Page 76 of Prince of Scandal

“First floor, naturally,” said Rupert. “Nowhere near the tavern. Hate the noise and carry on…damnation, man! Careful with that luggage! If you break anything I’ll have your hide!”

Georgiana’s cheeks burned with sheer embarrassment at his manner. “Perhaps—”

“Not interested in your opinion, Gigi. Now, get upstairs and right your appearance, you look a fright. I do not dine with crumpled scarecrows. I’ll wait here.”

The innkeeper cleared her throat. “Please follow me, madam. I’ll have hot water sent up. Perhaps some nice rose soap? I make it myself.”

“That would be lovely,” whispered Georgiana as they ascended the narrow wooden stairs leading to the first-floor chambers. “Do forgive Major Lord Osbourne. He is not a happy traveler.”

“I can tell. Is there anything else you need, my lady?”

“Could I trouble you for some clean cloths? For, er…”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Ireland, patting her arm. “I also have a homemade tonic. Tastes terrible but halts those wretched belly gripes in the shake of a lamb’s tail.”

“I would appreciate that,” said Georgiana, the brisk kindness almost bringing tears to her eyes. “It’s been a very long day.”

The innkeeper frowned. “Is all in order? My husband doesn’t take kindly to brutes under his roof, and Lord Salisbury is quite understanding of his stance.”

The truth sat on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring this good woman and her husband into a fight that wasn’t theirs. Especially when she didn’t know what Rupert would do to retaliate. He didn’t blink at killing or robbery or abduction when it came to members of the ton; strangers wouldn’t matter a whit and his cruel spite could ruin countless livelihoods here in Hatfield.

“I thank you for your kind concern, but if you could just bring up the water and soap and other items, I would be most grateful. Oh, and Major Lord Osbourne prefers beef. Rare.”

“For you? I make a tasty vegetable soup, if I do say so myself. Mops up well with fresh bread and butter.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Mrs. Ireland smiled and patted her arm again. “You just wait here, lovie, and we’ll have you restored to rights in a flash. After a hearty supper and a good night’s sleep, everything will be better.”

Georgiana nodded. Hopefully it wouldn’t take that long.

Hurry, Ashton.

* * *

Were there lights up ahead, or was his weary mind just hallucinating?

Ashton forced himself to ride on, even though his inner thighs and backside would never forgive him, his nose had gone numb in the night chill, and he might not be able to prise his gloved but cramped fingers free of the reins. He had no idea of the time, but the moon was high in the sky and actually illuminating the road ahead alongside the outriders with their lanterns. Each little town and village they’d passed through he’d known a moment of hope, and each time that hope had been mostly dashed…apart from learning they were on the right track. Everyone remembered Osbourne and Georgiana, even if names hadn’t been given. The old man and the beautiful blonde had been a common phrase, albeit the former swiftly amended to arrogant nasty bastard when it became apparent the group held no love for the major.

Surely they would catch up with them soon. He could barely see straight now, Carr was visibly exhausted, even Lansbury was wincing in his saddle. Only Northam looked like he could easily ride for several more hours, bloody young pup.

“Any idea where we are?” Ashton called.

“Nearing Hatfield,” said Northam, as he slowed his mount to a trot. “We have a choice; Lord Salibury’s seat, Hatfield House, is nearby, both myself and His Grace are acquainted with the marquess. I’m sure he would gladly offer lodgings, even at this ungodly hour. Or we can carry on to the stagecoach inn, the Good Queen Bess. Entirely up to you.”

Ashton briefly closed his eyes. He had actually met Lord Salisbury while at court, and although his body cried out yes at the thought of aristocratic lodgings, he didn’t want to involve the marquess in this matter, especially not knowing where his loyalties lay. In saying that, though, it was hard to imagine Osbourne choosing Hatfield House, simply because Salisbury would know he and Georgiana weren’t married. There would be questions aplenty.

“The inn,” he replied. “Osbourne is pretending they are married; he couldn’t do that with Lord Salisbury. I don’t think he’d risk going there.”

Northam nodded, a small smile curling his lips. “My thoughts exactly. The inn isn’t far at all, perhaps half a mile. Let’s go.”

“Come on, Carr,” said Lansbury, actually sitting up straighter in his saddle. “I have a feeling about this place. We’re closing in on the bastard.”

The merchant gazed ahead at the flickering lights. “Let’s end this once and for all.”

Soon they were galloping toward the inn in dual formation, four armed riders with lanterns at the front, followed by Ashton and Northam, then Lansbury and Carr, and the rest of the footmen bringing up the rear. Each man crouched low over his horse, urging his tired mount to keep going for just a bit longer. Every part of him hurt, but just like Lansbury, he had a feeling about this inn. The Good Queen Bess was exactly the kind of place where Osbourne would stay; he certainly wouldn’t travel after dark.

As they approached the large red brick inn, they each slowed their horse to a walk. Several lanterns and torches burned outside the entrance, and despite the hour, four stableboys raced out to attend them, promising hay and oats, fresh water, and a thorough rub down for the horses.