Page 97 of A Problem Princess

But Marie didn’t move to step out of the way. On the other side of the door, the frantic pounding increased like drums as Danielle shouted for Cordelia.

“That would not be prudent.” Her uncle’s voice came from behind Cordelia and slithered down her spine like icy fingers.

Her breath strangled in her throat. Not daring to look behind her, she whispered, “Uncle Monrovia.”

He laughed, took her shoulders, and turned her to face him. “Not for long. Soon I will also be Uncle Britain.” His face fell with exaggerated emotion. “Oh, but that’s right. You’ll never be able to call me that because you won’t be alive when it happens.” Hatred laced his voice. “Because youcan’tbe alive for it to happen.”

His betrayal pierced her. In the dark corners of her heart, she had still wanted Clayton and the men of the Armory to be wrong. A part of her still wanted to believe that her uncle loved her like a daughter. That last, dark hope shattered.

Cordelia darted toward the door and shoved the comtesse aside. Her hands fumbled to release the lock. She had to escape—shehadto!

Ernest grabbed her arms to yank her away, but she clung to the door handle. “Danielle,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Help me!”

The pounding stopped.

The abrupt silence rattled Cordelia’s bones, and she sagged forward against the door, even as Marie’s traitorous hand clamped over the lock to keep her from opening it.

“The duchess won’t be able to save you,” her uncle told her so matter-of-factly that it chilled her. “You’re causing all kinds of problems for me, Cordelia. Your entire life, nothing but one problem after another… Why couldn’t you have simply died like you were supposed to?”

She squeezed her eyes shut as terror rose inside her.

He stood so close behind her that she felt his hot breath tickle the back of her neck. “I would have been next in line after the Hanoverians. I could have blamed the British royal family’s incompetence for your death, and in the ensuing outrage, Parliament would have called for the deposition of the current king and placed me on the throne instead—a monarch who will pay back the men who have loyally followed him with high-level positions, lands, titles. A monarch who will marry the comtesse and provide sons to continue a solid royal line, one without madness or corruption. Now you’ve made it all so messy for me.”

A horrible realization sank through her. That was why he’d insisted she come with him on the trip, why he’d insisted the comtesse chaperone her and his own wife remain behind. He planned to rid himself of both women. Once he’d killed Cordelia and assumed the British throne, he could divorce Wilhelmina by royal decree. No one would have been able to stop him.

No one except Clayton.

“You’ll never get away with this,” she countered.

“Oh, but I will. You see, I have been planning this moment for years. After my speech today, my followers will call out for the removal of King George, and Parliament will place me onto the throne as their chosen monarch. A second Glorious Revolution will unfold, and our English cousins will be powerless to stop it.”

“You’re mad,” she whispered and turned her head to glare at Marie. “Both of you!”

He laughed. “We’re in England. They’re used to mad monarchs here.”

He grabbed her by the back of her dress and yanked her away from the door.

Cordelia stumbled on her weak ankle, only for Marie to catch her before she could fall. Cordelia ripped her arm away in fury. “Donottouch me!”

“That’s no way to speak to your new aunt and queen of England,” her uncle chastised. Then he mockingly corrected, “But you won’t be alive for that either.”

Cordelia retreated toward the far end of the large office. Her uncle stalked her slowly toward the massive desk in the rear of the room. There was no second door to flee through, only an old leaded-glass window she’d never be able to open or break through.

The only way out was through her uncle and the comtesse. She swallowed down her fear that she would never be able to rush past them and escape and slowly began to circle the desk, hoping he would follow.

“You’re Scepter,” she accused in a breathless rasp. “I know what you are and what you’ve done!”

“So clever of me, don’t you think?” He paused to smile in admiration at his own designs. “I formed Scepter years ago when your father discovered I’d stolen funds from the Monrovian military.”

She halted in midstep. “But—but you—” The world tilted beneath her, and her hand darted out to the desk to steady herself. “You told me it was Papa who…” She couldn’t think through the fog of fear and confusion swirling inside her head.

“I lied.”

That was why Ernest had to kill her, she realized, why he couldn’t simply use her father’s misdeeds to have her removed from the line of succession. If he’d tried, he would have been pointing the evidence right back at himself.

He clucked his tongue. “Poor Cordelia, always so gullible and trusting, always so eager to put duty before all else.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve never had that problem. But then, I’m not a weak and frightened woman.”

Oh, he was wrong! Clayton had made her realize exactly how brave she was, and she refused to cower. She tightened her hands into fists and straightened her spine.