Page 73 of Prince of Scandal

“Oh dear,” said Lord Kingsford as he reached for a handkerchief to mop his brow. “Now, about that special license. Unfortunately I seem to have misplaced it. Thought it was in my drawer, but the damned thing disappeared the other day. Strangest thing. Bit premature for Mother to be fetching a vicar. Why can’t you wait a few weeks for the banns, Osbourne?”

“Because I don’t want to wait,” said Rupert, his gaze frighteningly cold and flat, like a snake about to strike. “I’m far too much in love.”

Georgiana went still. Was this deep sense of dread, this paralyzing terror that had her frozen to the spot, the same way those three other women had felt in their marriage to him? Had he been amiable as long as the money appeared, or had there always been a sense of underlying menace?

“You don’t know what love is,” she blurted. “And I’m not pregnant. My menses arrived this morning, quite happy to show everyone the cloth if necessary. So no need for a wedding at all.”

Rupert stared at her, his gaze filling with such hatred that she flinched. Then he laughed. “We’ll just have to try again, my dear. On our wedding night and every night after that.”

“I’m not marrying you. Ever. You are revolting in every way.”

In the blink of an eye, Rupert swung around and curled his arm about her father’s neck, squeezing hard and pressing the dagger tip against his throat until a bright red bead of blood appeared. “I’m giving you a choice, Gigi. We’ll shortly be on our way to Gretna Green; if you accompany me to my carriage right now, your father will remain unharmed. Bound and gagged, his library safe emptied of funds, but unharmed. If, however, you continue your stubborn tantrum, he will have an unfortunate accident. As will your little…prayer friend.”

Oh God.

Rupert was so confident in his invincibility, he was actually hurting an earl. He’d run mad! But his threats certainly weren’t empty ones. He’d already successfully negotiated three accidents. Well, four including Dorothy Carr’s maid. There could even be more. And not for the world would she risk Phoebe or her father’s wellbeing. Besides. Gretna Green was at least three or four days away by carriage.

A lot could happen in that time.

“Very well,” said Georgiana. “I’ll come with you.”

“Gigi, no!” shouted Phoebe.

She stared at her friend. “Remember yourself, Mrs. Alan. You must return home, and continue spreading the word to righteous soldiers.”

“I…I…yes. Return home and spread the word. That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Lord Kingsford gulped and the blood bead became a trickle. “You’ll regret this, Osbourne. My son will hunt you down. Again.”

The major paled, but soon regathered himself. “Northam surprised me once, but that won’t happen a second time. In a fair fight, I’ll win. That whelp needs to learn a lesson in minding his own damned business. To leave the important matters to real men. Now, Gigi and I have a journey to begin, so come along, my dear. You may assist your father in emptying his safe. Actually…first, restrain your friend. Tear that hem.”

Hating Rupert like she’d never hated anyone before, Georgiana ripped pieces of Phoebe’s hem and bound her ankles and wrists as loosely as she dared. Then she followed the two men into the library and watched in seething silence while her father offered two heavy leather purses.

“Adequate to start,” said Rupert, his lip curling. “But I’ll expect much more in future. Especially if you value your daughter’s health.”

Lord Kingsford nodded, then draped a cloak around her shoulders. Something solid immediately banged against her thigh. A weapon?

“Not fashionable, sweetheart, but it will protect you from…the elements,” he said, his gaze both frightened and intent.

Before Georgiana could reply, Rupert began dragging her from the room.

Bloody hell. This was it.

CHAPTER 16

Major Lord Rupert Osbourne was going to die. With the number of people wanting to send him directly to hell for his vicious and remorseless crimes, really, it was only a question of who would get to him first.

Ashton glanced around the parlor at the group silently readying themselves for battle. When Phoebe had arrived back at Wigmore Street near-incoherent as she spoke of Osbourne’s latest offences: cutting and robbing Lord Kingsford, tying them both up, then absconding with Georgiana in his carriage, Ashton had known a moment of such black fury, it was a wonder he remained upright. He’d wanted to ride out at once, but Sir Alan had gently pointed out he had no weapons, no knowledge of northern roads, and would be far more likely to succeed with assistance. So they’d sent out urgent notes, and now the Duke of Lansbury, Benjamin Carr, and Lord Northam had joined him as the force to end this once and for all. The only people absent were Lord Kingsford, currently being treated for cuts and bruises by a physician, and the dowager countess, who had chosen to remain at home and quell any gossip. More like deny any knowledge of Osbourne’s conduct and pretend she’d never strongly advocated for the man to wed her granddaughter.

But everyone here had one goal, and that goal was vengeance. Lansbury had brought a half dozen armed footmen, and Northam’s extra three had muttered something about being former military. They would all be mounted on horseback; this way, men would always be available to hold lanterns to light the way or fan out in villages and towns to check each inn for news and clues.

Every member of the rescue party knew how to defend themselves, unlike his darling Georgiana, who had thrust herself in harm’s way to protect her father and Phoebe.

Pure of heart but bold and reckless, as per usual.

A boulder lodged in Ashton’s throat and he actually pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress a roar of rage. Of fear. Now that he’d found her, a future without Georgiana was incomprehensible. And while Osbourne wanted her alive at present to wed for an income source, there was always the danger he might change his mind. Flee abroad once more. There were several ports to choose from, after all.

“Do you prefer pistol or sword, Your Highness?”