Page 14 of A Problem Princess

She rose and gave a suspicious glare at Clayton even as she lowered into a curtsy for the princess. Then she backed away to the far side of the drawing room. The skinny woman with the notebook followed in her wake.

“They mean well,” Cordelia explained with a chagrined glance toward the two women. They huddled together, surely discussing him and wondering who he was and what he could possibly want with the princess. “They only want to protect me.”

“So do I,” he returned gently. “And thank you.”

She gave a faint shake of her head. “I think they feel guilty that they left me alone and allowed that man to…” Her voice trailed off.

He didn’t need her thoughts going to that dark place and changed the direction of conversation. “Imeantthank you for saving my life tonight.”

Her lips parted slightly to question that, but instead she smiled so weakly with relief that he could barely see it. Yet a smilewasthere, and he took hope in it.

She countered, “Thank you for saving mine.”

He wasn’t certain he was done with that just yet. “I need to ask you some questions about what happened tonight, if you don’t mind.” He paused. “Incompleteprivacy.”

She hesitated. He knew what he was asking was wholly inappropriate and simply not done. No respectable unmarried miss would allow herself to be alone in a room with a man unchaperoned. But then, most respectable unmarried misses weren’t taken hostage by armed intruders, those empty rooms didn’t have dead bodies lying on their floors, the men weren’t Home Office undersecretaries, and the young ladies weren’t princesses.

In this circumstance, he was willing to bend the rules of propriety. Hell, he was willing to break them to bits and throw them out the window. Her life depended on it.

She must have realized it, too, because she slowly nodded her consent.

Clayton looked over his shoulder at Marcus, then pointedly moved his gaze to the two ladies-in-waiting and jerked his head toward the door.

Understanding the silent communication that had made them such good comrades in arms across the Continent, the former general approached the two women and very gentlemanly—yet insistently—escorted them from the room. Marcus patiently ignored their protests and concerns and closed the door behind them, leaving Clayton alone with the princess.

“Now then.” With his most reassuring smile, he sat on the settee next to her. An inexplicable urge to protect her gripped him, and he carefully reached for her wounded arm. He frowned at the bandage as he examined the doctor’s handiwork. “Let’s start with this.”

Six

Cordelia tensed. She should have pulled her arm away, but she simply couldn’t make herself. He held it too tenderly and brushed his fingertips across the bandage too soothingly to deny herself that comfort.

The most she could manage was a dubious “My arm is fine.”

His eyes flicked up to hers in recognition of that lie, but he didn’t challenge her directly on it. Instead, he drew a gentle finger over the bandage that covered her entire forearm from wrist to elbow, but one—thankfully—she could cover with long sleeves or gloves. The cut wasn’t very long or deep, yet the overcautious physician had tried to mummify her anyway.

“How many stitches?” he asked. A line of concentration formed between his brows.

She winced at the memory of the physician’s needle. “Toomany.”

His frown faded into a look of empathy. “Most likely, it will scar, but the wound looked clean. There shouldn’t be any infection. The doctor gave you powder for the pain, I assume?” When she nodded, he ordered gently, “Make certain you take it, but only if you need it and not more than necessary. The palace already has one princess addicted to the stuff. I wouldn’t want another.”

She studied him closely. “How do you know so much about knife wounds?”

“I was a soldier in the wars. Fought at Waterloo, in fact.” He absently checked the tightness of the bandage. “I saw more bayonet wounds there than I ever want to see again.”

She turned her gaze to the dead body. “Is the army where you learned to…?” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Kill a man?” he finished grimly. “Yes.”

She swallowed hard to remove the knot in her throat. “Who are you?”

“Clayton Elliott.” He smiled, but she could see there was no pleasure behind his expression.

“No,” she pressed, searching his face for answers. He was tall and handsome, broad, muscular…dangerous. “Whoareyou?”

“I’m an undersecretary for the Home Office.” From the way he’d acted tonight, she suspected he was so much more than a mere undersecretary. But before she could question him further, he confessed, “I’m not connected to the palace. I was ordered to attend tonight’s welcome ceremony by the prince regent. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

She sighed out, “Me, too.”