A Scandalous Scot

by Karen Ranney

  Fear iced her stomach, banishing her grief.

  He knew. Somehow, he knew.

  Chapter 23

  RULES FOR STAFF: Any fraternization with the staff shall be grounds for immediate dismissal.

  “Is it MacDonald?”

  She shook her head. “No,” she said, sighing. “It’s Cameron.”

  He nodded. “Ah, I remember talk of a Dr. Cameron. Quite a scandal. I recall mention of two daughters.”

  She folded his handkerchief, then folded it again. She couldn’t look at him. Her earlier sorrow had been replaced by something cold and sharp like terror.

  “That’s why you wanted to know, of course. If a marriage was legal.”

  She managed to nod.

  “It isn’t, of course, but you knew that.”

  Once again she nodded.

  “And, so, you came to Ballindair not long after,” he said.

  She nodded. “No one wished to have anything to do with us,” she said.

  “How very difficult for you,” he said.

  Difficult enough they’d nearly starved to death. Without Aunt Mary’s intervention, they might well have. Or Catriona would’ve achieved her goal of becoming a rich man’s mistress.

  Hardly what their father would have wished for her.

  They sat in the quiet for a few minutes, the peace of the garden and Mr. Seath’s silent acceptance washing over her.

  Evidently, he wasn’t going to say anything. But how did she live with her daily guilt? How did she push away the feelings she was coming to have for Morgan? It was one thing to lie to the Earl of Denbleigh, another to lie to Morgan, a man who considered himself her husband.

  “How are you finding your new life?” he asked.

  She wasn’t appreciably happier. In fact, she might even say she was markedly miserable. She was enchanted by her husband, fascinated by their lovemaking, confused, and beset by a dozen emotions.

  “None of the maids approve of me,” she said, grasping at the most idiotic thing to say.

  His chuckle surprised her. She turned her head to look at him.

  “Did you expect them to? People are people, my dear. You’ve risen from their ranks to be their employer. Don’t you think they’re wondering what you will do next? You’re suddenly in a position of power. They worry. They think, did she like me when we worked together? If she didn’t, will she use it against me?”

  She gently extricated her hand from his. “I would never do any of those things.”

  “Then prove it.”

  She frowned at him. “How do I prove something I wouldn’t do?”

  “By giving them a picture of who you are. Have you shown them who their new countess is?”

  She told him of the episode of Mr. Prender’s room.

  He nodded. “That’s a good start, but you need to carry your actions further. Ensure Donalda wasn’t harmed for her experience. Have you talked to her?”

  She shook her head.

  “She may well have felt intimidated by you even before you married the earl, simply because of your relationship with the housekeeper. She comes from a very poor family and desperately needs this job. Did you know that?”

  Again she shook her head.

  “Then let me tell you, my dear,” Mr. Seath said.

  Jean listened to Donalda’s story, feeling more and more regretful as she did. She’d worked beside the girl for months and never knew any of what Mr. Seath was telling her now. Not once had Donalda ever confided in her. Not once had she ever complained. Yet she’d never been curious enough to ask Donalda anything about her past.

  “She’s afraid of losing her position. If she does, it might put her whole family in jeopardy.”

  Being a countess—being a responsible countess—was not as easy as everyone thought it should be. So far, she’d made a mess of it. All she’d done was weep in the garden, daydream of her husband, and be childishly annoyed by the actions of her former coworkers.

  “You’ll need to tell the earl, of course,” he said.

  “About Donalda?” she asked, turning to him.

  “About you,” he said with a smile.

  “How? ‘Your Lordship, not only have you married a maid, but you’ve married Jean Cameron. Yes, that Jean Cameron. If you thought scandal had touched you before, it is nothing to what people will say now.’ ”

  “Do you think the earl cares that much about scandal?” the steward asked. “If he had, would he have divorced his wife? Wasn’t that a scandalous act in itself?”

  “In his case,” she said, “it was the lesser of two scandals.”

  “A matter of degrees,” he said.

  She nodded. “I don’t think he anticipated the reaction of society, Mr. Seath. I think it caught him by surprise. People can be exceptionally cruel, especially to those who’ve stepped beyond the boundaries of society. My sister and I had done nothing, but we were treated with the same degree of horror people felt for my father. They didn’t see his actions as merciful, but rather, merciless.”

  She looked up at the sky. “Can you imagine what society would do to Morgan once they discover who I am?”

  “Perhaps it’s a good thing you’re not married then, my dear,” Mr. Seath said.

  Surprised, she turned to him.

  “Without a legal marriage, he’ll be able to claim you as a dalliance, a misalliance. The whole thing could be passed off as a jest, perhaps. But what will happen to you when the day comes and the truth is known?”

  The question startled her.

  She thought of a suitable answer, discarded it, thought of another, and ended up saying, “I don’t know.”

  “Is that why you haven’t told him?” he asked. His smile was infinitely kind.

  She glanced away.

  “A way will be revealed to you,” he said. “I have only confidence in you. You think you’re an improper countess. I can think of no one better. You’re exactly what the earl needs.”

  She very much doubted that.

  “You must understand, my dear, what kind of man your husband is. He might brave scandal for the sake of doing the right thing, but he has a great deal of pride. Even more, he holds himself to a higher standard than most. He believes he must be the epitome of all that is just and good about Scotland. He has his family’s earlier reputation to live down and his father’s heritage to achieve.” Mr. Seath shook his head. “The boy in the man will not allow any alterations in what he believes is true, even if it means accepting a falsehood.”

  She didn’t speak, despite her curiosity. There were some things, perhaps, she shouldn’t ask. Questions that would not be considered proper, even from a new wife.

  However, Mr. Seath continued, as if he realized she was constrained by her own sense of propriety. “I’ve spoken of Donalda,” he said. “The earl’s father was instrumental in creating the poverty they experience now. Have you heard of the Clearances?”

  She nodded. Tales had spread far and wide, along with newspaper accounts about how some lairds had pushed people off their property, finding it more advantageous to raise sheep than allow the crofters to continue to rent and farm the land.

  “Morgan’s father gave me orders to do the same for an entire area of Ballindair land.”

  “And Morgan doesn’t know?”

  Mr. Seath shook his head. “The earl has not expressed any desire to know about the workings of the estate. Even so, I doubt he would tolerate any ill words spoken of his father.

  “Donalda’s family still lives in a small cottage not far from here,” he said. “I took it upon myself to make the arrangements. I’ve not told the earl what I’ve done, but I could not sit by while people starved.”

  She nodded, understanding.

  “I would prefer you not tell him,” he said. “Of course, it is entirely within your power to do so. That, I can understand.”

  “Shall we agree to keep each other’s secrets, then?” she said. “You have one of mine, and now I have one of yours.”

&nbs
p; He reached out, patted her hand and smiled at her. A reprieve, and only that, because one day soon she knew she’d have to tell Morgan the truth.

  In an extemporaneous gesture unlike her, she reached over and hugged Mr. Seath, wishing she could infuse him with her own health. He hadn’t upbraided her for her secret. Nor had he looked at her with contempt. For that alone, and even if she hadn’t come to feel a great fondness for him, she would have been grateful.

  Jean pulled back, turning her head to see Morgan standing on the path. Instead of approaching them, he turned and walked in the other direction.

  She frowned in his direction.

  Was he jealous? Could he be that foolish?”

  She stood, bent and kissed Mr. Seath on the forehead, surprising both of them, before heading in the direction Morgan had disappeared.

  Jean found Morgan in the library, the third room she visited since beginning to search for him. When she asked the maid if she’d seen the earl, Molly hadn’t even looked in her direction, merely shook her head.

  Mr. Seath’s words came to mind. She stopped, wondering what she could say to ease the situation. Not a word came to her. Instead, she thanked Molly, and when the maid turned and looked at her in surprise, she began to understand.

  Her behavior from this point on would form the foundation of her relationship with the staff. Gradually, they might come to respect her. But only if she demonstrated respect first.

  She entered the library, knowing Morgan was there almost immediately. The room seemed changed with his presence. When she climbed the curving iron staircase, she saw his shoes first, then his trousers.

  He turned and glanced at her disinterestedly, as if the book he held was of monumental importance and she less so.

  “You can’t possibly be jealous of Mr. Seath, Morgan.”

  He turned to face her, his features frozen into a mask, his eyes flat and cold.

  “Perhaps it’s your upbringing,” he said. “Although I was given to expect better from you. My wife needs to be above reproach. Meeting a man and sitting with him in a garden, unattended by anyone else, is not acceptable behavior.”

  She took a few steps toward him, stopping only when she was an arm’s length away.

  “Even if the man is desperately ill? Or haven’t you noticed that?”

  He didn’t answer, merely put the book back on the shelf. She took another step closer.

  “Also, Mr. Seath is old enough to be my father.”

  He glanced at her. “I’ve seen many unions, madam, between an older man and a younger woman.”

  “I’d thought your accent was fading, but when you’re angry, you sound very English.”

  He didn’t even look at her.

  “Mr. Seath is dying, Morgan. Can you not see that? Can you not have some pity for the man?”

  “I am not speaking of my steward, madam. But of my wife.”

  She took a step backward, away from him. “How disagreeable you sound, as if I were some onerous responsibility of yours. Something you had to care for that annoyed you. My wife. My brass urn. My chamber pot.”

  “What were you talking about with him? Why was he embracing you?”

  He was the one to close the distance between them now. How very tall he was—nearly half a head taller than she. It annoyed her to have to tilt back her head to look up at him. But it further irritated her to see the narrowed and suspicious expression in his eyes.

  “We were congratulating ourselves on our ruse, of course,” she said. “That no one knew of our great and momentous love. We’re going to escape together and run away to Paris, to live a life of unbridled ecstasy.” She folded her arms. “Of course, any idiot could see Mr. Seath can barely stand. As a lover he, no doubt, would be somewhat lacking.”

  Morgan’s cheekbones were a dull bronze color now. Good, let him be as angry as she was.

  “I do not take jests about fidelity well, Jean.”

  “I doubt you take jests at all, Morgan,” she said. “Life is not all about duty and honor and privilege,” she said. “And wealth,” she added for good measure. “It can also be about fun. About joy. About amusement. About the lighter things of life.”

  “I find your lecture odd given you were weeping in his arms.”

  Dear Lord, how long had he been standing there?

  “Do you find me excessively boring?” he suddenly asked.

  She blinked at him. “You?”

  He nodded.

  “I wouldn’t have used the word boring to describe you, Morgan. Infuriating, perhaps. Annoying, of a certainty. Not boring.”

  He folded his arms in front of his chest. “I do not want to have to wonder about my wife’s actions, madam.”

  She shook her head. “Well, Morgan, you are going to wonder about me. You are even going to worry about me, I daresay. Because I’m a human being, and can’t be placed in a jar for you to study. I walk. I talk. I think. I speak. None of which is under your control. You will have to trust me.”

  “Trust doesn’t come easy to me.”

  She marched toward him and punched him in the chest with her finger, before saying between clenched teeth, “I am not Lillian.”

  A corner of his lip turned up, as if he mocked her protestation.

  “See you don’t behave as she did, then.”

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “You can be insufferable,” she said. “Perhaps Lillian had a reason for her infidelity.”

  They both stared at each other, Jean horror-struck by what she’d just said. She hadn’t meant it, but she knew from his expression that if she tried to explain, he wouldn’t accept her words. Perhaps it was better for her to simply leave the room before she made a worse mess of things.

  She descended the staircase and left the library, intent on her room. Praying, too, that Catriona wasn’t there, her aunt would leave her alone, and no domestic catastrophes required her presence. What she wanted was to simply sit in a corner and pretend she was a ghost of Ballindair.

  Better a ghost than a live and troubled human being.

  Chapter 24

  RULES FOR STAFF: Any refusal to follow any of these rules shall be grounds for dismissal.

  Morgan wasn’t sure what bothered him most—the fact that Jean had been crying and was comforted by his steward, or the fact that she hadn’t told him what they were discussing.

  Had she confided in the older man that she was miserable in her marriage? Had she told Mr. Seath she regretted their union? Had she even ventured an opinion that he was a lamentable lover?

  She’d called him insufferable.

  Lillian had used the word enough times that it pinched now.

  He knew well enough his steward was ill. Plus, the man had shown enough loyalty to the MacCraigs over the years that Morgan didn’t suspect him of trying to lure his wife away.

  But there were different kinds of adultery.

  Why did he mind that she might have confided her thoughts to another man? Because she should have come to him. Why hadn’t she?

  I am not Lillian.

  The comment whipped at him, as if each word was equipped with a barbed tail.

  He’d been nearly insensate in Jean’s arms. He’d been sotted with joy over her response to him. He’d felt mighty, and eager, boyish, and skilled. Right now he felt none of those things. Only foolish, because coupled with that thought was another—he’d brought it on himself by accusing her.

  Or by caring too much.

  Catriona stretched, feeling remarkably well, considering she’d been engaged in very strenuous sex for the last hour.

  “You’re a remarkable lover,” she said, turning her head and smiling over at Andrew. “But I’d wager every woman you bed tells you that.”

  He kept his eyes closed, but his smile had a certain wickedness to it.

  She propped herself up on one elbow and trailed a path up his bare chest with two fingers. “Have you had very many lovers? I would say a good hundred or more.”

  “I’ve nev
er taken the time to count them,” he said, his smile broadening.

  Her fingers trailed along his lips, tracing their contours.

  “But I thank you, nonetheless,” he said, “for such praise. Perhaps I should get it in writing and just hand out critiques of my performance.”

  “No doubt it would shorten the time between meeting a woman and getting her into your bed.”

  He opened his eyes, turned his head and smiled at her. “Oh, but those are the most delightful moments. The chase, my dear, is sometimes more fun than catching the quarry.”

  She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose, answering his smile with one of her own.

  “You are a great deal of fun, dear Andrew.”

  He turned his head and closed his eyes again as she sat up.

  “Are you going to pose for me later?” he asked.

  “Is that a euphemism?” She laughed. “If that’s what you wish.”

  He slit open one eye. “Because you have nothing better to do with your time?”

  “I have no wardrobe for anything else,” she said, shrugging.

  It was his turn for laughter. “I do believe I’ve met my match. A thoroughly amoral woman. Have you always been that way?”

  “I’m not certain I like the term amoral, Andrew,” she said, frowning. “It doesn’t seem proper, somehow. Is it considered amoral if I simply know what I want and choose to go after it?”

  He rolled to his side and studied her. “Even your back is beautiful,” he said as she stood to slip on her shift. “There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want or in choosing to go after it, my dear. What’s not so proper, perhaps, is the fact that I do not doubt you’d push anyone out of your way to achieve it.”

  She turned and knelt on the bed, uncaring the shift was so thin it gave him a perfect view of her. Let him look his fill. She liked when Andrew’s eyes sparkled with lust.

  “I’m not quite that vicious,” she said. “I just don’t want anyone standing between me and what I want.”

  “What you want, my dear? Dare I hope it’s me?”

  She smiled.

  “Your watch has been stolen, dear Andrew. It’s loss is a burden to you, since it was the last gift given you by your father.”