Page 77 of Prince of Scandal

Carefully dismounting and grimacing as his cramped, aching legs hit the ground, Ashton glanced at the other men. “How shall we do this? Concoct a story or just stroll in, drop some coins on the counter, and ask for information?”

“Stroll in,” said Northam, a positively devilish expression settling on his face. “Look over there, that carriage at the end of the row. It’s fucking crested.”

Lansbury chuckled. “My God. He couldn’t help himself.”

Carr’s fists clenched. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I suddenly find myself with the vigor of someone half my age.”

“Then we’ll go in,” said Ashton softly. “And end him.”

While the footmen remained outside, fanning out around the buildings to ensure no last-minute escapes, he, Northam, Lansbury, and Carr entered the inn. A neatly dressed, dark-haired lad was dozing behind the counter, but shot to his feet at the sound of their shoes crossing the wooden floor.

“Good evening, sirs,” he said respectfully. “Welcome to the Good Queen Bess. Is it a meal you’re after? Drinks perhaps? I’m afraid we only have one bedchamber remaining, but we’re always happy to put pallets on the floor if you don’t mind sleeping a bit rough.”

The duke stepped forward and smiled at the lad, then deliberately placed a shiny guinea on the counter. “I’m the Duke of Lansbury.”

The lad gulped, but his hand darted out and the coin disappeared from view. “Tell me precisely what you’re after, Your Grace, and I’ll do my best to assist.”

“My companions and I are looking for someone. We think he might be staying here.”

“Man o’ quality perhaps? Lord O?”

Ashton pushed forward. “Yes. Osbourne. And a young lady. Blond curly hair, very beautiful.”

“They’re here,” said the lad sourly. “Don’t know how a sweet lassie like that up and wed the likes of him. Ma says he’s a pig. M’father almost clipped him ’round the ears when he insulted Ma’s cooking and the brandy. Is he in trouble?”

“Yes,” said Northam bluntly. “It would be better if the guests in the rooms surrounding his were moved, and the staff here did not become involved. We will, of course, provide generous compensation for any damages, and trust in your discretion. This is a matter sanctioned at the very highest level.”

“Like that, is it?” said a beefy older man with a pale, grizzled face and salt-and-pepper hair as he strode through the arched door. “I’m the proprietor, Mr. Ireland. The gent you seek is in Room Six. Up the stairs, end of the hall on your left. Two windows on the south side, another two on the west side that you can climb out onto a flat part of the roof for a cheroot. Don’t get close to the edge, though—bit slippery there, no railing, and it’s a fall onto cobblestones.”

“Much obliged, sir,” said Ashton, inclining his head. “We shall endeavor to keep any fuss to a minimum.”

The innkeeper smirked. “No pistols inside, eh? Bullets are bloody hard to remove from brick. Give me a few minutes to clear a path.”

While they waited, Northam and Carr returned outside to fetch their weapons.

Lansbury stationed himself at the foot of the stairs, glancing up them with an expression of icy hatred. “I should have said, Your Highness, how much I appreciate you coming to me with the information you had. I’m well aware I’ve not treated you fairly. At all. I deeply regret that. Osbourne was…persuasive. Virginia was so scared. God damn it. I…I apologize. And I’ll live with the guilt forever. My girl…”

Ashton winced at the heartbreak in the word. “Osbourne persuaded everyone. And he’s always had friends in high places, a solid family name, and enough funds to buy silence. That is a powerful combination. I hold no grudge toward you.”

“You’ll wed the Nash gel?”

“If King Frederick permits it.”

“Ah, yes. Not all roses so close to the throne,” said the duke, smiling briefly. “But I wish you well. Should you host a ball, my duchess and I will gladly attend.”

Ashton inclined his head, understanding the olive branch for what it was. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

At last, Northam and Carr returned with the satchels.

“I did bring pistols, if required,” said Northam as he distributed weapons. “Plenty of daggers, too. And rope. Oh yes, and a small mallet that is remarkably efficient at breaking fingers and toes. I studied the inn walls; unfortunately we cannot enter the adjoining chamber and leap from window to window—it’s too far and nothing to grab. So only one entry point. But footmen are waiting below the roof part. Osbourne won’t be leaving the Good Queen Bess alive.”

Shortly afterward, the innkeeper descended the stairs in his stockinged feet, herding several very sleepy and confused-looking people in nightgowns. Then he handed over a brass key to Lansbury, and gestured for them to begin.

“Onward,” said Carr, holding up his dagger.

The four of them exchanged glances, their expressions grim and purposeful in the flickering lantern light. Finally, the moment of vengeance they’d all been waiting for.

Slowly, carefully, they made their way up the stairs, each wincing a little at the creaks and groans of the ancient wood, but not allowing themselves to halt. Then they walked as swiftly and quietly as possible to the end of the hallway and Room Six.