Page 42 of Prince of Scandal

“Last few items, sir. My apologies for the length of the meeting!”

Ashton smiled faintly at his steward, Talbot. The young man might be a little disheveled, with overlong blond hair, spectacles that sat too large on his face, and a lanky body that clothes seemed to hang from…but he’d taken over from his father who came from a long line of excellent stewards, and had a mind like a steel trap. What Talbot lacked in polish, he more than made up for in estate knowledge and forward-thinking ideas. Even better, he’d not even blinked in protest to having the meeting here in the blue parlor rather than in the library.

That room was almost sacred now, after his most recent interlude with Georgiana. Remembering her spread out on his desk, soaking him in her essence as he came in her backside was so etched in his mind, it had become nigh-on impossible to concentrate.

“No need to apologize,” Ashton said quickly. “These are all necessary discussions. Especially if we’re going to have the summer that the older folk are insisting we will.”

Talbot nodded as he shifted restlessly on his chair, then reached for another slice of fruitcake, which he downed in two bites. “Pa agrees with them. It could be bad for crops—much better to turn the land over to grazing for a spell. One meadow at a time, so they all have a chance to grow back.”

“Sounds feasible. Calculate the numbers and bring me a report.”

“Will do, sir. Now, I just need you to approve expenditure for the stable roof repairs…oh yes, and another offer has come in for the riverside dwelling with a small surrounding piece of land. An increase of a thousand pounds!”

Ashton recoiled. Sell the dwelling? When it now held so many priceless memories of him and Georgiana together? Her first orgasm, the first time she’d taken him in her mouth, their first picnic…her first punishment spanking after falling into the river.

No. Hell no.

“I am not interested in selling,” he replied, a touch too sharply.

“Oh!” said Talbot, awkwardly adjusting his spectacles. “But last month you said you might consider it.”

“Changed my mind.”

The steward made a note, his pencil flying across the paper, then tucked it into a plain leather case and rose to his feet. “Very good, sir. I shall see you next month. Thank you for signing all those documents, also.”

“Good day, Talbot,” said Ashton, quite relieved to be done when he wanted only to ponder his upcoming picnic with Georgiana. And their talk. “I hope you know how much I value your work.”

The young man blushed. “You pay me a tidy sum. I’ve saved enough to rent my own cottage. Now I can start courting a lass I fancy, buy her sweets and trinkets from Norwich and all.”

Ashton nodded gravely. “I wish you both well. She would be lucky to step out with a man like you.”

Talbot actually hesitated. “Really? Even with my spectacles?”

“Never underestimate the power of intelligence, lad. Just find a girl who likes you just as you are. Who you can be yourself with. If she wishes you to hide that brain or not wear your spectacles, then she is not right for you.”

“Yes, sir,” said Talbot, grinning. “Thank you, sir.”

Ashton shook his head as the lad whistled cheerily and left the parlor. Young love. Sometimes it was hard to remember being that age, so eager and clumsy and confident and hopeless all at the same time. If only he’d had someone to give him good counsel. But there had been no warm, fatherly chats with his sire, only lectures about duty and the superiority of royal bloodlines. Except for that one time, after the scandal with Virginia and all those ludicrous lies. That day, his father’s diplomatic mask had slipped to reveal such icy rage that Ashton had actually been afraid of the man. His parents returning to Prussia and putting distance between themselves and him had been the least hurtful aspect of the whole debacle.

Sighing, he leaned back in his upholstered chair and gazed out the window. Which didn’t help at all, as the view offered a glimpse of Rose Cottage’s thatched roof behind the row of trees at the fence line. Georgiana shouldn’t be over there. She should be here, with him. And tomorrow he would tell her so. Which meant, of course, that he would have to reveal who he really was, and he had no idea how Georgiana would react to that. Before the scandal most ladies were enraptured by his title, but there had been some who shied away, finding it too overwhelming. Or perhaps they guessed the truth: that marrying a prince came with a level of scrutiny and gossip and out-and-out nonsense that no sensible, self-respecting woman would want. In truth, it was hard to imagine his shirt-and-breeches-wearing hoyden in full court dress, murmuring behind a fan, and curtsying deeply to those who outranked her.

Damn it. If only he could wed Georgiana as Ashton Latimer. Except if he put a false name on a marriage license, it would be invalid. Thankfully she was a widow and above the age of consent. Trying to explain all this to a prospective father-in-law would be downright impossible. Especially if said father was on the fringe of society, perhaps even remembered the scandal, or was somehow acquainted with the Duke of Lansbury or Major Lord Osbourne.

Ashton shuddered. God willing, a family acquaintance with the new Duke of Exton was the only connection Georgiana had to the ton.

“There you are, Your Highness!”

He glanced over to the parlor doorway to see Franz hovering, a rather peculiar expression on his face. On anyone else he might call it trepidation. “Indeed. I just finished a meeting with Talbot.”

“In the parlor?” asked his manservant, like the room was some sort of hovel.

“I did not wish to have a business meeting in the library today.”

Franz pursed his lips as he entered the room and halted next to Ashton’s chair. “You had one with Mrs. King in there.”

Oh, here it was. Older Prussian manservant donning the mantle of mother hen against a possible interloper.

“Come now, Franz,” Ashton said patiently. “You surely don’t object to my having a lady visitor? When you are forever urging me to find a nice companion? I should add, Mrs. King is a great admirer of your strudel. Said she could exist on that alone.”