Page 4 of Prince of Scandal

He frowned. “What?”

Franz gestured out the dining room window. “There is a lad riding across the meadow as though chased by hellhounds. Word from London, perhaps?”

Ashton stood and walked closer to observe. Then frowned again. The rider had an excellent seat; good balance, moving as one with a fine thoroughbred. But despite the cap, shirt, and breeches, the lad had an odd figure…

A sudden gust of wind caught the rider’s cap. It twisted away in the breeze and in seconds, a mass of golden curls streamed behind her.

A woman. No, a trespasser. Did she not understand rules? Fences?

Outraged at such audacity and determined to frighten her away, Ashton left the dining room and sprinted outside to the stables. He’d been due to ride this morning to check some wooden posts needing replacement, so his black stallion, Donner, was thankfully saddled and ready. In minutes, he was galloping after the woman. She obviously wasn’t a local; they all knew to stay far away from his estate. Was she a criminal? A smuggler? A spy from either royal court? His new neighbor? Anything was possible. But he had to discover this intruder’s purpose and evict her from his land post-haste.

Hunching down to increase his speed, Ashton urged Donner on until they were about fifty feet behind. The woman was heading toward the river now, no doubt looking to water her horse.

Slowing to a trot, he watched her dismount with the smooth grace of a seasoned rider, and walk her mare over to the small stone dwelling he’d built. His private spot! This was where he came to fish. To be alone.

Such a breach was unacceptable in every way.

“You there!” Ashton yelled furiously as he approached and slid from his saddle onto the green, fertile grass. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She turned and just for a moment he forgot to breathe.

This bold trespasser was exquisitely beautiful, yet looked barely out of the schoolroom. Those wild golden curls framed a heart-shaped face with emerald-green eyes, a pert nose, and lush pink lips. She wasn’t overly tall, yet had the buxom curves of a Prussian milkmaid, her spectacular breasts, full hips, and sturdy thighs barely constrained by the linen shirt and buckskin breeches she so shamelessly wore. But most tempting of all was her backside. Christ. His hands positively itched to cup the lushness. To tear away the fabric and feel the smooth warmth of her naked flesh before administering a firm spanking for such blatantly naughty conduct. Naturally, the brazen minx would squirm and mewl and beg to atone by sucking his cock. But only when she had pleasured him satisfactorily would he show mercy and permit her a screaming release…

No. NO.

Ashton clenched his jaw. His desire for such wicked play was shameful. Wrong. A prince resisted such urges and behaved with decorum, so there was just one thing to be done: ensure this fresh-faced innocent never, ever dared to return here again. This would be for her own good; she shouldn’t be anywhere near the likes of him.

“I repeat, young lady, what do you think you’re doing?”

The luscious blond batted her lashes and offered a smile sweeter than caramels. “I think it perfectly bloody obvious, sir. Watering my horse. And do cease your bluster. You’re annoying the birds and no doubt the fish as well.”

Ashton blinked, stunned at the husky yet tart response.

It was far worse than he’d thought.

This hoyden was pure trouble and must be avoided at all costs.

* * *

Who was this exceedingly handsome man?

Georgiana could only stare in rapt fascination at the auburn-haired giant glaring at her so ferociously. The fact she’d actually managed a saucy response to his overbearing demand was a miracle in itself; her mind was currently a great pile of mud.

It was hard to exactly place his age, but he appeared to be younger than Rupert. Mature, but without any touches of silver in his hair. He dressed like a gentry landowner, linen shirt and gray waistcoat, simple cravat, black breeches, and polished Hessians. But there was something about his manner and bearing that spoke of great power and authority. Was he military? He wasn’t an aristocrat, she knew that much, for between her father, grandmother, sisters and brother, she’d met all of them, from newly emerged striplings to wizened ancients. Yet there was something else about him, too: his voice. He spoke in the brusque, lofty way of an old Etonian, yet there was an underlying accent he wasn’t fully able to conceal. Austrian, perhaps? Bavarian? Prussian? But that couldn’t be correct. Why would an obviously well-to-do foreign gentleman be rusticating in the backwaters of Norfolk…unless he had secrets, too?

How positively intriguing.

Georgiana’s smile widened. This mystery man didn’t know it yet, but she would charm the tale out of him. Within days at most.

The man didn’t smile back. If anything, his broad shoulders grew more rigid, his gray eyes now chips of ice. “You are overbold in your speech, miss.”

“So I’ve been told,” she replied, absently patting her mare, Starlight, while the animal drank from a small trough just outside the adorable stone dwelling that she very much wanted to explore. “But I must protest, sir. If you are going to chide me in front of an equine audience, I feel like we should be introduced first.”

“Mr. Ashton Latimer,” he bit out. “And if you weren’t trespassing on my land, wearing shirt and breeches, I would have no cause to chide you. Miss…?”

Georgiana laughed and twirled on the spot. “You like my ensemble? I confess both items are a trifle tight, but they are infinitely more comfortable than any riding habit. I loathe riding habits, they just get in the way. Although I must persist with stays, alas. With a bosom like mine, to go without would mean blows to the chin while I’m galloping.”

Mr. Latimer made a choking sound. “Young lady!”