretary before we left London. You assured him I was safe.”

“I did.” He reached for his jacket on a nearby chair. “But Parliament and your family need to see you for themselves.”

She swallowed. Hard. “Is it safe for me in London?”

“I promise to protect you, Princess.” He added a heartbeat later, “With my life, if necessary.”

Fear began to lick at her toes at his dodge, and she repeated, “Is it safe for me there?”

“It will be.” His gaze locked with hers in the shadows. “I will make certain of it.”

But his assurance did little to alleviate the growing trepidation in her knotting belly or the new fear that struck her—“Is it safe foryou?”

He froze, the jacket halfway on. Then he finished pulling it on and repeated, “It will be.”

Her heart skipped as she remembered the earlier threat to his life, the night they first met, when he’d been convinced that if he were arrested, he’d be killed. She’d protected him then. She could do it again.

“Whatever’s the matter, I can help you.” She leaned toward him. “I won’t let them harm you.”

He looked at her grimly. “You can’t protect me. Not from this.”

She slid out of bed and wrapped the blanket around herself to cover her naked body. She stopped in front of him. They stood less than a foot apart, but he felt a world away.

“What exactly was in that message from your friend?” she asked.

“Your uncle has asked to address Parliament.” His face remained stoically solemn. “He wants to speak to concerns regarding the town house attack and your disappearance.”

Her shoulders lowered in relief. “Of course he does. Everyone in London must think I was killed that night, including him.”

He gave a curt nod. “For some reason, Lord Sidmouth hasn’t told him about my message about you, or if he has, your uncle isn’t willing to believe it.”

“So you have to produce the princess and show everyone I’m all right,” she guessed, “before my disappearance becomes an international crisis.”

“Something like that,” he muttered and sat on the chair to put on his boots.

A chill curled down her spine. “No.” She knelt on the floor beside the chair and placed her hand beseechingly on his knee. “Tell meexactlywhat you think he’s going to do.”

His expression grew impossibly grim. “Most likely, he’s going before Parliament to announce that you’re dead.”

The puzzled question fell breathlessly from her lips. “Why would he do that?”

“Because if you’re dead, then your uncle takes your place in line for the British throne.”

“But that doesn’t matter if…” Her voice trailed off as the realization of what Clayton was implying hit her. She sank back on her heels, stunned, and watched as he continued to pull on his right boot. “My uncle wouldnever…” Dear God, she couldn’t even say the words to deny it!