Page 61 of A Problem Princess

“Nothing good. Information and rumors have been filtering in from my guests.”

In other words, she’d had the women who worked here casually ask their customers what was happening tonight and report back to her.

“Parliament has called for an emergency meeting,” she told him, “and Whitehall is in an uproar. No one knows who’s alive, who’s dead, and if more attacks are coming. It’s taking the Home Office too long to summon the militia, and the palace is refusing to let the War Office send in soldiers to keep order in the city.” She added, “I think the regent is afraid of where the army’s loyalties might lie these days.”

So was Clayton. “And Lord Liverpool?”

“The prime minister hasn’t been able to rally the MPs or lords to his side yet to make any kind of statement about the attack or declare support for the current government. The prince regent hasn’t acted, and no statement has been made from Windsor or St James’s Palace regarding the security of the monarch, the regent, the royal dukes…” She looked past him at Cordelia. “Or the missing princess.”

“And Westminster?” If a coup d’état was underway, its flash point would be there.

“Riots have broken out, but none have made their way there yet. Most likely they’re only people looking to take advantage of the disorder by breaking into shops and warehouses to steal what they can.” She paused. “But those who are brave enough to claim to know who’s behind the attack all say the same.”

“Scepter.” His answer wasn’t a guess.

Madame gave a tight nod. “It’s too dangerous for all of us if you remain here. You need to takeMiss Smithout of London as soon as possible.” She held out a key and directions written on a notecard. “I keep a cottage on Mersea Island for my husband’s use.”

Clayton blinked. “You’re married?”

“I rarely visit it and like it all the more for that,” she dodged. “But then, I rarely visit my husband and like him all the more for that, too.” Bitterness edged her voice despite her attempt at dark humor. “He’s a ship’s captain who uses it when he’s in harbor, so no one will think it odd if you’ve suddenly appeared there. If anyone asks, tell them you’re a new sailor on theCerberus, expecting to report as soon as she arrives in port. Your captain is Ian Andrews. You’ve not yet met him.”

“Understood.” With the grim determination of a man walking to the gallows, he accepted both key and card. His fate was sealed. Cordelia’s wasn’t. That was all that mattered. “We’ll need a change of clothes.”

Madame nodded. “Already waiting in my carriage for you. My coachman has orders to drive you out of London. I suggest you go no farther than Chelmsford before switching to the mail coach.” She paused. “I’m certain a man like you knows how to hide his tracks.”

“Very well.”

“Then do it. If anyone comes looking for you after you’ve gone, I’ll lie to hide you.”

“For extra money, I’m sure.”

She nodded at the princess. “For her mother. I’m repaying an old favor.”

“What favor?”

“I haven’t always been a businesswoman. I once had ties to the French aristocracy. Her mother helped me escape to England during the revolution, saving my life. Tonight, I’m saving her daughter’s. And now all debts have been paid in full.”

She smiled at him. Her old pretense of the overly flirtatious courtesan swiftly returned, and she rested a hand on Clayton’s arm.

“Except yours,” she purred. “Make certain your payment is generous. After all, sizedoesmatter when it comes to men and money.”

Not caring that Cordelia was watching their private conversation from across the room—or, knowing Madame, more likely because she was—she rose up on her tiptoes to bring her bosom against Clayton’s chest, slipped her hand far too familiarly behind his nape, and brushed her lips over his in a goodbye kiss.

“Whenever I think of handcuffs and ropes,” she promised, “I’ll think of you.”

She slid her mouth over his cheek, then lowered herself away and swung her hips wide as she sashayed toward the door.

“The carriage is waiting for you in the rear.” She allowed herself to cast back a parting look, one that swept longingly over him from head to toe. Then she exhaled a long sigh of disappointment. “Do not ever come back here again.”

With that, Madame was gone.

Eighteen

Cordelia looked once more across the carriage compartment at Clayton. He continued to watch out the window for any sign of attack, while his hand remained beneath his greatcoat on his pistol. They’d left London hours ago in the predawn shadows, but he remained ever her watchdog. She should have been terrified, but she wasn’t.

What she was…was puzzled.

They’d made good time bouncing along in Madame’s well-sprung carriage, rolling quickly through London before the streets became clogged with traffic and out into the countryside. The drizzly gray morning had helped, keeping people inside…including Clayton, who couldn’t ride on top with the driver and tigers and so had to remain inside with her.