Page 70 of Prince of Scandal

But she only had a few hours before Rupert returned and the true battle began.

Bloody hell.

* * *

“Welcome, Your Highness. May I take your coat?”

Ashton nodded and handed the garment to Lansbury’s butler. The note to come here had arrived just an hour earlier, but it had seemed to take an eternity to travel the short distance between Wigmore Street and St. James’s Square.

What had the duke discovered? Ashton needed to know, yet equally, he wasn’t sure how much more Osbourne crime he could take. Especially knowing the man hadn’t been held accountable for anything in the past ten years.

“Good morning…Your Highness.”

He turned to see Benjamin Carr cooling his heels in the entrance hall, and winced. “Mr. Carr. Allow me to apologize for the other day. I wasn’t sure if you would speak to the real me or not.”

The merchant shrugged. “It was a good disguise, but my wife remembered your unusual height, and when you mentioned the connection to Lansbury she put two and two together. I’ll admit a certain unease in hearing His Grace’s news; while I’m grateful he’s joined the cause…I’m angry, too, that a word from him got action when we fought for bloody years…”

“I understand that well,” said Ashton sympathetically. “I might have a title, but as a foreigner, it was too damned easy for Osbourne to ensure every door in England was slammed in my face. I just want to know how. How he got away with three deaths.”

A throat cleared discreetly behind them, then the butler gestured for both to follow him. This time it wasn’t to the duchess’s blue parlor, but the duke’s library; an enormous, rather forbidding space of dark wood, crimson-patterned wallpaper and carpets, thousands of leather-bound books, priceless gilt-framed paintings and not quite enough candelabra to banish the corner shadows.

The duke himself sat behind a carved oak desk, his expression polite but grim. “Thank you for being so prompt. Take a seat, Your Highness. Mr. Carr.”

Ashton sank onto an overstuffed chaise, while Benjamin perched on a high-backed chair. “So then. What is the news?”

Lansbury’s lips twisted. “I beg your patience and indulgence if I falter…what I’ve learned in the past few days has been very, very difficult to take. Mr. Carr…your frustration and fury is entirely understandable. Make no mistake, you were deliberately treated the way you were. They knew…they damned well knew…the deaths were suspicious. And yet did nothing. Some of the men involved have since retired, but others are still constables and magistrates and Bow Street Runners. And they each received an anonymous donation when the investigation was complete and the case officially ruled a tragic accident.”

“Bribery,” spat Mr. Carr. “Utterly unsurprising when Osbourne himself so loves blackmail.”

“Precisely. I must also advise that Osbourne offered a rare moment of truth when he threatened Lady Georgiana with shackles like he’d done in the army. There were several incidents, complaints of ill treatment of ensigns and prisoners alike. All were dismissed…but the ensigns involved did receive a sum, depending on who they were and the likelihood they could stir the pot. Two were actually offered immediate promotions if they agreed to withdraw their complaint, and they did.”

Ashton swore. “So him shackling Virginia caused those bruises you saw. He told me in Norfolk she needed to be taught a lesson.”

Lansbury audibly exhaled. “Yes. As you said. Patterns.”

“How the hell did Osbourne get away with such conduct breaches, though? I thought the British army had standards. Surely Wellington wouldn’t tolerate such things under his command.”

“He wouldn’t,” the duke replied. “Others, however…I wasn’t aware of this, but Brigadier Berwick is a cousin of Osbourne’s mother. At her request, Berwick did a great deal of tidying up, but also apparently threatened to leave the army if Osbourne suffered any consequences such as loss of pay, demotion, or dishonorable discharge. After all the personnel losses in the Peninsular War and over in the colonies, the army literally could not afford to lose someone as experienced and senior as Berwick. So it was for his sake, not Osbourne’s. But it meant the major was untouchable.”

Mr. Carr leaned back in his chair, his gaze stormy. “I can understand the army closing ranks around one of their own. But it doesn’t quite explain how Osbourne managed the deaths of three wives at his country estate. Surely there must have been someone other than Dottie’s maid who didn’t believe his cockamamy stories.”

“I believe I can help with that, sir.”

They all turned to see a young, lean, vaguely familiar golden-haired man saunter into the library, his calamine-blue jacket, embroidered silver waistcoat, lacy-cuffed shirt, and peach trousers a startling contrast with the somber surroundings.

Georgiana’s brother? The viscount who knew so much and revealed so little?

“Northam,” said the duke, rather respectfully, considering the disparity in their titles and age.

Yes, it is.

The young man grinned and sketched a bow. “At your service, Your Grace. Your Highness…yes, I am Gigi’s older brother…no, I do not wish to make a dawn appointment. Mr. Carr, good to see you again.”

Ashton blinked at the threat made and withdrawn. While he was a decent shot and more than competent with a rapier, there was something about this young viscount that made him glad they weren’t enemies. No doubt the eye-wateringly colorful clothing fooled many, but beneath the casual charm there was a hardness in his eyes, not to mention the bruised and scratched knuckles, that suggested a man who would take a great many secrets to the grave. “Lord Northam. Er…glad to hear it.”

Mr. Carr actually smiled at Northam. “My lord. One of my best customers. You were saying?”

The viscount sank onto the chaise next to Ashton and swung one booted foot over the other. “When Osbourne absconded to France after the scandal with my sister, I would have happily let him go. I’ve never liked the man or the fact that Gigi set her cap for him. A few vague yet unpleasant rumors, you see, however nothing with solid evidence. But I was instructed to bring him back…relatively unharmed. So he retained all fingernails and toenails and spent no time befriending rats at the bottom of a well.”