A Scandalous Scot (3 page)

Oh, dear God. No. Dear God, no.

She slid on her shoes, tied them, then stood, walking to the window and pushing open the curtains. She didn’t need a clock to tell her she’d overslept. The morning sun was bright in the sky.

Panic clawed its way up her throat.

She raced from the room, across the hall, and down the curved steps, her feet flying as fast as her thoughts.

What excuse could she give her aunt? What could she possibly say?

A ghost stepped out of the shadows. Just when she didn’t have time, she saw a ghost, one who stood in front of her and nearly dared her to ignore him.

She couldn’t stop to admire him now.

Instead of moving through him, or the ghost stepping aside, she collided with a solid chest jacketed in fine wool. Two arms reached out to steady her, but her momentum toppled them both to the dusty stone floor, Jean landing on top.

Dark blue eyes the color of a Highland night stared up at her.

For a long moment she stared back, horrified and transfixed. She could feel his heart thudding below her, and the solidness of his body against hers.

“You’re not a ghost,” she said breathlessly.

“I am not,” he said in a clipped English accent.

He grabbed both her wrists, pushed up and rolled with her.

A second later their positions were reversed and she was pinned beneath him. The savagery of his look made her pause for a moment before she began pushing at his chest. Not very successfully as it turned out, since he was still holding her wrists and didn’t seem inclined to budge.

“Will you let me go?”

He might not be a ghost, but he was definitely a stranger.

She twisted her wrists. He had her firmly caught.

“Will you let me up?” she asked, meeting his scowl with a frown of her own.

“Morgan, you really should let her go,” a man said, humor in his tone.

She glanced up to find another stranger standing there, smiling at both of them.

A voice—the very last voice she wanted to hear—said, “What is going on here?”

Oh dear.

Jean closed her eyes, chided herself for her lack of courage, then forced herself to look up. Standing next to the stranger was her aunt, a look of shock on her face. Three maids, one of them Catriona, stood behind the housekeeper, each looking entirely too interested in the scene.

The stranger released her wrists, got to his feet and began to dust himself off.

Her aunt abruptly sank into a curtsy. “Your Lordship, we didn’t expect you for a number of days.”

Your Lordship? Jean’s heart plummeted to her feet. For an instant she was light-headed. She knew better than to faint—no one would revive her. Worse, she’d probably receive a lecture for littering the floor.

Standing, she shook out her skirt. Perhaps she was still asleep behind the bureau and this was just a dream. A quick look at her aunt’s face proved that to be a lie.

“What are you doing, Jean?” her aunt asked, looking straight at her.

She tried to answer, to form the words, but the ability to speak had abruptly disappeared.

“I believe the girl ran into him,” the second man said, grinning. “They both went down rather spectacularly.”

Her aunt glanced at her again. Jean nodded. There, she could nod at least.

“Your Lordship, I apologize most humbly for the behavior of my maid,” her aunt said.

“If this is the way you train your maids in decorum,” he said, brushing at his dusty sleeves, “I fear for the state of my home.”

Her aunt flushed, before again curtsying, so low that Jean feared she would not be able to rise again, given her girth.

“She will be suitably punished, Your Lordship.”

Oh dear.

Her aunt turned to her. “What are you even doing here, Jean?”

What should she say? What could she say?

She took a deep breath, faced them all, and lied. “I thought to get a start on the cleaning,” she said. “I knew what a monumental task was before us.”

God whispered in her conscience, and her stomach soured as she spoke. Or perhaps her incipient nausea was simply because her aunt was staring straight through her, eyes searching for the truth.

Jean managed a weak smile, but it had no effect on Aunt Mary’s intent look.

She glanced over at the earl. His eyes were narrowed, his lips thinned. His face seemed hewn from a block of wood—a block of angry wood.

The situation called for a bit of subservience.

“Forgive me, Your Lordship,” she said, curtsying. “I should have been more careful.”

He didn’t say a word, the loathsome cur. Nor did his expression ease.

Neither did her aunt’s, but now there was a look on her face that Jean didn’t like one bit. Compassion was rarely evident in the housekeeper’s expression, but it was there now, as if Aunt Mary were apologizing in advance for having to release her from her position at Ballindair.

If she had to leave, what would happen to her?

She stared down at the floor, frozen by the thought.

“Since your maid is so conscientious, can I assume my suite is ready?” the earl asked.

Jean glanced up. At Aunt Mary’s look, she shook her head.

“Not yet, sir, but it shall be shortly,” the housekeeper said. “May I offer you some refreshments? Breakfast, perhaps?”

Jean’s stomach rumbled at that moment, loud enough that the other maids giggled, even Catriona. The blond man smiled, but the earl looked as if the sign of her hunger was another mark against her. Her aunt just sighed.

“Do you feed your maids, Mrs. MacDonald?”

“Yes, Your Lordship.”

He studied Jean, as if seeking out more flaws. She faced him resolutely. If he meant to shame her, then he was two years too late. If he meant to discover all her transgressions, then he’d better have a ledger handy. She had a great many of them to be recorded.

After a long, speechless moment, he headed for the door, his companion at his side.

At the doorway, however, he turned. “Who did you think I was?” he asked, looking at her. “Which ghost?”

“The Herald,” she said. “But you didn’t have pipes.”

He only nodded.

As he left, she had the oddest thought that they’d had a secret conversation, one no one else understood.

“Get up there and clean, Jean,” her aunt said. “You’re acting as daft as a yett on a windy day. Be about your tasks, and we’ll talk later.”

Then, with a wave of her hand, she was out the door, after the earl and his companion, leaving the four maids staring at each other.

Jean turned, leading the way back up the curving steps and wishing she had the courage to put toads in the Earl of Denbleigh’s bed.

“D
id you see her?” Andrew said. “What a glorious creature!”

Morgan glanced over at his friend. “I thought her plain and without merit.”

Andrew sent him an incredulous look. “Didn’t you see her eyes? I’ve never seen blue eyes like that.”

“They’re brown.”

“Not the mouse,” Andrew said. “The other maid. The glorious one with blond hair.”

“And blue eyes.” Evidently, there would be some occupation for Andrew at Ballindair. “Leave my maids alone,” the earl said.

Andrew smiled. “You want her for yourself,” he said.

“Good God, no.”

He was done with women for a while. He wanted nothing to do with them. He didn’t want to be in their company. He didn’t want to hear them speak. He didn’t even want to see one. Especially Mrs. MacDonald, who was following him at a winded pace.

Resigned, he stopped and faced the housekeeper. Before she could begin an involved apology, he said, “Would you send word to Mr. Seath I’ve arrived, Mrs. MacDonald. I’d like to speak to him as soon as possible.”

Fear spread over her face, and he should have reassured her his meeting with his steward had nothing to do with her performance—or lack of it. But he remained silent, wishing she would do the same.

It was not to be.

“Forgive me, Your Lordship, we were told you were not to arrive for a matter of days,” she said, wringing her hands. “Otherwise, I would have had everything in readiness.”

“Forgive
me
, Mrs. MacDonald, for failing to advise you of my plans.”

The woman paled. He felt the bite of his conscience, not to mention the sensation that all the MacCraigs lined up on the moor below were uttering curses for his lack of care of a kinsman.

A MacDonald or not, he thought, she was employed at Ballindair. That made her his responsibility and a member of his clan. Besides, he hated one woman, but not
this
woman.

“I was wrong not to send you word,” he said, to her obvious surprise. “No doubt the early hour is the reason for my poor mood. If you could provide my friend with breakfast, I’d be grateful.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling. “Of course. If you’ll follow me.”

He stepped aside to let her pass, not commenting that he still knew the location of the dining room. Instead, he kept silent, following the woman like a trained sheep, all the while ignoring Andrew’s smile.

“I
sn’t he the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?” Catriona said, after the men were gone.

Sally and Susan, the other maids, tittered.

Jean turned to look at her sister. “Are you daft? He’s a pompous prig. Or didn’t you notice how he looked at all of us?”

Catriona smiled. “You’d just knocked him down, Jean. That gave him a right to be angry. But even angry, the man is a handsome devil.”

Devil was right.

“His companion was more pleasing,” Jean said, remembering the blond-haired man.

“He’s short,” Catriona said, dismissing him. “The earl, however, is tall, with the most wonderful broad shoulders. Don’t you think so?”

“I didn’t notice,” she said, beginning to mount the steps.

“Did you notice his eyes? They were as blue as mine.”

“They’re darker.” She’d been close enough to see the black ring around them.

Sally and Susan whispered among themselves. No doubt they, too, were transfixed by the Earl of Denbleigh’s appearance.

She held her tongue, but it wasn’t easy.

At the first landing she turned to Sally. The woman had been at Ballindair for two decades, and despite her age, was one of the best workers.

“Which room do you want?” she asked, deferring to the older woman.

“Susan and I will take the sitting room,” Sally said. “You and Catriona can clean the earl’s bedchamber.”

Susan smiled brightly at that, and Jean knew why. The earl would notice the condition of the bedchamber before the sitting room. If the room wasn’t cleaned perfectly, she’d be in even more disfavor with her aunt, not to mention the earl.

She nodded, reaching for a bucket containing their supplies, and entered the room, Catriona beside her, empty-handed.

“I don’t care what you say,” Catriona said. “I think he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

She didn’t want to discuss the earl’s appearance. What good was a handsome exterior when the man had an arrogant character? Or when he viewed others with contempt?

She was as good as the Earl of Denbleigh. He’d been born into the role. She’d been thrust into hers, but she’d done her best not to shame herself, while he’d evidently tarnished his title.

How dare he, of all people, judge her with a glance?

She noticed she hadn’t pushed the bureau back into place. She did so now as Catriona went to the armoire and opened it, obviously disappointed to find it empty. The earl’s trunks had arrived a week ago and were piled on the landing outside, but no one had the keys. None of the drawers Catriona opened held anything but a few sachets, the scent of sandalwood wafting through the air.

“Have you finished your inventory?” Jean asked. “Are you ready to work now?”

Catriona shrugged.

They would need to shake out the draperies at both the windows and the bed, fluff the mattress, dust, and clean the floors. Even with the two of them working, Jean wasn’t sure how long it would take them to finish.

When she said as much, Catriona answered, “I’d rather not work at all.”

Her honesty brought a smile to Jean’s lips.

“I’ll start on the furniture if you’ll take down the bed hangings,” she said.

The world might forgive Catriona anything because of her beauty, but Jean knew she wasn’t so fortunate. She’d already broken so many rules—rules the maids had to memorize—she’d be lucky to escape without being punished.

She balled up a rag and began to wipe down the bureau behind which she’d sat the previous night. Her stomach rumbled again, and Catriona laughed.

“You missed a wonderful breakfast,” her sister said, engaged in unhooking the draperies from their rod. “Scones with butter, and rashers.”

Jean ignored the words, just as she ignored her hunger, and set about finishing the dusting. Once that task was done, she moved to the bed.

After pulling off the sheets, she dragged the mattress toward her and shook it vigorously. With Catriona’s help, she turned the mattress, then plumped it back into place. Before sweeping the floor, she tucked the bottom valance out of the way.

Catriona opened the window, grabbed one end of the bed curtains and, allowing the rest to hang outside, began shaking the fabric. A cloud of dust billowed back into the room.

Jean took one look at what her sister was doing and sighed. She’d have to wipe down the furniture again.

First, however, she sprinkled the spent and dried tea leaves on the carpet, rubbing them gently into the soiled spots. Only then did she use the broom she’d found in the cupboard near the stairs.

The linen press held a clean set of sheets, thickly embroidered with a pattern of thistle blossoms. After she’d dusted again, she and Catriona hung the emerald bed curtains, then made the bed.

She looked around. The furniture gleamed, the bed was freshened, and the floors were swept. The curtains at the window still needed to be aired, the windows washed, and the bathing chamber cleaned.

The Earl of Denbleigh had indeed returned.

How soon would the odious man leave?

Chapter 3