Society's Most Scandalous Viscount Read Online Free Page A

elsewhere.” Bitters stood as high as Kell’s shoulder, but his voice boomed in the foyer with the same force as the regent’s herald.
    â€œVery good. A rare show of compassion, but resourceful all the same.” It cut to the bone that his groundskeeper had a more genuine relationship with his sire than Kell experienced with his own.
    â€œFurther praise is due. I’ve already filled the position.” Bitters paused and Kell remained silent. When it was clear no additional compliment was forthcoming, the servant continued. “No sooner did Wilton depart than a stout man appeared at the doorstep seeking employment. He provided extensive references, listing every position from gardener in Guildford to lamplighter in London, although I daresay what he requires most is a respectable grooming as his outlandish mustache was as long as his extensive referrals.” The latter was stated mostly as an aside. “Still, it’s serendipity, pure and simple. He begins at the end of the week.”
    â€œCease.” The command issued clear warning that Kell anticipated the servant’s next words, yet Bitters persevered.
    â€œI’ve also cleaned the glass and replaced your liquor.” These words came out at a lower tone although the implied message remained clear: “You’re a better man than this.”
    And so to the core of the conversation, more than inessential discussions of servants and their posts. Kell clenched his fists. He’d ordered the man to stop speaking. “As is your responsibility. You are in my employ.” He remained with his back toward Bitters, unwilling to accept chiding or rehash a drubbed subject. He knew society labeled him a debauched outcast. Close on the heels of this fodder was the warning he knew not how to love or be loved, his upbringing having poisoned him to genuine affection. Popular belief upheld the rumors he perpetuated his outlandish folly because at the root of it all, his heart was hollow and his purposes shallow.
    â€œDrowning one’s sorrows in brandy is rarely a productive alternative. Of late you hardly resemble your title. You’re a viscount, grandson to the Duke of Acholl, and the single legitimate heir.”
    God’s teeth, the man could ignite his temper. Bitters’ tone had transformed to one of concern, but Kell wanted nothing of it. “And you are my steward. One with a long tongue and a short memory. I haven’t requested your counsel. I pay you to replace the liquor when the bottle is empty and clean my mess whenever necessary.” It was either drown in brandy or take a long walk into the sea. Bitters knew better than to poke a stick in a cage built from cruel emotion and broken promises. “It’s incredibly poor form to listen at keyholes and crawl inside escutcheons.”
    â€œPerhaps.” A few hollow ticks of the clock on the shelf marked an obtrusive lull. “A messenger arrived while you were out. Lords Nicholson and Penwick will pay call for luncheon.”
    Without further comment Kell took the stairs two at a time, entered his study, and slammed the oak panels to punctuate his distemper. Bitters meant well, of that Kell was certain, the servant having witnessed him at his worst when he’d vacated London after a scandalous public scene a few months prior, rife with humiliation and disgraced by common fisticuffs. Tongues likely wagged on with ceaseless speculation. He feared the incident had turned him into a pariah. Kell and his father were renowned for their tumultuous relationship. Having had their personal turmoil displayed in a London square had upped the ante, but if it served to highlight his father’s poor choices, Kell accepted the embarrassment with pleasure.
    And Bitters knew this well. The steward’s frequent complaints concerning his indulgent habits and pleasure-seeking falderal should be squelched by mere history and understanding. The man was intuitive