Prince of Scandal (Wickedly Wed Book 3), page 1
PRINCE OF SCANDAL
WICKEDLY WED #3
NICOLA DAVIDSON
CONTENTS
About
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Also by Nicola Davidson
About the Author
PRINCE OF SCANDAL is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
PRINCE OF SCANDAL © Nicola Davidson
First Edition: May 2023
ISBN: 9780473677565
Country of Production: New Zealand
Cover: Dar Albert at Wicked Smart Designs
Editor: Mackenzie Walton
ABOUT
After she’s seduced and abandoned by an unscrupulous cad, Lady Georgiana Nash flees the London gossips to hide out in rural Norfolk as a wealthy widow. But not in her wildest imaginings did she think the estate next door would reveal a stern, handsome, recluse—the perfect man for a restorative affair. It’s just a matter of convincing the brawny redhead that a brazen minx is exactly who he needs.
Once acclaimed at both the Prussian and English royal courts, Prince Wilhelm Heinrich Ashton von Hagan was banished for a shocking scandal that almost caused a diplomatic incident. Now sworn off women and living quietly under an assumed identity, he cannot fall for his luscious new neighbor. No matter how amusing or desperately in need of a spanking the beautiful young blond might be.
But even as two wounded souls find joy and solace in wicked pleasures, an enemy from both their pasts returns. When information is uncovered and horrifying truths come to light, they have one chance to defeat evil and find true love…or lose it forever.
CW: past deaths, toxic relatives, violence
Please note this M/F age gap Regency romance contains explicit sex scenes/language, and fully consensual spanking.
CHAPTER 1
Kingsford House, London, March 1816
As it turned out, a woman could not perish of humiliation.
Even when she really, really wanted to.
In the luxurious yet stifling confines of her father’s library, Lady Georgiana Nash kept her chin high, even though embarrassment and shame and fury churned inside her. As a noted ton beauty with curly blond hair, emerald-green eyes, and a voluptuous figure, not to mention a tendency to be bold and outspoken, she was very familiar with judgment. Young ladies who attempted to forge their own path were always seen as a grave threat.
But this was different. She’d blundered spectacularly…and it was a mess entirely of her own making.
Desperate to flee her grandmother’s spiteful cruelty, and still two years away from reaching her majority, marriage was her only way out. So when Major Lord Rupert Osbourne—a much older baron from a distinguished family—promised a ring if she lifted her gown for him, she’d done so. The hasty, uncomfortable, and decidedly unromantic interludes in coatrooms hadn’t been enjoyable, but Georgiana had gritted her teeth, sure that a gentleman would keep his word. Until the day they were caught and her world imploded. For the first time ever, she’d personally experienced how vicious society could be. How it felt to be mocked and declared unfit for polite company. Far worse, rather than standing by her, or marrying her to end the nonsense, bloody damned Rupert had fled to France.
She’d had to face everything alone. Including this excruciating family meeting.
“Gigi sweetheart…I…ah…well, this is quite a pickle, isn’t it?” mumbled the Earl of Kingsford, her amiable and utterly weak sire. As usual, Papa was befuddled at her behavior and yearning for someone else to take command of the situation. A truth her entire nineteen years on this earth.
“Do be quiet, Kingsford,” snapped his mother the Dowager Countess, matriarch, human icicle, and malevolent society dragon. “All your coddling led us to this shameful point. I told you Georgiana should be caned like her sisters and brother, but you said no and indulged her willfulness. Her impudence. Her recklessness. Said she was just high spirited like her late mother. But Georgiana is wicked. And now known across London as a harlot who fornicates in coatrooms! I cannot bear the shame. The disgrace she has brought upon the hallowed Nash name. You must disown her immediately. Cast her out. It is the only way forward.”
Georgiana flinched, her gaze swiftly travelling to the other adults in the room for their reaction. Her oldest sister, Lilian, Duchess of Exton, and Lilian’s husband, Gabriel, both gave her pitying looks. Her other sister, Pippa, Marchioness of Pinehurst, and Pippa’s husband Finlay, just appeared acutely disappointed in her.
Bloody hell.
Abruptly, blond, blue-eyed Pippa adjusted her spectacles and sat forward. “For heaven’s sake, Grandmother. Cease your theatrics.”
On another occasion, Georgiana might have smiled in gratitude, but it would be a wasted effort today. Pippa was cross, and for good reason. Her sister had warned against continuing to meet Rupert, saying he was a cad, at fifty years of age literally old enough to be her father, and they would be caught.
All true.
“Theatrics?” replied Grandmother stonily as she smoothed her gray silk gown, the only color she wore apart from lilac. “The heir to the Kingsford earldom has galloped off to the continent to hunt down and demand satisfaction from an experienced soldier! What if Northam is killed? The title will revert to the crown!”
Misery curled around Georgiana’s heart and squeezed. Pippa’s twin Xavier, Viscount Northam, had done exactly that. If anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself. “Grandmother—”
“Do not speak, Georgiana. You have no right. I’ll always wonder why your mother insisted on a fourth child after she finally birthed an heir. What a hideous mistake you were.”
She flinched again at the familiar barb, which hurt every time. But now it clawed at her soul, because she’d been played for a fool by an absolute cretin. Yes, Rupert had seemed settled and steadfast, possessing a curt manner that compelled her to obey. But he’d rarely been kind and disliked affection, pushing her away if she attempted to cuddle. Physically, he wasn’t especially handsome; his hair a touch too gray, his cheeks often flushed, his stature much shorter and slenderer than she preferred. However, none of that would have mattered if Rupert had kept his word and wed her, pleasured her properly…and disciplined her with a firm hand.
He knew what she craved, because like a twit, she’d confessed to accidentally witnessing a scandalous act in the Kingsford Park stables: right there in the tack room, a footman with a maid over his lap, spanking her bare bottom and fingering her audibly wet center as he chided her for being a naughty girl. The maid had mewled and begged, calling him sir, and when the footman finally granted her his cock…the ecstasy on her face as she’d orgasmed, followed by sheer contentment as she was tenderly held.
The occasion had stuck in Georgiana’s mind and dominated her dreams for years. But despite all Rupert’s promises—and her provocative behavior to encourage him—she still knew nothing of discipline. Or pleasure and affection, for that matter.
And now she was ruined.
“Grandmother, you mustn’t say such things. Georgiana wasn’t a mistake but a much wished for and entirely beloved child. Like my Amanda,” said blond, blue-eyed Lilian stoutly as she gently patted her sleeping infant’s back.
“I will remain a beacon of truth even when attacked,” replied Lady Kingsford. “But speaking of children…is the family to be further shamed with a bastard? Ask the harlot. Ask her if she’s yet had her menses.”
The library went eerily quiet, and Georgiana gritted her teeth as all eyes fell upon her. Oh God. Just when she thought this situation couldn’t worsen, her grandmother had to bring that up in front of the men present.
Turning, Georgiana gazed longingly out the window overlooking the leafy expanse of Hanover Square. Yes, tearing down a curtain and swinging off the balcony had a very high likelihood of disaster, but it would surely be better than this…
“Don’t even think about it, Gigi,” said Pippa irritably. “There shall be no dramatic window exits for you. This is not a romance novel.”
Georgiana scowled. She hardly needed reminding of that particular fact.
Lilian settled Amanda in a wooden cradle, then cleared her throat. “I hate to ask, but did that man at least have the decency to…ah…prevent pregnancy, Gigi?”
Mortification scorched across her cheekbones. “No. He said it, er, impeded his enjoyment.”
Gabriel, a very tall, dark-haired, former colonel in the British army who had been badly injured in the Battle of Bayonne, made a snarling sound. “Goddamned scoundrel. Osbourne’s a disgrace…to the uniform. I’ll help Xavier…string him up.”
“Has anyone heard from Xav?” asked lean, brown-haired Finlay, Pippa’s best friend since childhood and part of the family long before their recent marriage.
“No,” whispered Georgiana, her voice cracking.
“He made the decision to go, Little G, and is infinitely more capable than anyone imagines,” said Finn kindly, far more than she deserved. “But we must think of a plan. A battle strategy if you will. Gabriel?”
“Yes, Exton will think of something,” said Lord Kingsford as he mopped his brow with visible relief.
The duke absently rubbed his facial scar. “First, let us discard…any talk of disownment. We have all…made mistakes.”
“I have not,” sniffed Lady Kingsford.
“All of us,” repeated Gabriel firmly. “And may I add…Osbourne is certainly not…facing up to his.”
“Precisely,” said Lilian. “I think it excessively harsh to blame the young lady led astray by a thrice-widowed, middle-aged man.”
“Revolting, despicable skunk, you mean,” Pippa bit out. “I’m going to mash the major’s nose when Xav drags him home.”
“I’ll hold the skunk steady, Pippet,” said Finlay, smiling briefly at his wife.
Georgiana drooped further at the evidence of true love. It rubbed salt into the wound, seeing her sisters’ confidence since leaving Kingsford House. Both marriages had come about in unexpected ways, but Lilian and Pippa had each found happiness. Their husbands adored and truly understood them, didn’t seek to oppress or change them, and valued their counsel and company. Plus, they’d learned all about sexual pleasure!
Why couldn’t she have that also?
“I’m hearing blather rather than solutions,” said Lady Kingsford. “How is Georgiana’s scandal to be managed? She surely cannot remain in London. Especially if she is…increasing. But she cannot sully Kingsford Park, either.”
Georgiana sat up. Could this somehow be her escape? Could she leave the dreary, judgmental city for a spell in a friendly, rustic place where no one knew her name and she could live her life without hindrance?
“Yes,” she said slowly, trying to control her eagerness. “A break from London until the gossip dies down.”
“Somewhere small,” said Lilian. “If you arrived as a widow, no one would ask questions.”
Gabriel nodded. “My mother had a cottage. Outside Norwich, in Norfolk. Very quiet. Private. She liked to paint there, by the river Yare. I could have that…opened up for you. Mrs…?”
“King,” said Pippa, her face actually brightening. “Mrs. Gigi King. Tragic story, her husband was a major found strapped to an anthill and covered in treacle, his nose mashed beyond recognition.”
“Capital plan, everyone,” said Lord Kingsford happily. “Gigi, sweetheart, I think this is for the best.”
Somehow, Georgiana didn’t cheer at the splendid outcome. “You’re right, Papa. I shall humbly depart for Norfolk immediately.”
This was her chance for a fresh start.
And definitely no scandals.
Brundall, Norfolk
After a sleepless night, Prince Wilhelm Heinrich Ashton von Hagan slumped his broad-shouldered six-foot, three-inch frame into a dining room chair and took a grateful swallow of strong black coffee. Alas, it didn’t erase yesterday’s thoroughly unnerving event: carriages arriving at the previously empty cottage next door. He’d seen a passel of servants, which meant the new occupiers had coin. What if they were aristocrats? Hailed from London?
What if they recognized him?
His stomach churned. Ten years ago, he’d moved to Brundall and assumed the name Ashton Latimer, gentleman landowner, and learned to disguise his Prussian accent by speaking in clipped tones. He lived as a near-recluse on this sprawling estate, only venturing out to attend church or church events in the village. These conditions, imposed by King George, had been a difficult but ultimately small sacrifice to remain in England. Over time, Ashton had even come to embrace the slow, gentle pace of rural life.
But now he had new neighbors who might want to talk. Have supper. Ask questions. The thought was exceedingly alarming.
A discreet cough jolted him out of his reverie. He looked over to see Jakob Franz, his longtime manservant, standing next to the mahogany dining table…looking suspiciously tense.
“Yes?” asked Ashton, dreading the reply.
“The morning post has arrived. Including a letter from your mother.”
And there it was, the death knell to any peace or contentment he’d found here.
For an entire decade, Princess Anna-Louise Freyberg von Hagan had pretended he didn’t exist. Her missive certainly wouldn’t be forgiveness, absolution, or an enquiry about his welfare; his Bavarian mother didn’t indulge in tender sentiment. Which could only mean she wanted something. Badly.
Ashton beckoned his manservant closer. “Hand it over, then. And don’t…stop bowing, damn it.”
“Humblest apologies, Your Highness,” said Franz, unrepentantly. “I forget.”
The man didn’t forget anything, and they both knew it. But it would be easier persuading the sun to rise in the west than a Prussian courtier to discard protocol. They lived and breathed rules. Order. Discipline. Duty. In fairness, he did too. However, if anyone overheard them speaking German, or Franz calling him ‘Your Highness,’ then every sacrifice would have been for naught.
Reluctantly, Ashton slid his letter opener under the wax seal stamped with the royal black eagle crest and unfolded the thick cream parchment.
Wilhelm Heinrich Ashton,
It is time you returned to Berlin and resumed your place in society as our heir. I have an understanding with a suitable young lady from the House of Mecklenburg-Schwerin who is willing to overlook your shameful past and do her duty as the wife of a prince.
King Frederick has expressed support for the match and sends his regards as both your monarch and a fond cousin. I expect to receive you in my drawing room no later than June 1.
Anna-Louise Freyberg von Hagan.
Hell and damnation.
The urge to burn the parchment was overwhelming. Marriage? To a stranger? No. Life was far simpler without a woman, and he’d learned to live celibately. Besides, he was thirty-four years old, not some green pawn to be played on his mother’s dynastic chessboard.
Ashton glanced up at Franz. “Mother insists I return to Berlin and marry the Mecklenburg-Schwerin bride of her choosing. By June first.”
The manservant clicked his heels together, a common habit whether happy, perplexed, or thinking hard. “I see. What are your instructions? Shall I begin packing your trunks?”
“No. I’m not going.”
“Oh.”
Ashton almost laughed at the wealth of meaning in that one syllable. Quiet horror at such rebellion, certainly. A valiant but unsuccessful effort to remain stoic in the face of unexpected news. But mostly…pure relief. While Franz enjoyed the tranquil Brundall estate, the truth was, his manservant had fallen head over heels for Tommy Jones, the theater costumer he discreetly met each week in Norwich. It was rather amusing, someone so staid loving someone so exuberant, but Franz just sniffed and said the heart wanted what it wanted, and that was that. Really, if it weren’t for Franz and Tommy, Ashton might insist that true love didn’t exist. But it did. Just not for him. His brush with the emotion had caused a goddamned diplomatic incident.
What a cocky fool he’d been.
As both the son of an official envoy and a wealthy hereditary prince, he’d arrived in London with his parents ready to cut a swathe through English society ballrooms and bedrooms. But within months he’d been bewitched by the beautiful and vivacious Lady Virginia Sloane. While the duke’s daughter did have an understanding with another man, she’d ended that attachment for the chance to be a princess, and they’d become betrothed.
