Page 82 of A Problem Princess

Yet his bleak expression didn’t break into a grin to show he was teasing; it didn’t change to show that he had any doubts at all about what he thought. He simply reached for the second boot and stomped his foot into it.

“What you’re implying—that’s not—it’s simply mad!”

“Is it?” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and brought his eyes level with hers. “The first time you were attacked was at the palace. Whoever hired that man to kill you told him exactly where to find you—information that a footman hired for the evening wouldn’t have been privy to—and told him when you would be alone.”

“It could have been a coincidence.” Yet she felt the blood begin to drain from her cheeks. She didn’t even believe that herself.

Apparently, neither did Clayton. “The second time was at the town house.”

“But I wasn’t even supposed to have been there! My uncle was the guest of honor who—”

“Who begged off and sent you in his stead. I didn’t know of your change of plans until the last minute. Neither did the captain of the palace guards, I’d wager, which made it harder to protect you.”

She pushed herself to her feet and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself as she stepped away from him. “No one knew I was going to be there.”

“Your uncle knew, and he told the men who were sent to attack you.” When she began to protest how ludicrous that was, he interrupted, “Your carriage arrived late due to traffic, yet the house wasn’t attacked until after you arrived.” His expression darkened. “Those men who chased us into the alley were there to kill you, not any of the lords or MPs inside the house or they never would have chased after a fleeing woman.”

Oh God.Her hand pressed against her mouth. She was going to be sick! “You’re wrong,” she breathed out between her fingers. “Simplywrong!”

“I wish I were.”

“No.” She shook her head and, agitatedly, began to pick up her clothes, which still lay scattered across the floor where she’d dropped them last night. “No! My uncle loves me. He treats me as if I were his own daughter. He wouldneverdo as you’re saying.”

Clayton remained sitting in the chair and calmly watched as she gathered up her things in the lightening shadows, saying nothing to defend himself.

“He let you guard me, for heaven’s sake!” Her hands fell to her sides in exasperation. “Why would he do that if he wanted to harm me?”

“Because he thought I wasn’t capable of protecting you,” he answered. “Because he thought I was nothing more than the regent’s drinking companion who was being rewarded far beyond his capabilities.”

Oh dear God!“None of this makes sense.” She vehemently shook her head. “Why?Whywould my uncle do as you’re suggesting? Even if he wants to replace me in the line of succession—” She shook her stocking at him. “And I amnotsaying that he even wants to.” She threw the piece of silk onto the bed and crossed her arms. “There are at least ten members of the current British royal family in line ahead of me, and the royal dukes will all scramble to sire as many children as possible before death works its way through them. The odds of the British crown going to a foreign prince are astronomical.”

He countered quietly, “Not nearly that large, in fact.”

She stilled and returned his stare. “What aren’t you telling me, Clayton?” When he hesitated to answer, she pressed, “You’re always saying I need to trust you. It’s time you trusted me.”

Slowly, he stood. He joined her beside the bed and picked up her stocking, then gestured for her to sit on the edge of the mattress.

Cordelia knew she’d gain no answers unless she did as he asked, so she sank onto the bed and steeled herself.

He knelt in front of her and reached beneath the blanket for her leg. He carefully slipped her stocking over her toes and began to roll it up her leg, and her heartbeat increased the closer his hands came to her bare thighs.

“There’s a secret revolutionary group in England known as Scepter,” he explained. His warm fingers brushed over her calf as he smoothed out the stocking.

The name triggered a memory. “Scepter…you’ve mentioned them before.” Her voice emerged as a throaty whisper as his hands continued to caress her leg long after the stocking had been rolled into place. “When that man attacked me at Carlton House… You called him Scepter, but you said you were wrong.”

“I lied.”

The word barely formed on her lips. “Pardon?”

“That man worked for Scepter. I’m certain of it.” He tied the ribbon garter securely into place, then paused with his hand on her thigh. “For the past five years, they’ve been leading all kinds of criminal enterprises to raise money and discover secrets they can use to blackmail people in important positions.” The warmth of his palm seeped into her skin and once more stirred the ache low in her belly. “Brothels, smuggling, black markets—God only knows how far their network reached, but it was far enough to blackmail and bribe officials at all levels of the military and all levels of the government, including the Court of St James’s and the palaces.”

“Why would they do that?”

He slid his hand down her leg and reached for the other stocking to commit that same slow torture to her again. “Because they want to overthrow the government.”

Her breath caught. This time, it wasn’t because his hands were sliding provocatively up her legs and pushing the blanket out of the way.

“Their goal is to start a second Glorious Revolution, remove King George and his progeny from the throne, remove all his ministers, and establish their own puppet regime whom they can control to do their bidding.” He rolled the second stocking up her leg and into place above her knee. “They don’t care about reform or helping those who have no voice.” He tied the ribbon. “They care only about gaining and keeping power for themselves.”