Page 60 of Prince of Scandal

The blue parlor was actually quite lovely, one that the duchess often used to entertain visitors, with comfortable upholstered chaises and cushioned seats, pale blue silk walls, thick cream carpets, and tasteful country landscapes on the walls. Being directed here was a relief; it meant that her scandal wasn’t considered beyond repair. Then again, perhaps His Grace was about to take the opportunity to lecture her. Hmmm.

She carefully settled herself on a chaise, while Ashton perched on a nearby chair. After about five minutes the Duke of Lansbury strode in, a polite but curious expression on his craggy face. The duke must be nearly sixty now, but his hair remained more black than silver, and apart from his expertly tailored clothing, the way he carried himself, so confident and arrogant, proclaimed him a man of high position.

Georgiana stood and sank into a curtsy. “Your Grace. I do appreciate you seeing me. I know my request is a bit unusual.”

Lansbury nodded brusquely. “You are also unusual. Wild at heart. I understand you mean well but do get yourself into the most ridiculous scrapes.”

She blinked at the uncomfortably accurate observation, then lifted her chin. “Touché. Did you marry one like me or raise one, Your Grace?”

His lips twitched. “Both. How may I be of service, Lady Georgiana? Are you here on behalf of your grandmother, perhaps? Need a draft for some charitable project?”

Interesting. The duke wasn’t addressing her scandal at all. Perhaps he didn’t know Rupert’s true nature and believed that his daughter had actually passed of a stomach ailment? Oh God. If he wished her well with the impending marriage, she might actually cast up her accounts on this beautiful carpet.

“No, Your Grace,” Georgiana began carefully. “It is a personal matter, but one of great import.”

“I see. And you brought your secretary along,” said Lansbury, turning and inclining his head at Ashton. Then he froze and looked again, his gaze narrowing to slits of pure rage. “You. The audacity! Did I not swear that if the Prince of Scandal ever showed his face here again he’d be beaten to a pulp and tossed into the Thames? Get out. Now.”

* * *

Ten years had not dimmed the duke’s hatred toward him. With all the facts Ashton had at hand, as well as the information they’d gathered from Benjamin Carr, this would forever be infuriating. All ire should be directed at Rupert bloody Osbourne. Yet grief was grief, and no one could expect it to be rational. Or entirely fade, no matter how long since the death.

Ashton straightened his shoulders to the kind of rigidity worthy of the Prussian army, then bowed. Any other time, he would have respected the man’s wishes and departed. But not when Georgiana was at risk. Never.

“Your Grace,” he replied, as calmly as possible.

“Did you not hear me, von Hagan? I said get out! You truly think I would entertain the man who shackled my daughter, under this roof?” spat Lansbury, his eyes flashing with fury.

“I did not shackle Virginia. I would never, ever do so. This might not be what you want to hear, but during a carriage ride your daughter willingly submitted to one short session of mild spanking. Which she enjoyed and expressed an interest in trying more of. That was the last time I saw her, for she returned to Osbourne the following day.”

Lansbury cursed. “My daughter would never have been involved in such perversions…she would never lie…I saw fresh bruises on her arms, damn it! And imprints on her wrists from the chains…” he finished, but his voice had lowered significantly.

Ashton didn’t look away, even though holding this man’s gaze and remaining calm as he raged with false accusations was damn near impossible. “No, Your Grace. When Virginia departed my carriage, she was hale and hearty and entirely unmarked. As I think several footmen would attest…if anyone had bothered to ask them.”

The duke slumped into a chair and drummed his fingers on the arm. Then he took a deep breath, and while his glare remained frigid, he gestured for them to sit. “You have five minutes. Say whatever you’ve come to say. But I am a man who listens to facts, not theories or fanciful tales.”

Georgiana settled herself on the chaise then lifted her chin, every inch the bold, strong aristocratic young lady. “I think you already know in your heart that the prince didn’t shackle your daughter. Lady Virginia had a marital understanding and you allowed her to choose someone else…because you became acquainted with His Highness and learned how honorable and trustworthy he was. But you were lied to by Major Lord Osbourne, Your Grace. He is a man well seasoned in deception. A man who told me himself that he shackled disobedient prisoners and ensigns and a woman was no different.”

Lansbury made a choking sound, his cheeks flushed red. “Damned odd words for a lady to say about her betrothed, gel. Slanderous even. Is this some sort of revenge for Osbourne scurrying away to France after you were caught in the coatroom? Very silly behavior. On both your parts.”

Ashton relaxed slightly in his chair. Clearly, the duke wasn’t entirely on Osbourne’s side, and could at least recognize bad behavior. Maybe he would indeed listen to facts as he claimed. But this would initially be better coming from Georgiana. Someone the duke had obviously known a long time, from a family he respected. Lansbury would give her a chance to explain at least.

When Georgiana glanced at him, he smiled and motioned for her to continue. His precious minx had gumption aplenty.

She nodded and took an audible breath. “Not revenge, Your Grace. Just facts, and some patterns of behavior on Rupert’s part that should trouble anyone, let alone a loving father.”

Lansbury sat forward, his gaze sharpening. “Patterns? Whatever do you mean?”

“All his wives have died, Your Grace. Within a year of marriage. While some might explain that away as…unlucky…it becomes much harder to do so when one learns about the financial extortion. Other than Lady Virginia’s dowry, did you forward them any other funds?”

The duke frowned. “Well, yes. I funded Ginny’s allowance for a time, because she was spending hers on a private health matter—”

“She wasn’t falling pregnant and told you she needed remarkably expensive tonics, treatments, and physicians? Each month?”

“Good God,” said Lansbury slowly. “You couldn’t know that. No one knew.”

Georgiana nodded. “How much were you giving Lady Virginia?”

“Beg pardon?” Lansbury spluttered. “That is entirely too bold.”