Page 46 of Prince of Scandal

Nineteen goddamned years old.

Anger and humiliation churned through him until he actually felt ill. How had this happened again, the daughter of an English nobleman deceiving him so completely? Did he have the words gullible fool etched on his forehead? This was what happened when he trusted a woman. When he opened his heart. Perhaps his mother was correct after all. Duty marriages were the only ones that lasted because there were no hearts involved. No emotion. No lies. Just a neat business transaction to join two families together.

“I know exactly who the sister is,” Ashton bit out. “Our neighbor. Who calls herself Mrs. Gigi King.”

Franz’s eyes bulged briefly before returning to impassive. “So not a widow, then.”

“Not anything she claimed. Her real name is Lady Georgiana Nash and she’s the Earl of Kingsford’s youngest.”

“My word. I apologize for my role in this. I had no idea the sister was your new companion. I just sought to protect another young lady from that reprehensible man.”

Ashton shook his head. “No need to apologize,” he said firmly. “Protecting women from unscrupulous bastards is always the right thing to do.”

“Do you think the lady is aware?” replied Franz, his tone even more clipped than usual. “That Major Lord Osbourne is on his way to Norfolk?”

Hell and damnation.

Ashton tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. Yes, Georgiana had lied to him repeatedly about many things, but some comments had been true, he would place money on it. Like Osbourne never making her come, the interludes in coatrooms, and that she thought the man a cretin and didn’t love or miss him at all. Then there were longstanding facts such as the major having a history of luring women into doing things they did not wish to do, and that all three of his wives had died in oddly vague circumstances.

He had to tell Georgiana. Offer a warning at least, that her brother was escorting that sack of excrement here. Especially if Northam or Kingsford thought to foolishly insist she marry Osbourne because she’d been compromised or whatever had occurred in London. No wonder she’d fled the capital, that would have been one hell of a scandal. Wait. Was that what India Dunmore had discovered and tried to blackmail her with?

Ashton groaned as sympathy added into the mix of emotions pounding his brain. Society was altogether vicious toward young ladies if a mistake was deemed to have been made. And coatroom interludes between an unwed young noblewoman and a thrice-married man old enough to be her father simply couldn’t be explained away.

“I honestly don’t know if Georgiana is aware,” he replied with a sigh. “Someone might have sent a note. But with the state of the post, it is hard to say. Letters arrive after the fact all the time. It’s probably faster to send a letter to Berlin from here than London.”

“So you’ll tell her?” asked Franz, his gaze remaining troubled.

Ashton nodded. “No one deserves a surprise visit from Rupert Osbourne. I’ll go to Rose Cottage first thing in the morning, soon as the sun is up. Now, go to bed, old man. You’ve done more than enough labor today.”

His manservant pursed his lips as he rose to his feet. “I shall attend to this mess tomorrow. In future, the books will be shelved by title. Or author, if you prefer. Or topic. Perhaps I should make a list…a catalogue…”

Ashton stifled a smile as the older man bustled away. Exactly the kind of task Franz relished: turning chaos into order. And it was needed. Never again did he want to spend half a day searching for a book, with several other people in here disturbing his tranquil sanctuary.

But in the morning, he would go next door and offer his lover a warning. Then say goodbye, no matter how wrenchingly difficult it was.

He was done with Englishwomen. Utterly and completely done.

* * *

The tension in the parlor was almost unbearable.

From her position by the fireplace, standing because even the thought of sitting on her sore backside—or having Rupert sit beside her—gave her hives, Georgiana glared at the other four people present. Grandmother sat by herself on the best chaise, sipping yet another cup of tea. Xavier was sprawled across a chair, one foot on the ground and the other dangling over the arm. From a distance he appeared the very portrait of bored and careless young lord, but there was a cool watchfulness in his eyes that was thoroughly disconcerting. Like he might leap to his feet and brandish a concealed weapon at any moment.

Interestingly, Rupert had chosen to sit as far away from Xavier as possible. While he was attempting to appear fully at ease, even exchanging a few pleasantries with Grandmother, there was a certain set to his jaw that belied that. And his gaze kept flicking to Xav, like her brother was a rabid wolf. How strange. Surely a seasoned military man couldn’t be afraid of a viscount with lacy cuffs, overlong hair, and still a few months from reaching his majority?

Papa cleared his throat and mopped his brow with a handkerchief for about the sixty-fifth time. “Well. Here we all are. Few things to discuss, I daresay.”

Grandmother set down her teacup. “One thing. Georgiana and Major Lord Osbourne’s nuptials. You secured the special license like I requested, Kingsford?”

Georgiana gasped. “What?”

Her father avoided her gaze. “I have. However—”

“There is no however,” said Lady Kingsford icily. “These two will be married as soon as possible. I’m sure the local vicar can do the honors; just pay him a few shillings for the inconvenience and be done with it.”

Her stomach churning sickly, Georgiana could only stare at her relatives. Did anyone in this room actually care what she wanted? Did they truly think a man who had literally fled to the continent at the first sign of trouble would be a good husband? Ashton had jumped into a dangerous river to save her. And even when he had her secured over his lap for a harsh spanking, his questions and reassurance demonstrated that he cared. The two men, the two situations were so different it was nothing short of shocking. Her only comfort right now was in fact her sore rear; a reminder of Ashton’s masterful, glorious possession. Like he was here, supporting her through this bloody nonsense.

“I am not marrying Rupert,” Georgiana declared.