A Scandalous Scot Read Online Free Page B

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
RULES FOR STAFF: Never allow your voice to be heard, unless you have been addressed directly.
    M organ sent Andrew off to breakfast in the care of the housekeeper, but delayed his own meal in favor of a meeting with his steward.
    “His office is in the north wing, Your Lordship,” Mrs. MacDonald said.
    He stopped himself, just barely, from commenting that he knew Ballindair better than she. His five-year absence might well prove him a liar. But, no, the steward’s office was just where it had been on his last visit.
    He hesitated, then knocked. When he heard Seath’s voice, he pushed the door open.
    The man who occupied this office had served his father before him. In the last five years, William Seath had proved invaluable, acting as gillie, tacksman, and chamberlain for Morgan. Whatever Morgan needed done, Seath did it without fanfare and with excellence.
    Seath had come to London every quarter to report on Ballindair and the estate. The last time Morgan had seen him was two months ago.
    The change was startling.
    Seath’s Adam’s apple was glaringly prominent, as well as the line of his jaw. His wrists looked frail and his jacket hung on bony shoulders. His ears, always pronounced, now stuck out from his head as if blown by a stiff breeze. The man’s angular face was gaunt, and dark circles appeared beneath his bloodshot blue eyes.
    What the hell had happened to Seath?
    He didn’t comment on the man’s appearance. If Seath had wanted him to know about his health, he’d have said something. Morgan was all too conscious of the steward’s privacy, having had so little of it himself the past two years.
    “Have my trunks arrived?” he asked, taking a look around the room.
    The steward’s office was more crowded than he remembered. Shelves of books—all ledgers holding records of rents, expenditures, and other minutiae pertaining to the castle and estate—occupied two walls. The third wall held two windows with a view of the grounds, and the fourth a fireplace where a