Page 55 of Prince of Scandal

CHAPTER 12

Ashton stared out the ground floor parlor window of the small but serviceable red brick townhouse Sir Alan had managed to rent, trying not to tap his fingers or pace the room as he waited for Georgiana to arrive.

It was exceedingly strange being in London again after ten years absence. Everything seemed faster. Louder. Dirtier. People were everywhere, chattering nonstop, and the dank, rotting odor that wafted from the Thames—not to mention the horse manure everywhere—was truly revolting. Never would he choose to reside in the capital city over the calm tranquility and fresh air of his Brundall estate.

Yet there was something about London, even with all its flaws. The superb architecture of landmarks like Westminster and St. Paul’s. The sheer variety of shops and eating establishments. A thousand years of history in the buildings and street names and parks. In some ways he was reminded of Berlin, and a sense of nostalgic regret twisted inside him once more. Would he ever see his homeland again? These days, he felt more English than Prussian, but there was a part of him that yearned for certain sights and scents, even for a day. That couldn’t happen anytime soon, though. And the man responsible for his banishment, for all the despicable lies that had circled about him, could not be allowed to succeed in another quest. Major Lord Osbourne needed to be halted for good, and it was a task he would volunteer for most enthusiastically.

Ashton clenched his fists. Now he knew who Osbourne’s next target was, the matter had once again become extremely personal.

“Your Highness? Is there anything I might assist with?”

He turned and smiled at Franz. His manservant was near climbing the walls without an extensive household and staff to direct, and when it had been suggested he take a stroll or visit the theater or some other leisure activity, the look of refined horror on his face was almost humorous. “Everything in this townhouse is cleaner than it’s ever been, there is fresh strudel cooling in the kitchens, and my clothing is immaculate. Franz, you need to sit down. Only I am allowed to pace right now.”

“The lady will be here soon,” said the older man sympathetically. “I am sure of it. Oh, I do wish I’d been there in Hanover Square to witness the performance of Sir Alan and Miss March. It was most gratifying attending to their costumes and make up.”

Ashton tilted his head. “I did not realize you possessed such a talent. It was indeed excellently done; I barely recognized them.”

Franz’s cheeks reddened. “The theater is my second home after Brundall. Unlike Tommy, I have no acting talent whatsoever, but I so enjoy bustling about behind the scenes. Should you require a disguise to venture out in public, or perhaps break into the major’s home to end his existence, I should be happy to oblige.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind, although my height and stature might be a lot harder to conceal for such a purpose.”

“True…was that a knock? In the absence of a butler, I shall go and open the door. Do straighten that waistcoat crease, Your Highness, I won’t have anyone saying my employer woke up in a tavern alley.”

Now Ashton did laugh. A universal truth: the competition between aristocrats was second only to that of their manservants. “Yes, yes, off you go.”

After a few minutes, Franz returned, clicked his heels and inclined his head. “Lady Georgiana Nash.”

Ashton hesitated, momentarily gripped by uncertainty. They’d not seen each other in five days; did she think he’d abandoned her to Osbourne’s clutches? Would she be broken? Defeated?

The thought chilled him until Georgiana barged into the parlor, nearly knocking Franz over in her haste.

“Ashton,” she said, flinging herself against him and winding her arms about his neck.

Almost instinctively, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He leaned down to kiss her forehead and inhaled the familiar citrusy scent of her wild curls, reveling in the press of those perfect lush curves. Despite everything, she was exactly where she should be: in his arms. “Little one. Tell me truthfully. Are you well?”

Georgiana peered up at him, her expression cautious. “I had to watch Rupert nibble gingerbread and dab his lips after each bite. Also, because I wouldn’t bed him or suck his cock, he rather casually mentioned that in the army he used to shackle and starve prisoners and ensigns and a woman was no different…so no, I am not well. Especially after kissing his corpse-like cheek and taking his arm for the stroll before meeting Phoebe and Sir Alan.”

Ashton went still. Osbourne had actually threatened shackling? And admitted he’d done it before? Christ. The man truly believed himself above any law. But selfishly, hearing that the major hadn’t touched Georgiana or forced her to do something she did not want to do, was a huge relief. Especially in her present condition. “I meant…due to…er…”

She sighed. “Rumors of my impending motherhood are grossly exaggerated. The other day I had a long and educational visit with my sisters; Lilian has a new babe, and Pippa stayed with her in the delivery chamber because she has read all the midwifery books. They both insist it is far, far too early to declare me pregnant. A physician certainly wouldn’t, if you’ll forgive the plain speaking, not until several bleeds are missed and there are other symptoms like fatigue and feeling sick. At the moment I’m very frustrated, because the tiny chance that I am is the real power that Rupert and my grandmother hold over me. A scandal could possibly be waited out, but neither family would permit a babe out of wedlock.”

He cleared his throat. “I can see how the not knowing would be unbearable. And I understand now why there were certain acts you didn’t wish to do with me. That showed a lot of integrity, little one.”

“It may not seem like it, but I hated lying to you, Ashton. Hated it. Almost as much as I hate Rupert,” Georgiana finished, her eyes flashing.

“I understand that sentiment perhaps better than anyone.”

She tilted her head. “Oh?”

“Let’s sit down,” said Ashton, gesturing to the two armchairs in front of the fireplace. “Warmer over here. I forgot how bleak London can be. Would you like tea?”

Georgiana shook her head and settled in a chair. “Not right now. We just need to talk. No distractions.”

He nodded and took a deep breath. This was so much harder than revealing the truth to Sir Alan and Miss March. They were longtime acquaintances who had proved to be friends. Not the woman he’d pleasured and spanked and had tender feelings for. Georgiana’s opinion of him truly mattered. He wanted a future with her. “It was startling to learn your true identity, but I do understand why you did it. I did something similar. Because of a scandal.”

“Go on.”

“Ashton Latimer is a false name,” he began, smiling tentatively. “Although that’s probably not a surprise, knowing I’m Prussian. The truth is…I am Prussian royalty. A cousin of King Frederick. My real name is Prince Wilhelm Heinrich Ashton von Hagan. My father, Prince Henri Friedrich von Hagan, was a special envoy to the English court. Before marriage, my mother, Princess Anna-Louise Freyberg von Hagan, was a senior lady in the Bavarian court. But my great-grandmother was English. Lady Margaret Ashton-Latimer. That is where my name—and this wretched red hair—comes from.”