Page 71 of Prince of Scandal

Lansbury gulped. “Go on.”

“It was only when my family returned to London from Norfolk that I heard the rest of the story. The friends in Surrey he’s been visiting? It’s actually a secret gentleman’s club. Very exclusive. Very private. Yet all with a remarkably similar tale of, hmmm how does one put it…unlucky histories with women. All the servants have been with them for twenty years at least. Those who leave and seek a new position?”

“Let me guess,” Ashton bit out, his hand clenching on the chaise arm. “They are also unlucky.”

“Quite,” said Northam, smoothing one lace cuff. “Now, you’d think that the local magistrate and lord lieutenant would be aggrieved at the number of accidents occurring within the county…but they aren’t. I’m not sure if this is because they are part of the club, bribed by the club, or deathly afraid of the club. Perhaps I’ll visit Surrey myself in future to clarify. But in the meantime, we wait for Osbourne’s return.”

“And then?” asked Lansbury impatiently.

“I’m not entirely sure,” the viscount admitted. “My superiors wish him to be interrogated, I know that much. So no one…and I mean no one…is permitted to kill him yet, no matter what the provocation.”

Mr. Carr scowled. “You ask the moon and the stars, my lord. Perhaps when you’re a father, you’ll understand.”

Surprisingly, Northam didn’t rise to the bait. “Not a father, but I am an uncle. Also a brother, and believe me, if Osbourne damages a hair on Gigi’s head, he will unleash hell upon himself. The major already knows I am not to be trifled with…and when I speak of interrogation, there are many deeply unpleasant ways information can be extracted. It’s just about discovering the method that is most effective for that person. Now, I’m afraid I must be off. Your Highness, why don’t you walk me to the door?”

Ashton glanced at the duke and the merchant, and both nodded encouragingly. Turning to the viscount, he inclined his head. “Of course, my lord.”

When they’d made their bows and departed the library, Northam glanced his way. “I’m sure that Gigi mentioned I’ve been keeping an eye on you both.”

“Yes,” he said briefly, not even bothering to dissemble. “And no matter what you’ve heard, I never injured Lady Virginia. I did spank her once. Some women…greatly crave such correction and misbehave on purpose for it.”

“Ah, so you do understand Gigi’s methods. She’ll settle down eventually.”

“I hope not,” said Ashton without thinking.

Northam laughed. “Oh. You love her. Just as she is.”

Color flooded his cheeks, no doubt clashing terribly with his hair. Damn it all. As if that was any of the young pup’s business. Besides, a Prussian didn’t make wild declarations in public. No banners unfurled on London Bridge or brass bands here.

Ashton clicked his heels together, his shoulders rigid. “Anything needing to be said will be said to Georgiana.”

“Fair enough,” said the viscount, shrugging. “Just know I have two sisters blissfully married to the men of their dreams. I expect the same for the third, whatever his title.”

“I have certain intentions, but she has some ridiculous notion in her head about being my mistress,” Ashton said irritably. “It is a trifle complicated due to my position, however I’ve written to King Frederick asking him to ignore my mother’s choice and instead give his blessing to the match I desire. Perhaps you can get your Prince Regent’s support as well.”

Northam beamed. “Consider it done. Now remember…no unsanctioned killings. No matter what.”

* * *

Why had she not learned a useful skill like picking locks?

Georgiana scowled at her bedchamber door, then continued pacing, all while absently rubbing her cramping stomach. Because this wasn’t happening, Grandmother had forbidden any soothing tonics or towels soaked in hot water, merely sending up a tray with some thin broth and weak tea for her nerves.

In truth, though, her nerves were jangling. It was utterly disconcerting how easily a woman could be cut off from the world, even in London. One locked door and loyal servants who would follow a dragon’s instructions to the letter, that was all it took. While it was tempting to consider outlandish escape methods such as tying sheets together and dangling from a balcony, she wasn’t quite that foolish. Ashton would lose his mind if she did that, and it would only be easier for her captors if she actually was an invalid with a broken leg or wound to the head. Right now, all she could do was plot against her grandmother and Rupert, and those plots were getting grislier by the minute. Perhaps she and Phoebe should join forces and write a gothic novel together.

Without warning, the key turned in the bedchamber lock, and moments later, Grandmother stood in the doorway. “You have a visitor. Normally I would not permit this; however, she is a woman after my own heart in matters of faith and morality.”

Georgiana frowned. “Who is it?”

“Mrs. Alan. I understand you and Major Lord Osbourne met and prayed with her during your stroll the other day in the Square.”

Somehow, Georgiana didn’t burst into laughter. Think of an angel and the angel appeared. There truly wasn’t a better friend in the history of the world than Phoebe March.

She shuffled toward the door as though thoroughly reluctant. “Do I have to? That old bat is quite mad. Implied that I would be going to hell.”

“Yes,” said Lady Kingsford. “At once. Before Major Lord Osbourne arrives.”

Heaving a theatrical sigh, even dragging her heels, Georgiana made her way downstairs as swiftly as she could without arousing suspicion. Then she strolled into the fussy, uncomfortable peach-colored parlor where Phoebe waited.