The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(54)

“What?” Oscar sounded irritable—and like his mouth was full again. “Are you mad? It’s begun to rain.”

A sigh. “Come with me, anyway.”

“Why? Oh. Ooh. Yes, of course.” Her two younger brothers quietly exited the room.

George almost smiled. Oscar had always been the least perceptive of her siblings. She turned to look behind her. Tony was frowning into the fire. She winced. Oh, damn, she’d forgotten to tell him yesterday.

Tony must have uncanny peripheral vision. He glanced up sharply. “What?”

“Lord, you’re not going to like this. I meant to tell you right away and then…” She turned over a palm. “I’m afraid there’s another sisterly problem you must deal with.”

“Violet?”

George sighed. “Violet has gotten herself into a bit of a fix.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“She was seduced this summer.”

“Bloody hell, George,” Tony said, his voice more sharp than if he’d yelled. “Why didn’t you tell me at once? Is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s fine. And I’m sorry, but I only got the story out of her yesterday.” George blew out a breath. She was so weary, but it was best to get it over with. “She didn’t want to tell you; she thought you’d make her marry him.”

“That is the usual response to a lady of good family being compromised.” Tony frowned at her, his eyebrows ferocious. “Is the fellow suitable?”

“No.” George pressed her lips together. “He has been threatening her. He says he’ll expose her if she doesn’t marry him.”

He stood still for a moment before the fireplace, a big hand propped against the mantel. One forefinger tapped slowly on the marble. She held her breath. Tony could be unbelievably stuffy and conventional at times. It probably came from growing up the heir.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he said abruptly, and George let out her breath. “Who is this man?”

“Leonard Wentworth. It took me forever to get it out of her. She’d only tell me when I promised that I wouldn’t let you force her into marriage.”

“Glad to know I’ve been cast as the choleric father in this drama,” Tony muttered. “I’ve never heard of Wentworth. What is he?”

George shrugged. “I had to think about it, but he must be one of the young men who came up with Ralph this summer. Remember when you had that hunting party in June?”

Tony nodded. “There were three or four friends with Ralph. Two of them I know, the Alexander brothers; they’re from an old Leicestershire family.”

“And Freddy Barclay was there; he didn’t bag any grouse, and the others teased him about it unmercifully.”

“But one of the others shot ten birds,” Tony said thoughtfully. “He was older than the rest of Ralph’s party, nearer my own age.”

“Violet says he’s five and twenty.” George grimaced. “Can you imagine a man of that age seducing a girl not even out of the schoolroom? And he’s pressing her for marriage.”

“A fortune hunter,” Tony said. “Damn it. I’ll have to question Ralph about him and find out where to look for this scoundrel.”

“I’m sorry,” George said. Nothing she did recently seemed to work out well.

Tony’s wide mouth softened. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t get cross at you for this man’s sins. Oscar, Ralph, and I will sort this out, never fear.”

“What will you do?” George asked.

Tony frowned, his heavy brows drawn together. He looked just like Father. For a moment he didn’t answer, and she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard. Then he looked up, and she drew in her breath at the steel she saw in his blue eyes.

“What will I do? Make him understand how very foolish it is to threaten a Maitland,” he said. “He won’t be bothering Violet again.”

George opened her mouth to ask for details, then thought better of it. This was one time when it might be better to mind her own business. “Thank you.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “It’s one of my duties, after all, to look after the family.”

“Father didn’t.”

“No,” Tony said. “He didn’t. And between him and M’man it’s a wonder that we survived at all. But then that’s part of the reason I vowed to do better.”

“And you have.” If only she had done as well with her own responsibilities.

“I’ve tried.” He smiled at her, his wide mouth curved boyishly, and she realized how rarely he smiled anymore. But then his smile died. “I’ll take care of Violet’s problem, but I can’t do the same for you until you tell me which way I should start. You need to make a decision about Harry Pye, George, and you need to make it soon.”

“DOES SHE HAVE A GOLDEN cunt, Pye?”

Harry stiffened and slowly turned to the speaker, his left hand flexed and loose by his side. He’d taken the boy on his rounds this morning after Lady Georgina had left his cottage; then they’d ridden to West Dikey. He’d hoped to find a pair of shoes for the lad.

The oaf who’d spoken was the big-fisted man from the brawl at the Cock and Worm. The knife wound that Harry had given him stood out a livid red on his face. It started at one side of his forehead, slashed across the bridge of his nose, and ended on the far cheek. He was flanked on either side by two big men. They’d chosen a good place to confront him. A deserted lane, not much more than an alley. The stink of the open sewer running through the middle of the lane was powerful in the sun.