Page 57 of Prince of Scandal

“What did he say? Don’t you dare lie.”

Ashton’s jaw clenched. “Osbourne guessed that I cared about you. To summarize: as long as I stayed away from London and paid him five thousand pounds each month, you would remain unharmed.”

Bile rose in her throat and Georgiana coughed to choke it down. That bastard. That vile, wretched, revolting bastard. Rupert wasn’t just an unpleasant snob, he was actually evil. Blackmail…extortion…even possibly murder. The man was capable of anything, and it appeared the authorities didn’t want to know. Did the ton know the truth?

Were they protecting a monster because he was a baron, the son of a marquess, and in the military?

Bloody hell.

“We need more information. Did you ever speak to the families of the other women? I know Lord and Lady Hillton; unfortunately they are abroad in Vienna. But the Duke of Lansbury is in town. He only accepts visitors between two and four o’clock, though, so we should try to find the Carrs in Cheapside first. If we hired a hackney, you could pretend to be my footman. Or secretary. Franz could do some makeup magic again.”

“That is…an excellent idea, little one,” said Ashton slowly. “Franz already offered to assist me with a disguise.”

“He has a gift,” she replied, reluctantly leaving the comfort of his lap. “Let’s go.”

After an hour’s preparation, they departed for Cheapside. The three-mile journey was a bumpy ride; never again would she take well-sprung carriages for granted. But equally as disconcerting: Ashton’s secretary disguise. In the absence of a wig, Franz had mixed together coal soot and face powder and rubbed it through Ashton’s hair to turn it somewhere between black and gray. Then he’d added shadows under Ashton’s eyes, shading around his jaw to soften it, and perched a pair of false spectacles on his nose. Together with the plain white shirt, gray waistcoat and black breeches he wore, Ashton looked like a no-nonsense senior clerk.

“Is it really that bad?” asked Ashton, shifting uncomfortably in his too-hard hackney seat.

“Perfectly so,” Georgiana replied, grinning. “No one will ever recognize you. Do you remember where the warehouse is? Is it more St. Paul’s end, or the ‘Change end?”

“Cannon Street. We turn down Bread Street, just before St. Mary-le-Bow Church.”

Thankfully, the warehouse was extremely easy to find. It seemed Mr. Carr was a very prosperous merchant, judging by the size of the building and the plethora of crested carriages waiting outside. Georgiana peered around and grimaced. Perhaps the issue wouldn’t be people recognizing and shunning Ashton, but her. Gah. But now was not the time to lose her mettle.

Straightening her shoulders and pasting a bright smile on her face, she swept through the entrance, Ashton trailing behind her, and sashayed up to the nearest attendant who was unpacking bolts of silk and satin from a large wooden crate.

“Good day, sir,” said Georgiana, beaming at the young man, who blushed. “Is it possible to speak with Mr. Benjamin Carr?”

The attendant snapped to attention. “Is there a problem, madam?”

She fluttered her lashes. “Not at all. I am well aware this establishment offers only the finest quality fabrics. But I wished to place a very special order. Will you help me?”

“Of course!”

Within minutes they were ushered upstairs into a rather splendid office boasting leather chairs, soft carpets underfoot, a large mahogany desk laden with ledgers and swatches of fabric, and a huge glass window that offered a view for miles. Mr. Carr was definitely well-to-do. Then an elegant, exceedingly well-dressed silver-haired gentleman bustled in.

“Madam, sir,” he said, smiling politely and inclining his head. “Benjamin Carr, at your service. How may I assist?”

Georgiana hesitated, suddenly uncertain. What if this man thought her unhinged? A terrible person for reminding him of his daughter’s death? She hadn’t thought through this plan at all. “Thank you for seeing us. I may have slightly misrepresented my reason to talk to you, but it is imperative we do so.”

Mr. Carr blinked, then settled himself at his desk. “I don’t believe we have met, Mrs…?”

“I am Lady Georgiana Nash. This is my secretary, Ashton. The reason I must speak with you…I have recently become forcibly betrothed to Major Lord Rupert Osbourne.”

The merchant’s face went deathly pale, and he appeared to age a decade in front of her eyes. Then he stood, crossed the room, and quietly locked the office door. “You must not wed him,” he said bluntly. “The man is a monster, and while that might sound like outrageous slander, I assure you it is not.”

“We know,” said Ashton gruffly. “I was acquainted with His Grace, the Duke of Lansbury. I must tell you, sir, I have never believed for a second that Lady Virginia perished of a stomach ailment.”

Mr. Carr nodded grimly. “That bloody bastard Osbourne…beg pardon, my lady—”

Georgiana waved a hand. “Bloody bastard is exactly correct, sir.”

“He said…to my face…that my darling Dottie fell asleep while bathing and drowned. And that her maid took her own life in grief. Utterly preposterous. Yet the rest of the servants, the constable, and the local magistrate all believed it. Both incidents were ruled

tragic accidents and Osbourne walked away whistling, knowing he got away with murder.”

“Forgive an indelicate question, Mr. Carr,” said Ashton, sitting forward on his chair. “But I must enquire, for I suspect a pattern. Was there money other than dowry involved?”