Page 31 of Prince of Scandal

She turned her head at Ashton’s sharp words. How interesting, that just the sight of him could make her feel better. She’d felt so bad this morning outside the church, dropping the note she’d written with a piece of Phoebe’s writing paper, and practically running away from him. No doubt he thought her a prime candidate for Bedlam. But the risk of India looking out the parsonage window and witnessing an intimate conversation had been too great. Until there was a plan, a way to beat the witch at her own game and remove all the power of what she’d learned, they simply couldn’t be seen together.

“I should think it obvious,” Georgiana replied with a heavy sigh. “I am attempting to skim stones across the river.”

“Come away from there. The Yare is colder and deeper and more dangerous than you think. And those branches are covered with moss.”

She scowled. “I am not a child, Ashton.”

Her lover frowned and folded his arms where he stood on the bank near the dwelling’s front door. “I’m well aware of that. Come inside…I brought strudel,” he added coaxingly.

Gah. It was a sad state of affairs when even the promise of heavenly sweets wasn’t enough to ease the tempest whipping around and around in her mind. And the worst part was, she couldn’t even confess her troubles or ask for his counsel, because he believed all the lies she’d told. What exactly was she supposed to say? Oh, by the by, Mr. Latimer, my name isn’t Gigi King and I’m not a widow. I’m Lady Georgiana Nash, youngest daughter of the Earl of Kingsford. Also, the only reason I’m here in Brundall is because I had intimate relations in coatrooms with a man not my husband and we were caught…oh yes, and there is a tiny chance I might be carrying his child…

Georgiana winced. Ugh. How tawdry it all was. What a twit she’d been to think her interludes with Rupert were a good idea. Had he ever intended to marry her? Or were those promises to free her from Grandmother’s tyranny just a ruse to lift her skirts? Rupert had certainly seemed to enjoy dangling marriage in front of her so she trotted after him like a little lamb. Perverse bastard. A slap to the face wouldn’t be nearly enough. Pippa’s romance novels offered rather diabolical ideas for the villain’s demise, and in all honesty, Rupert being catapulted into the Thames with stone shoes was sounding better and better each day.

But enough thinking about that wretched man. Not when an infinitely superior version stood twenty feet away, offering dessert.

“You are naughty, Ashton, leading me into temptation with strudel,” she said eventually, tossing her last stone into the river.

“Georgiana, what happened? And don’t you dare say nothing,” he added sternly. “It must have been during the sewing circle, for you seemed quite cheerful before that.”

Her shoulders slumped. Once again, Ashton saw straight through her. But she couldn’t tell him everything, or even some of the details. Was there a snippet she could share, something that wasn’t an outright falsehood? Even the thought of telling him another lie gave her hives. “India and I…had words. When we went to the parsonage kitchen to fetch the tea trolley.”

“I see. What about? Do I need to speak to Sir Alan?”

“No!” Georgiana replied hastily, even as her heart fluttered at the offer. There was something very appealing about a gentleman who stood ready to march into battle for you. “It’s a silly thing. India wrote to a friend of hers in London, asking about me. And her friend revealed…ah…certain unwelcome details about…my family. Things I certainly wouldn’t want shared. Now India is threatening to tell everyone here, but if I stay away from you, because you and she were meant to be together, then India will keep quiet and we will be perfect friends.”

Ashton grimaced. “That girl is a damned menace. I completely understand you not wanting gossip to be shared, we all have things in our past that should remain there. Especially when it pertains to family. Are they…er…rather scandalous?”

“Quite the opposite,” she replied gloomily. “Rather stuffy. My grandmother is an absolute horror, the worst stickler you could imagine. We…we do not get on at all. My father is so amiable, but she leads him about by the nose. Neither approved of Rupert. It caused quite a rift, including a grueling family meeting. Both my sister’s husbands too! That is why I’m in Brundall rather than London. I was banished.”

“Hell. I suppose they felt all high and mighty that your late husband turned out to be a sewer rat. But to continue on long after his death? Ridiculous.”

Georgiana shuddered, her fingers clenching into fists. “You have no idea. It is utterly humiliating. I mean, the only reason I stepped out with Rupert was to escape my grandmother. When I say she is a horror, I am not being dramatic. The nasty games she plays…the way she manipulates me and my sisters and brother…the smiling insults…”

Ashton stepped forward, closer to her low-hanging tree, and held out his hand. “I can see how upset she makes you, so please come down from there. We’ll talk in the dwelling on the nice, safe, moss-free chaise.”

“Oh, very well,” she grumbled, hitching up her gown hem and taking a step toward him. Only for her foot to slip on a damp patch and skid out from under her, sending her wildly off balance.

Georgiana shrieked, her arms flailing as she attempted to right herself. Instead, she fell backward into the river.

The chill hit her like a punch to the solar plexus. Cold. So damned cold. Horribly dark. Like a nightmare. Which way was up? It was so hard to tell. All the silt and mud was clutching at her body, trying to suffocate her. Equally alarming: her gown suddenly weighed more than a carriage, tangling around her legs and dragging her further into the frightening depths. Something slimy slithered past her ankle, making her flinch. Then something else sharp and unyielding grazed her elbow, and she jerked at the flash of pain. But her lungs were burning. Begging for air.

Need to breathe. Need to breathe…

Abruptly she was wrenched upward, the awful darkness falling away. Now all she could see was blessedly gray skies. Greedily, she gulped in air, then immediately succumbed to a coughing fit.

“Georgiana. Georgiana!”

After several blinks her rescuer stopped being a fuzzy shadow and solidified into Ashton. Of course it was Ashton. Her hero.

“My hero,” she mumbled, coughing some more. Ugh, this was disgusting. An impromptu bath in the River Yare, fully clothed, was even worse than slipping in mud. Why had she scrambled up onto the tree branch? What an utter twit.

“Hold on, little one,” he replied, cradling her in his arms as he hauled her out of the river, a painstaking stagger up the shrub-covered bank but somehow not dropping her or losing his footing.

Ashton was more than a hero, he was a prince among men.

“You’re a prince,” said Georgiana, clinging to him like a barnacle as she began shivering uncontrollably.

He actually halted on the steps of the dwelling. “What?”