Page 10 of A Problem Princess

“And your plans?” Marcus asked.

“Does it matter? I serve at the pleasure of the monarch and his family, whomever they are.”

“Even Prince Augustus?”

Clayton paused to reconsider. “PerhapsnotAugustus.”

With a knowing smile, Marcus clarified, “Imeantwhat are your plans for the future? You can’t keep serving England forever.”

“Why not? It’s going well so far.” Sarcasm lightly touched Clayton’s voice. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a general now.”

All traces of Marcus’s amusement faded despite Clayton’s teasing. “But it’s wearing on you. We’ve all noticed.”

Clayton stiffened, then dismissed his friend’s concern with a shake of his head. “I can’t retire. I haven’t done everything I want to do yet.”

“What’s left?”

Reform Parliament and how the Commons represented cities like Manchester and Salisbury. Change the army’s structure to reward men based on service and success rather than whatever rank they bought their way into. Stop Scepter once and for all, and make certain the bastards never came back…

Redeem my father.

But he deflected by joking, “What would you have me do instead—politics, the church, business?” He laughed and lifted the glass to his lips, mumbling around the rim, “Retire to the countryside and be a gentleman farmer with the sheep and pigs?”

“Marriage.”

Clayton choked on his champagne, so startled that he spilled part of his drink down the front of his waistcoat.

“Good Lord,” he forced out between coughs. “I’d rather be with the pigs and sheep!”

“Ah, so it’s Parliament for you then.” The amused glimmer left Marcus’s eyes as they fixed on Clayton’s waistcoat. “Is that blood on your front?”

Christ. That scuffle with Burton… He lied, “Punch.”

Marcus’s mouth twisted at the obvious fib. “Better take care of it. You know how the regent feels about clothes.” He gestured toward the doors leading out of the reception hall to a series of drawing and retiring rooms beyond. He had the decency to avoid asking Clayton how it had gotten there. “And hurry. The ceremony’s about to start.”

Clayton blew out a hard breath and left the room. Clearly, he was not made for life at the palace.

He flung open the door of the first drawing room he came to and strode inside.

“Stop!”

Clayton froze. Every muscle in his body tensed instantly.

At the edge of the room, a uniformed footman held a knife to a young woman’s throat. A very beautiful young woman.

Four

Cordelia’s heart pounded so fiercely with fear that the roar of it in her ears was deafening.

“Please…” She clutched at the arm that wrapped around her upper chest and held the knife blade against her throat even though she knew she wasn’t strong enough to push her attacker away. Unable to find her voice in her terror, she whispered, “Please don’t hurt me.”

The attacker tightened his hold.

“Let her go,” the blond gentleman in the doorway said quietly. His voice remained calm despite the way his body tensed, as if he were a spring about to release. He ignored Cordelia and kept his attention fixed on the man behind her.

But her attacker’s hold remained as strong as ever. He had no intention of letting her go.

The blond took a single step forward into the room.