Page 99 of A Problem Princess

“You are not your father. You’re not capable of murder.” She blinked back the stinging tears. “You are a man filled with goodness and mercy, even to those who don’t deserve it. That’s why I love you.”

She led him a few feet away from her uncle, then stepped into his embrace.

He wrapped his arms fiercely around her. “Cordelia,” he whispered and buried his face in her hair. “Did that bastard hurt you?”

“I’ll be fine.” And she would be. As long as he was with her.

He blew out a long breath of relief, then signaled for the two men in the doorway. Merritt Rivers and Brandon Pearce hurried forward and roughly detained her uncle. In the corridor beyond the door, Cordelia could see over a half dozen guards.

“Take him to St James’s Palace and wait there with him,” Clayton ordered. “Donotlet him out of your sight. Lord Sidmouth and the prince regent will decide what to do with him.”

Cordelia turned her head away, unable to watch the man she’d once loved like a second father be dragged from the room.

Only when she felt Clayton’s lips at her temple did she turn back. The love and concern shining in his eyes for her nearly broke her.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered. “I saw the guards close in on you, and I thought…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to say it…I thought you’d been killed.“How did you slip away?”

“I wrote to the Home Secretary and to the captain of the Palace Guard when you were being dressed at Charlton Place. The Home Office knew what I’d planned. I just prayed they’d support me instead of shooting me. Thank God, they did.” He grimaced. “That is, after several minutes of argument and fisticuffs.” He tenderly caressed his knuckles across her cheek with his left hand. “And now you and I have to make certain Ernest can never hurt you or anyone else again.”

She pulled in a deep breath and nodded, knowing what he meant. Their fight had just begun.

He took her hand and led her toward Westminster Hall.

Twenty-Nine

Clayton tightened his fingers in Cordelia’s as he led her up to the side door of the great chamber. Two guards blocked their way. Their gazes noted the splotches of blood on his shirtfront and sleeves from the fight and the faint red smudges that had gotten onto her dress when he’d held her in his arms, but they were both well-trained enough to say nothing and simply held their ground.

“Step aside for Her Serene Highness Princess Cordelia of Monrovia,” Clayton ordered. “Her Highness is here to address the chamber in her uncle’s stead. Step aside and let us pass.”

The two guards exchanged uncertain looks, then glanced at Cordelia. The two men froze with recognition. Quickly, they bowed their heads and stepped back.

Clayton threw open the old oak double doors and charged inside with Cordelia before she could lose her courage. Too much depended on this moment to stop now. He prayed that the brave woman she’d always shown herself to be wouldn’t falter.

The side door led into the heart of the hall. He pulled her into the middle of the floor before she could realize exactly how large the crowd was around her, before she could freeze like a doe before the hounds.

She stopped in the center of the grand hall and swung her gaze across the room. Hundreds of men sat crammed inside, from chairs on the floor to tall galleries reaching into the wooden rafters high above. Her face paled, but she made no attempt to grab back Clayton’s hand as he slowly slipped it from hers and stepped away.

She needed to be the center of attention and the focus of an empire, had to charge into the fray by herself.Please, God, give her the courage to get through this…

Then he took a deep breath, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Her Serene Highness Princess Cordelia of Monrovia!” He paused, then shouted again, “Your attention on Her Serene Highness!”

A hush of disbelief slowly settled over the room as, one by one, the men realized who she was…the princess, alive and well, standing regally before them.

All members of Parliament from both houses stared openmouthed and stunned, with the lords in their ermine and the commons in their long black tails, along with hundreds of other government officials, all dressed in grim blacks and grays. Military officers in their bright reds and blues sat scattered throughout the room. And in her white and silver gown in their midst, the princess stood out like an angel cast into the darkness of hell. Fitting, as she was now England’s only salvation.

As she stood there silently, not yet addressing the hall, the disbelief of the crowd turned into whispers that went up in waves. Angry confusion followed, then shouts and curses. Clayton saw her flinch, her shoulders slump—

She looked pleadingly at him for help.

But he could offer only one means of support… “I love you,” he mouthed.

The words visibly transformed her. A sparkle lit her eyes and her back straightened as she once again became the imperious princess that was her birthright. This time when she swept her eyes over the great hall, she cast a disdainful expression at having to lift her hand to ask for silence so she could speak.

But Scepter’s men kept shouting out to have her removed, to bring in the prince. They wouldn’t let her speak—

“My uncle is not able to address you today,” she called out over their voices, not letting them shout her from the hall. The more raucous the crowd became, the stronger grew the determination on her face. “Therefore, I am here to speak on behalf of the royal principality of Monrovia.”

More shouts echoed through the hall for her to leave, which only raised the princess’s hackles.