Page 51 of Prince of Scandal

For a long, rather harrowing moment, both her sisters merely stared, wide-eyed. Oh God. After years of mischief and misdeeds, had she finally broken them? Gabriel and Finlay would be furious.

Then Pippa blinked and cleared her throat. “Clever girl. Time is exactly what you need. I hate to bring this up again, but I’m assuming…your menses still haven’t come?”

Georgiana sighed and shook her head. “No, damn it all.”

“This is just so foolish. They are behaving like menses are the mail coach, always arriving on this day at this time. It is far too early to assume you are with child, even if it doesn’t come. In one of my midwifery tomes, it says bleeding can be delayed for many reasons. If a lady is too excitable or nervous, too thin, too sad…if she does too much exercise…lots of things! I am quite sure a physician wouldn’t make a pronouncement until you had missed at least a few bleeds.”

“Quite right,” said Lilian. “And had other symptoms like sore breasts or feeling sick and napping a lot. That’s how my physician knew I was expecting Amanda.”

“But even if you had missed a few bleeds,” continued Pippa, “there are reputable herbalists who offer cups of tea. No woman should be trapped into an unwanted marriage.”

Georgiana nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. “To be honest,” she said slowly, “I think it is just an excuse. Grandmother well knows there is no need for haste; suspiciously early ton babies are born all the time. Other ladies travel abroad. Or drink the tea. She just wants the scandal to be over. My happiness doesn’t matter one bit.”

Pippa nodded grimly. “That is true. Happiness didn’t matter when she tried to force a marriage between me and Devonshire, or when she arranged Lilian’s match to pay off Father’s debts. But this Mr. Latimer. Do you think you could be happy with him?”

“I know I could,” she whispered. “With Ashton I feel…safe. Cared for. Like being exactly who I am isn’t a terrible thing. And the orgasms. Good God. I had no idea.”

After settling Amanda back in her cradle, Lilian grinned. “Then he is exactly who you should be with. Not that wretched Major Lord Osbourne. I know family honor and all that, but I still wish Xavier hadn’t gone after him when he fled to France.”

“Xav is a law unto himself,” said Pippa irritably. “But we need to come up with a plan. Osbourne is military—can’t we just bellow ‘Die hard, 57th, Die hard!’ and hope he follows orders?”

Georgiana giggled, the weight on her shoulders lifting slightly. “That would require bravery. Rupert is a bloody coward.”

“Then let’s eat apple tarts until we do think of something,” said Lilian. “I wish I could meet this Mr. Latimer. He sounds intriguing…”

Selecting another sweet, Georgiana relaxed on the chaise. Between the three of them, they could do this.

Surely.

* * *

He was a prince on the verge of insanity.

Ashton feverishly paced the length of his library, not even several glasses of excellent brandy or the afternoon sun peeking through the window enough to improve his mood.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

He’d thought that time to consider the matter, especially Osbourne’s demands, would result in a clear path forward to defeat the monstrous bastard and rescue Georgiana from his clutches. However, just the thought of her being hurt or killed had turned his brain to mud, which was infuriating. She didn’t need a ditherer. She needed the man who leaped into rivers.

But it was impossible to remain rational with Osbourne involved. Every outcome he’d pondered ended with the major’s grisly death, and two things Osbourne said were actually correct: Ashton had no friends in England or proof of any crimes. Just a heart-hunch, which no constable or magistrate would take seriously, especially after so many years. If he killed Osbourne, it would be far worse than a scandal—an actual diplomatic incident between England and Prussia.

Literally no one would take his side.

A snarl erupting from his throat, Ashton hurled his brandy glass at the fireplace. Shattering the glass felt good for five seconds and changed absolutely nothing.

“Mr. Latimer?”

Startled at Franz addressing him so, he turned to the library door. “Yes?”

His manservant inclined his head. “Sir Alan Dunmore and Miss Phoebe March are here. They request an urgent meeting with you regarding…Lady Georgiana.”

Ashton blinked. They knew her real name? “Send them in. Oh, and a brush and dustpan. I had a glass mishap,” he finished apologetically.

“Of course, sir,” said Franz, his gaze knowing.

Moments later, the two guests strode into the room. Sir Alan bowed and Miss March bobbed a curtsy, but both appeared tense.

“Good afternoon,” said Ashton cautiously.