The Perfect Scandal by Delilah Marvelle Page B

Majesty’s intent.”
    â€œSomeone ought to.” The naughty old sovereign, though kind, was proving to be more of a nuisance than a salvation. Not even a week after her arrival in England from Warszawa, the man had demanded she grace him with an appearance in his private apartment. At night. Alone.
    When he wouldn’t desist, and had even tried to pussyfoot his way into her private chamber, she’d politely informed His Majesty that she was going to require quarters outside the palace lest she set fire to the throne room. Arrangements for separate quarters were granted without resistance or delay. Only now she had this to contend with.
    The bell rang yet again, annoyingly echoing throughout the vast corridor, reminding them of the crowd impatiently loitering outside. Only this time, the large knocker was being pounded against thedoor, causing them all to pause and glance toward the bolted entrance.
    The butler turned and motioned to the footman. “’Tis best we take precautions. Watkins? Escort the Countess to her room and ensure she remains there until royal guards arrive and disperse the remaining crowd.”
    â€œYes, Mr. Lawrence.” Watkins advanced, politely gesturing toward the direction she was supposed to go.
    Zosia shifted against the padded crutches digging into the pits of her arms. She was not about to hide in her room merely because one of the men had decided to use the knocker. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but I have no desire for this to give way to a riot. ’Tis obvious you are in need of intelligent leadership and I intend to offer it. Mr. Lawrence, open the door and keep taking their cards until the guards arrive. Mr. Watkins, you will coordinate the line to ensure order. That should provide enough structure to keep the masses from panicking.”
    The butler sniffed. “Remove her from the foyer, Watkins.”
    The footman leaned toward her, gently touching her arm in an awkward form of compliance. “Countess. If you would please—”
    â€œNo. I will not please.” She shifted away and glared at them. “Need I remind you both, gentlemen,that I am not the one getting paid to serve you. You are the ones getting paid to serve me. Now, for the better good of our safety, as well as the safety of those unfortunate souls being forced to wait in that crowd outside, open the door and do as you are told. ’Tis a simple matter of courtesy that will ensure order until the guards arrive.”
    The butler set his jaw and hastened toward them. “I think it best we take away her crutches, Watkins.”
    She gasped and clutched at the oak posts holding her up. “You will do no such thing!”
    Watkins jerked toward the old man. “Mr. Lawrence. You don’t expect me to actually—”
    â€œDo as you are told, boy,” the butler commanded in a harsh tone. “Or you will find yourself without a position or a reference. You know our orders. To oppose them is to oppose your own King.”
    Zosia lowered her chin in disbelief as Watkins sighed, leaned toward her and tried grabbing hold of her right crutch. She jerked away, stumbling against her crutches and tightening her hold, hopped back on her one foot. “This is outrageous! How dare you—I demand to know what orders His Majesty has given and why!”
    Watkins grabbed hold of her crutch again and yanked at it, each pull growing all the more firm and insistent. “I will carry you upstairs, Countess.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “No one ever carries me. Icarry myself. Now I am demanding you disclose your orders.”
    â€œThose orders are confidential,” the butler supplied in a flat tone. “Now, please—”
    â€œNo! I—” She gritted her teeth and savagely held onto her crutches, despite swaying against Watkins’s each yank and tug. Since when was it acceptable for servants to assault their mistress in the name of the King, who was