Scandal By The Ton Read Online Free

velvet squabs of his carriage and opened the London and Country. He examined each page closely, and when he came to the Scandal by the Ton column, his name jumped out at him. His dark eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched like a lump of iron when he read the scurrilous accusation. He was livid that the weekly magazine had dared to libel him. Then another thought occurred. Perhaps they have the wrong Royston!
    That evening when Michael arrived home at Curzon Street, Nicholas was waiting for him. He flourished the magazine at his brother and demanded, "Is it true that Perdita Robinson is your current mistress and is with child?"
    Mick blanched, and then nervously cleared his throat.  "Well, not technically."
    "What the hell does that mean?"
    "It means she's not with child."
    With his brother's dark eyes boring into his, he amended, "Perdita had a recent miscarriage."
    "You mean abortion. Were you the father?"
    Mick shrugged helplessly. "Who's to know?"
    "So there is a grain of truth to the possibility?"
    "What's the difference?"
    "The difference is that if you could deny the possibility, I would sue this bloody rag for libel, and put it out of business." He thrust the London and Country at Mick. "Tomorrow I'll go and demand they print a retraction."
    Mick read the column. "Oh, Christ, I'm sorry Nick. They've used your name instead of mine."
    "Mick or Nick is neither here nor there; it's the Royston name they've defamed and potentially damaged."
    Michael poured himself a much-needed whiskey and tried to change the subject. "Did you manage to extract yourself from the widow's clutches?"
    His brother's face darkened further. "Claire Shelborne thrust that scandal rag at me, and handed me my walking papers. The vapid creature looked down her nose at me as if I were a dog turd on the pavement. To add insult to injury she informed me she would give me the cut. The high-handed female doesn't know me very well, if she expects me to accept such shabby treatment without retaliation."
    "I almost feel sorry for her," Mick said with a grin.
    "I have another score to settle with this Ann Onymous individual. I intend to uncover their identity and make them sorry they were ever born!"
     
    The following morning, Royston made his way to Fleet Street and entered the building that published the London and Country Magazine . In the newsroom he confronted the editor and slapped the paper down on his desk. "I'm well aware that gossip about the nobility sells your wretched publication, but this time, my good man, you have gone too far."
    The editor often received complaints from the toffs who were exposed in Scandal by the Ton but never before had he been confronted by such a dangerous-looking devil. The coiled anger and strength in the dark-visaged, broad-shouldered noble, made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
    "My name is Nick Royston." He presented his calling card. "Since I have never ever met this Perdita Robinson, I intend to sue for libel."
    The editor picked up the paper, and saw immediately that a typesetting error had been made. The name of the culprit should have read: Mick Royston. He looked up shame-faced. "Brothers, I presume?" He swallowed hard as he read the card and saw the outraged viscount was a member of the British diplomatic corps. He summoned bravado. "Mick's name was misspelled. A mere technicality. You can't sue for libel if it's true."
    "I demand you print a retraction in next week's column, as well as an apology." Nick leaned forward in a threatening manner. "Perhaps I'll reconsider my law suit, if you reveal the identity of this Ann Onymous who pens the slanderous Scandal by the Ton."
    "My Lord, I haven't the faintest idea who Ann Onymous is. I've never met the person."
    "An unlikely tale. How do you come by the copy?"
    "Each Monday morning it's delivered by someone different."
    Royston's eyes narrowed. "Describe them to me."
    "Sometimes it's an old woman, other times it's a young servant in livery. Mostly, it's a