Page 6 of Prince of Scandal

But before she could tease him about it, Mr. Latimer turned and mounted his stallion once more. What a fine seat he had. Almost as good as hers.

“Farewell, Mrs. King,” he said coldly. “I wish you well in your endeavors at Rose Cottage, but that particular estate’s boundary ends at the two oak trees over there. I trust in future you’ll remember that…and to dress appropriately.”

Georgiana beamed. A dare if ever she’d heard one. “Until next time then, Mr. Latimer.”

“There won’t be a next time. Good day, madam.”

And with that, he galloped away across the meadow toward an imposing cream-stone manor house.

“Hmmm,” mused Georgiana as she swung herself up onto her own saddle and clicked the reins, urging Starlight back toward Rose Cottage. Despite Mr. Latimer’s warning, they would indeed be meeting again, and very soon. But first things first…she needed to make some enquiries, find out what the locals knew about him and if they were willing to talk.

Wait. Mrs. March! While the thought of a vicar’s wife regularly calling had made her grimace, who else would have such detailed knowledge of, and weekly interactions with, all Brundall residents?

A slow smile curled her lips. Rupert had been the worst of skunks, but she’d learned one important military lesson from him: know the truth of your opposition before fully engaging. At her next encounter with Mr. Latimer, she would hold the upper hand and be able to minx him into a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Poor man. He had no chance whatsoever.

CHAPTER 2

Shards of soft dawn light were peeping through his bedchamber curtains, and he could hear the faint chirps of a dawn chorus, but Ashton scowled like a bear woken from hibernation.

After staring at the ceiling for hours, when he’d finally fallen asleep, he’d dreamed of her. Georgiana King, sitting at a dressing table in a lacy nightgown, brushing her hair. Except then she’d offered him the hairbrush and oh-so-prettily enquired if he would warm her backside with it, as she had indeed been a very naughty girl.

Naturally, he’d jolted awake before doing so. But now he lay here with a stone-hard cock, the desire to take Georgiana in hand more pressing than the need to breathe. All he wanted to hear was the pleading moans of a wayward woman ensnared in the heady web of pain-licked pleasure. To feel the sweet heat of her disciplined flesh, and to inhale the musky scent of her arousal before tormenting her with his tongue.

Which was utterly ridiculous. He shouldn’t be thinking of Mrs. King at all. She might be a stunningly beautiful widow, but was far too young, a brazen, outspoken, rule-breaking hoyden, and English. Certainly not the woman for him.

Wrenching back his sheets and embroidered quilt, Ashton climbed out of bed and marched over to his washstand. The water was fresh from the previous evening but would be chilly without the warmth of a fire to heat it. A perfect punishment for his disobedient cock and foolish brain.

After stepping behind the bathing screen, he gritted his teeth and began a sponge bath, mumbling curses as the icy-cold water trickled over his sleep-warmed bare skin.

“Your Highness?”

Ashton sighed. “Just taking a sponge bath, Franz.”

“But the water hasn’t been warmed,” his manservant replied, heels clicking audibly in frustration. “And I haven’t replaced the soap!”

“I wanted a refreshing start to the day. Lay out some clothing for me, will you? I’m taking the cart to Norwich for some timber to repair that fence line between here and Rose Cottage. I promised I’d bring extra for Reverend March, also. The gate to the parsonage needs replacing.”

A long silence met his words. Then those heels clicked again. “Of course, Your Highness. Another manservant might wonder why you will be undertaking such an errand when you avoid Norwich and also have ample staff to complete the task…but not I.”

Ashton snorted as he dried himself briskly with a towel. “Other manservants aren’t as discreet and well-trained as you, Franz.”

“That is true.”

“I just feel like a drive, is all.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Damn it, he could practically hear the man’s lips twitching. “This has nothing whatsoever to do with our new neighbor, so banish that thought from your mind.”

“Another manservant might comment that Mrs. King is staying in Rose Cottage, so your statement is partially false.”

Ashton peered over the bathing screen. “Another prince might be puzzled why the hell he hasn’t dismissed you for that salty tone alone.”

“Because you’d be lost without me, Your Highness,” Franz replied as he fetched newly laundered shirt, breeches, stockings, waistcoat, and cravat.

An unfortunate fact. Fourteen years he’d relied on the man, the only person who had loyally stood by him through and after the scandal. In turn, though, he’d supported Franz’s solemn declaration of a preference for men, and finding love with Tommy. Not to mention constantly soothing ruffled feathers in the kitchens because of Franz’s tendency to commandeer the room for strudel-making.