Scandal of the Year by Olivia Drake Page B

George Crompton—or a swindler who had cheated James out of his inheritance.
    Of course, Crompton would have paid this woman handsomely to keep his secrets. He would not have taken the risk of bringing her to London with the family without being absolutely certain of her loyalty.
    James needed to win her trust. So he formulated a lie that would explain his interest in the family’s background. “You’ve known them for quite a long time, then. I was wondering what manner of man is Mr. Crompton? You see, I would like to move to India someday, and I’m curious if you think he might write me a reference.”
    Kasi shrugged. “You ask sahib . I do not know.”
    “Don’t go yet.” James mounted the steps in an effort to stop her from leaving. “Please, I would merely like to know your assessment of him. Is he a kind master? Is he honest and obliging? Or is he perhaps cold and ruthless in matters of business?”
    The Indian woman stared at him. Under the scrutiny of those dark currant eyes, a prickling ran over his skin, and he had the sudden illogical sense that she could read his mind and see his true purpose.
    Nonsense. He couldn’t have given himself away with a few questions. No one here knew that James was really George Crompton’s cousin and heir.
    The scuff of approaching footsteps broke the silence. A maidservant in mobcap and gray gown trudged around the corner. She was toting a large breakfast tray. Upon seeing them on the stairway, she halted so fast that the dishes clattered.
    It was Meg, the saucy maid who had given up on flirting with James. Her startled attention was focused on Kasi.
    The Indian woman scowled, her eyes narrowing to slits. Meg sucked in an audible breath, stepped swiftly backward, and bumped hard into the wall.
    The breakfast tray tilted. James leaped down the few steps and grabbed it from her. But he wasn’t fast enough to stop one of the covered dishes from flying off. Toast and china scattered all over floor. Miraculously, the plate didn’t break.
    Halfway down the long corridor, a man stepped out of the kitchen. James silently cursed the bad timing. Godwin, the head footman, was a nitpicking taskmaster who’d kept a close watch on James.
    “What’s the matter there?” Godwin snapped.
    “It was merely a slight mishap,” James called. “No harm done.”
    “See to it that the mess is cleaned up,” Godwin ordered before vanishing back into the kitchen.
    Meg was still staring at the staircase. “’Tis the Evil Eye,” she whispered.
    James would have laughed out loud had she not looked so genuinely terrified. And if he wasn’t so frustrated from being thwarted in his interrogation of Kasi.
    The Hindu woman had vanished up the stairs. Blast it, he would have to delay any further questioning until another time.
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” he told Meg. “Kasi is harmless. Now, you’ll need to replenish this tray. Where were you taking it?”
    “To-to Miss Crompton.”
    All of his senses snapped to alertness. Luck had handed him an opportunity on a silver platter—quite literally. “You’re too shaken to carry something so heavy. I’ll deliver it myself.”

Chapter 8
    After donning a foam-green morning gown, Blythe dismissed the maid and finished her toilette herself. She had no engagements until the requisite calls in the early afternoon and for the moment, she preferred to be alone with her own thoughts.
    Lifting her skirt slightly, she stepped into a pair of soft leather slippers. She really ought to have gone downstairs to join her parents for breakfast. But no doubt Mama would have launched into a litany of schemes designed to ingratiate them with Lady Davina and her father.
    Still stung by the dirty trick Davina had played, Blythe pursed her lips. In the carriage going home the previous evening, Mama had shrugged off Blythe’s assertion that Davina had purposefully set up a situation whereby Viscount Kitchener would embroil Blythe in a scene. They must be forgiving