A Touch of Scandal

Book 2: James Family

by Jennifer Haymore

Genres: Historical Romance; Regency Romance

Synopsis

The last thing Garrett, Duke of Calton, expects to find while tracking his sworn enemy is the delectable, mysterious Kate. This beautiful servant girl rouses a longing the battle-scarred ex-soldier had never hoped to feel again. But when she turns out to be the sister of the man he seeks, he's convinced he's been betrayed. Kate knows her duty to her family, yet how can she ignore Garrett's powerful pull on her heart? Or the heady temptation of his stolen-and sizzling-kisses? Scandal has followed the duke since the war. Now the greatest shock of all is on its way-the one that can separate Garrett and Kate forever.

Release date: April 2, 2010

Publisher: Forever

Print pages: 432

Sample

Kenilworth, England

September 1823

A bothersome heat crept into Kate’s cheeks as she hurried through the narrow, dimly lit passageway. If only she could learn
how to hide her thoughts.


Taking a deep breath, she forcefully slowed her step, squared her shoulders, and lowered her eyes. She was simply a servant,
finished with her duties for the day, ready to take the three-mile walk home. Not a flustered woman rushing out to a secret
secluded spot to watch a strange man—no, a god, more like—bathe in the nude.


Kate paused at the threshold of the parlor. “Pardon me, my lady?”

She bobbed a curtsy as her mistress looked up from the novel she was reading. Lady Rebecca always kept her head firmly tucked
in a book. A pang of sympathy shot into Kate’s heart when the younger woman’s haunted blue eyes met hers.


“Yes?” Lady Rebecca lowered the thick volume to her lap.

Lady Rebecca was the sister of a duke, and her breeding showed in her expression, in her bearing, and in her mannerisms. Today
she wore a plain white muslin gown with a gauze fichu tucked into its rounded neckline, but neither the simplicity of her
dress nor her relaxed position on the sofa diminished the evidence of her nobility. She’d kicked her shoes off and settled
on the plum-colored velvet with her legs tucked beneath her. With her slender build, her coal-black hair, and her midnight-blue
eyes, Lady Rebecca was one of the most beautiful women Kate had ever laid eyes on, but there was a sweetness about her, a
vulnerability, that drew Kate, that made her want to protect her, even to share secrets.


No, Kate reprimanded herself. A shiver skittered down her spine. Some secrets were best left unspoken. Forever.


Had circumstances been different, she and Lady Rebecca might have been friends. Sisters. But Kate was merely a servant, albeit an unconventional one, given that she slept apart from the rest of the household.
Still, she wished she had the freedom to sit beside Lady Rebecca and engage in a lively discussion about whatever it was she
read with such passion.


“What is it, Kate?” Lady Rebecca gazed at her without really seeing her, but Kate was accustomed to it. It was how aristocrats
always looked at her—as an object rather than a human. She couldn’t blame them, for they didn’t know any better. It infuriated
Mama, though.


“Might I be dismissed, ma’am? I’ve prepared your bed, brought up fresh water, and set out your nightclothes for Annie.” Kate’s
smile wobbled. The knowledge that she might see him again had butterfly wings tickling her insides. She fought not to squirm, but the mere thought of the handsome stranger made
her skin prickle.


Lady Rebecca frowned. “Is it your little brother? Is he very unwell?”

The lady knew Reggie was the sole reason Kate walked home every night. Her younger brother was a sickly boy, and while Mama
cared for him well enough during the day, she didn’t like her sleep interrupted, so Kate was there for him through the long,
sometimes difficult nights.


“Well…” Kate was a horrible liar, but she needn’t exaggerate in order to answer the question. It also wasn’t necessary to
explain that her reasons for wanting to leave early today had nothing to do with Reggie’s health. “He has been coughing quite
a lot.”


“Oh, the poor thing.” Lady Rebecca waved her hand. “Of course, Kate. Please do go—I know you’ve a distance to walk, and”—she
squinted at the drab chintz curtain covering the single square window—“it’s near dark, isn’t it?”


“I think so.” Oh, please, Lord, let him be there today. Let me not be too late.

“Yes, well…” Lady Rebecca glanced across the room at the door that led downstairs. The hope in her eyes was unmistakable.
“The master should be home soon.”


Kate nodded. Her elder brother, William, was Lady Rebecca’s husband, and he liked Kate to be gone before he arrived. He found
it awkward to be with his sister and wife in the same room, and he feared Kate would betray them both. Kate didn’t blame him.
First of all, it was horribly awkward to her as well. Second, deception was not her forte. From the beginning, she’d felt
the worst part of this whole arrangement was the duplicity inherent in it. She understood why it must be, but it still twisted
her stomach.


Lady Rebecca turned back to Kate. “Of course you may go.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be here when you wake in the morning.” Kate dipped into another curtsy and tried not to break into
a run as she crossed the room to the opposite door. Even so, the clack of her shoe heels on the wood floor announced her hasty
departure, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Lady Rebecca’s brow tilt in bemusement as she watched her go.


The cottage was elegant and expensive, but certainly neither as elegant nor as expensive as a duke’s sister was accustomed
to. Willy was in financial straits and only employed four servants—Kate, the cook, the maid-of-all-work, and the manservant,
John. The other female servants lived in the small room in the attic and John slept in a loft above the stable, but Kate walked
back and forth to her home at Debussey Manor daily.


It was far less help than someone of Lady Rebecca’s breeding expected. Yet she never complained. Kate admired her for that.

Her cheeks flaming despite all her efforts to douse the fire in them, Kate descended the last step and emerged into the drawing
room. Glancing up, she stopped in her tracks, stiffening. John lay on the tasseled chaise longue, his stockinged feet crossed
atop the cream-colored silk and his arm flung over his forehead.


He cracked one lid open to gaze at her with a green eye, and Kate pursed her lips in distaste.

“Leaving?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered curtly. Untying her apron, she spun round and strode to the closet behind the stairwell.

Feeling John’s reptilian eye on her, she pulled off her apron and cap, hung them, and after a moment of consideration, decided
to leave her cloak here overnight. It had been a warm day, so surely it wouldn’t be too cold to walk without it in the morning,
and it would be a nuisance to carry both ways.


“You look pretty today, Kitty. That color becomes you.”

She cast a look down at her dull pale brown work dress. How pleasant to know that brown was her color. “Thank you,” she pushed
out.


He chuckled but Kate didn’t look in his direction. John was negligent, arrogant, lazy, and, with his greased hair and pointed
beak nose, unappealing. Whenever Willy was near, John’s manner was obsequious to the point of inducing nausea, but when Willy
wasn’t home, he strutted about the place as if he owned it, even going so far as to be disrespectful to Lady Rebecca. Nothing
raised Kate’s ire more than to see that man’s disdainful behavior toward her mistress.


She turned from the closet and strode to the front door. Opening it, she stepped into the pleasant late-summer evening. As
she closed the door, John’s voice drifted lazily out. “Tomorrow, then, pretty Kitty.”


Her lips twisted, and when the door met its frame, she shoved it hard. The tiny slam brought her a small measure of satisfaction.

If John thought to seduce her with false flattery, he ought to think again. No man had seduced her yet, though a few had tried.
She’d promised herself long ago to never go down that particular perilous road. And with a man like John… not a chance.


Still, it was best to stay away from him and make certain to avoid being alone with him. He didn’t strike her as the kind
of man who’d take her rejection to heart.


Kate paused on the tiny landing and took a deep breath. Was she a hypocrite? She shook her head, thinking not. Watching was a wholly different action from doing, after all. And John the skinny, lazy manservant was a wholly different creature from the bronze god at the pool.


Kenilworth’s gently curving High Street was deserted for the moment. The setting sun cast an orange glow across the rooftops,
and the houses and shops abutting the road shimmered in the haze.


She turned and strode down the street with purpose, her shoes scraping against the hard-packed dirt. Ahead, the shoemaker’s
widow, dressed in black with a dark shawl draped over her shoulders, emerged from one of the pretty neighboring cottages.
Kate bobbed and murmured a polite greeting when they passed each other. The woman wished her a good evening as the clatter
of wheels and the sound of hooves heralded a coach and four coming from behind. Kate glanced over her shoulder to see the
carriage, a closed, lacquered black beast, approaching, tossing up a billow of dirt in its wake.


She picked up her skirts and hurried across the street in front of it, slipping through a broken slat in the old wooden gate
and stepping onto a narrow path in the field beyond just in time to avoid a choking spray of dust. Through the gold-tinged
trees loomed the tall, ivy-covered ruins of Kenilworth Castle. Keeping the castle to her right, Kate followed the overgrown
trail that led along the bank of the brook. She skirted fallen branches and dead leaves, and before long grime caked her shoes
and dampness seeped through her stockings.


Her heart thudded with a dull cadence, heavy in her chest. Under the coarse wool of her dress her skin flushed with excitement.
Would he be there today? He wasn’t yesterday, but she’d seen him four times in the past week, swimming in the small lake created
by the ruin of a dam that had once formed the castle moat.


The air grew warm and close. Branches cracked under her feet, and leaves rustled. The faint drone of insects hummed in the
air as twilight approached. She’d taken the long way, and it’d be full dark by the time she arrived home, but she cared about
that just about as much as she cared about her wet feet and mud-soaked hem. Not a whit.


She slowed as the creek turned northward, and with her lower lip trapped between her teeth, she concentrated on placing her
footfalls so her steps would be quiet.


A splash sounded in the distance, and Kate halted and looked up. Beyond a thick copse of greenery just ahead, the pool glimmered
in the gathering dusk, its surface rippling.


Someone had just dove in. He had just dived in.


Kate swallowed hard and crept forward, crouching so he wouldn’t see her behind the clusters of brambles and bushes. She ducked
behind a particularly dense bush at the water’s edge and peeked around it.


Just as the waves on the pool’s surface began to settle, he emerged from the depths with his back to her. He rose until the
water lapped eagerly at his narrow waist. For the tiniest fraction of a second, she wished she could be that water.


His thick shoulder rippled with muscle as he reached up to thrust a hand through his glistening blond hair.

Surely this man couldn’t be human. He was perfectly built—like one of the gods she’d learned about when she spied on Mama
reading to her brothers. Tall, muscular, his skin bronzed from the sun, as hard and beautiful and intimidating as Apollo himself.
He shook his head, sending blond shoulder-length curls flying and a cascade of golden drops showering into the water. Then
he dove again, his taut—and quite shockingly bare—backside emerging from the water before his entire body disappeared beneath
the surface.


A pleasurable shudder coursed through Kate, leaving a low burn to simmer deep inside her.

The god-man swam like a fish. Perhaps he wasn’t Apollo at all, though he rather looked like she’d always imagined Apollo.
Perhaps he was Poseidon—a young, clean-shaven Poseidon. Perhaps this time when he emerged, he’d be carrying his golden trident.
She held her breath, waiting, frozen.


Kate had been born at Kenilworth and raised at Debussey Manor, and she knew without a doubt this man didn’t hail from these
parts. What was he doing here? And why did he come here—this place that had been her secret spot for so many years—to bathe?
The sight of him, and his very strong, very naked body, was so far removed from her realm of reality that it didn’t seem all too farfetched to think that a lightning bolt
had deposited him straight from Olympus.


He rose from the water again, this time farther away but facing her. She stared in fascination at the jagged scar near his
waist, and when her gaze traveled up his solid torso and over his rugged face, she saw the second scar, a terrible knot glaring
red just above his left eyebrow.


The imperfections on his otherwise perfect form emphasized the fact that this was not a god, but a very human man indeed.
A man who’d seen, experienced, and ultimately survived terrible things.


He rubbed the water out of his eyes and opened them. His sky blue gaze settled directly on her.

She jerked her head behind the bush, gulping back a gasp. Her heart thundered in her ears. A bead of sweat trickled down the
side of her face. Controlling her breaths, she froze in her crouched position and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t move,
because now he’d surely hear her. Her best option was to remain still and quiet, keep herself hidden behind the bush, and
pray he hadn’t seen her.


She should fear this giant, intimidating man, but that wasn’t why she prayed he hadn’t seen her. No, she prayed he hadn’t
seen her because if he had, she wouldn’t be able to watch his sculpted nude body anymore.


She let out a long, silent sigh through pursed lips. It was the undeniable truth. As much as she’d fought against it, she
was hopelessly and thoroughly debauched. If not in body, at least in thought. The man could be a murderer or a lunatic, and
all she cared about was spying on him.


Not only was she debauched, she was an idiot.

Perhaps he hadn’t seen her. He had just opened his eyes after being submerged in water, and surely it would take a second
or two for him to focus on an object as far away as her. And with her brown hair and brown dress, she blended into the landscape
like a chameleon.


She’d remain hidden for a few moments longer, then make a hasty, as-quiet-as-possible retreat.

Keeping her eyes closed, she hugged her knees to her chest and counted to a hundred. All was silent for a while, but when
she reached sixty, she heard splashing from the direction of the pond. Clearly he’d resumed his sport.


Ninety-nine. One hundred.

She released a relieved breath and raised her lids.

And found herself gazing into his rugged face.

She blinked several times in disbelief, trying to clear her vision as he stared at her with narrowed blue eyes from his position
on his haunches an arm’s length away. A frown creased his handsome features. Rivulets of water streamed from his golden hair
and plastered a white shirt to his broad, imposing shoulders.


He’d been watching her. Spying on her in silence—probably throwing rocks into the water to mislead her.

With a squeal of fright, Kate stumbled to her feet. Her legs caught in her skirts, but she kicked them free. Brambles clawed
at her dress, ripping the fabric as she lunged away.


She’d gone no farther than two steps when he clapped an arm around her waist and yanked her back. She stumbled and would have
fallen had his hard body not ensnared her like a net.


Kate trembled all over. Small, pathetic whimpers bubbled from her throat as she futilely tried to twist away.

His warm, damp torso pressed against her back. He smelled fresh and clean, like hay drying in the sunlight, with an underlying
almond scent she instinctually recognized as purely his.


His arm crossed over the front of her chest, pinning her against him. The lock of his embrace rendered her utterly helpless.

“Who are you?” he demanded. He bent his head, and the trace of beard on his jaw scraped against the shell of her ear. “And
why are you watching me?”


His voice, low and rough, stroked over her body like a coarse towel, causing every inch of Kate’s skin to explode into flame.

Panic wouldn’t help her now. She must stave it off, be as brave as a knight battling a rampaging dragon. For several moments,
trapped in the steel of the stranger’s arms, she worked to control her gasping breaths and to stop her limbs from shaking
like autumn leaves in a gale.


Finally, she sucked in a lungful of air. Staring straight over the pool, now glowing purple in the twilight, she said, “My
name is Katherine, sir. I’m very glad to meet you. Lovely evening, isn’t it?”


Garrett nearly dropped the vixen. He’d expected the shivering and the fear, and he had already concluded she gave a fine performance.


When her trembling had abated, he’d readied himself for a struggle—or perhaps she would yank a dagger or a pistol from the
folds of her skirt and try to kill him. He didn’t expect polite conversation.


Her words shocked him so thoroughly, he loosened the hand he’d clamped around her bodice and followed her gaze to the horizon.

She didn’t take advantage of his mistake—another surprise. Instead, she remained as snugly fitted against him as if she belonged
there.


Layers of clouds drifted across the horizon and the dipping sun lowered behind them, infusing them with red, oranges, pinks,
and purples, and sending streams of color out over the pond he’d used as his bathing spot for the past week.


He reapplied the pressure round her waist. “Who are you?” Even to himself, he sounded menacing as hell. He clenched his free
hand, prepared to clamp it over her mouth should she attempt to scream for help from her accomplices. “Why are you here?”


She glanced over her shoulder at him, sparks lighting her dark eyes. Her lips twisted into a rueful expression. “Must I answer
that?”


“You must.”

“Can I…?” Her chest rose beneath his forearm as she took a deep breath. “Might I look at you while I do so? I daresay this
is a rather awkward means of conversing with a person one hasn’t properly met.”


He considered for a moment. “Very well. But I’m not letting you go.”

“Of course.” Slowly, she turned within the circle of his loosened arm until she pressed against him from chest to groin. She
tilted her head to look up at him. “That’s better.”


Theoretically she should complain that this was still an awkward way to converse with someone who wasn’t even an acquaintance,
but Garrett didn’t point out the inconsistency. He was somewhat more concerned with stifling his body’s reaction to her. As
if he were a long-dormant volcano flaring to life, blood boiled in his veins, and his skin heated from the inside out.


He took a deep breath, trying to calm his raging blood. It made no sense. Few women had this effect on him. The two who instantly
came to mind possessed elegance and beauty in spades, while this woman didn’t possess either of those attributes. Katherine
was brown and drab, with pale lips, coffee-colored eyes that seemed too big for her face, and shoots of dark hair poking out
haphazardly from her cap. Her body was tall and thin—too tall and too thin, perhaps—and her dress plain. All in all, her outward
appearance reminded him of England in the dead of winter. Dry and somber. Lifeless.


And yet… she was alive. Somehow beneath all that dullness, she sparkled. She was radiant. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her face. From those luminous
eyes. Her glow must be infectious, because in such close proximity to her, something he’d thought dead deep inside him sprang
to life.


“I…”

Her voice trailed off, and he lifted a brow. “You… what?”

She licked her lips. “This is embarrassing, sir. I’d really rather not tell you.”

“Embarrassing?” He didn’t understand. Either she was spying on him with the intention of relaying his activities and whereabouts
to his enemies, or… He couldn’t think of an “or.” There was simply no other reason for the woman to be alone in this lonely,
abandoned place.


“Well… yes. Quite embarrassing.”

When he didn’t respond, pink tinted her pale cheeks.

“Perhaps we could just shake hands and I’ll continue on my way?” She bit her lower lip in anticipation and gazed at him from
beneath her lashes.


Garrett stiffened. It wouldn’t be so easy to manipulate him. Once, maybe, but not anymore. “I don’t think so.”

She released her breath in a whoosh. “Oh.”

He tightened his arm around her, wedging her against his body. A pretty rose color suffused her cheeks, and she’d plastered
her arms to her sides as if she were afraid to touch him—or didn’t know how—and he considered the possibility that she’d never
been this close to a man.


He ground his teeth. “Tell me.”

“I… I was watching you,” she breathed.

“I know that much,” he bit out. “Why? Don’t lie to me.”

“Because…”

He held her close, every muscle in his body braced to hear his enemy’s name. William Fisk. The man who had made his life a living hell for the past eight years.


“Because… well, because you’re quite interesting,” she finally said. “And…” Again, she began to tremble.

“And?” he growled.

The column of her pale throat moved as she swallowed hard. “And… you’re… you’re so beautiful.”

Her flush deepened. Garrett stared at her with narrowed eyes, searching for signs of guile. He found none in the wide brown
eyes that gazed up at him, nor in the flush that now bordered on crimson, but God knew he was no expert at discerning treachery
and deceit.


She must be lying. He was damn ugly, inside and out. Ruined by the violence of war and betrayal and heartbreak, and of too
many years of living a lie.


She studied him with eyes that widened minutely as she interpreted his expression. “No. No, you’re wrong,” she whispered with
absolute conviction.


“What are you talking about?” he snapped.

“You think I’m playing you false, but I’m not. I am very bad at telling lies. I’ve abandoned lying altogether, for I’m discovered
every time.”


He shifted his stance. His instincts told him she was innocent of treachery, but his instincts were invariably wrong in such
matters. And yet, he couldn’t ignore them. Was he playing the fool yet again?


“Please forgive me. It was horrid of me to invade your privacy.”

“Yes.”

“But you see, this is my pool.”

He raised a brow. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “I come here often.” She gestured with her chin in the direction of the castle ruins. “People often visit the
castle to explore and have picnics and such, but they never come out this far, and the pool is rather secret, hidden as it
is. I never encountered another soul here until I saw you.”


He believed her, despite himself. Against his will, his anger faded and his muscles relaxed. “When was that?”

She hesitated, then answered, “Eight days ago.”

He’d arrived at Kenilworth eight days ago. He’d set up camp in an abandoned, ruined cottage near the castle, and he’d found
the pool during his exploration of the area. It had been a fine, summery day, and the cold, clean water had lured him. He’d
stripped off his clothes and dived in to wash the grime of travel from his body. He’d returned often since.


“And how many times have you spied on me?”

She broke her gaze from his eyes and dropped her chin to stare at his chest. “Four times. I…” Her voice dwindled.

He reached up to press his palm against her cheek, forcing her to look up at him. She blinked, and for the first time, he
saw that her lashes were long, thick, and dark, gracefully framing her vibrant eyes.


He trusted her. He might regret it later, and he thought that likely, but he couldn’t continue to intimidate a woman he innately
trusted. But he didn’t let her go. Not yet.

“What is your name?” Katherine asked softly.

He sucked in a breath. Best not to get too specific. “Garrett.”

“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Garrett.”

“No. Just Garrett.”

She nodded. “Where are you from, Mr….uhm… Garrett?”

He shook his head slightly. “Where are you from?”


“Kenilworth,” she answered readily enough, but her lips twitched. “Well, I suppose you’ll insist upon being mysterious.” She
scowled as she studied him. “You almost have a London gentleman’s accent…but not quite. There’s a touch of something else
there, something I’ve never heard. Something foreign.” She shrugged. “Which means that until you inform me otherwise, I shall
be forced to stand by my first theory of your origin.”


“What was that theory?”

“I concluded you must be from Olympus.”

He choked on a laugh. “Olympus? Why?”

She groaned, and the flush bloomed over her cheeks again. “My mama is right. I’m a silly chit who shouldn’t speak at all.”

“I like the way you speak.” The words flowed out of him before he could check them, and he snapped his mouth shut.

Her lips spread into a wide smile. It lit up her face, infused her lips with color, and made her eyes sparkle and dance with
mischief. Holy hell—she was beautiful. Incredibly, devastatingly so. She stole the breath from his lungs. Stunned, he dropped his arm, freeing her.


She stepped back, still smiling. “Well, I have the unfortunate quality of being too blunt, I’m told. But I see you and I suffer
from the same malaise.”


She hadn’t turned and sprinted. In fact, she seemed to have no plans—or desire—to escape from him.

“What malaise is that?” he asked stupidly. He couldn’t get enough air. His brains had turned to porridge.

“You didn’t intend to compliment me about the way I speak. The words escaped your mouth before you could stop them. It happens
to me, too. Incessantly.”


He answered that with a wry smile of his own. “It seldom happens to me. Perhaps your condition is contagious.”

“Perhaps it is. Perhaps you should run away from me. I could be detrimental to your health.”

It felt so odd, so foreign, to smile. The realization was enough to flatten his lips.

Her smile faded, too. “What’s wrong?”

He paused, studying her. Why not speak the truth? If she was honest, she’d understand. If she was up to something, it would
serve as a warning. “I cannot be certain you’re to be trusted.”


“Oh.” She cocked her head, and her eyebrows squeezed together. “Is that why you’re alone out here? Because you don’t trust
anyone?”


His jaw tightened. “Something like that.”

“Sometimes it can be difficult to trust others, but I do believe most people are good. Though goodness can be near impossible
to detect sometimes. Don’t you think so?”


Once he might have agreed with her, but now…“I don’t know.”

She looked down, kicked at the dirt with her mud-caked shoes, then looked back up at him with shining eyes. She opened her
mouth to speak, but as if she thought better of it, she clamped her lips. Her tongue darted out to lick them.


“What is it?” His voice was a gruff whisper. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her lips. Plump. Enticing.

“Who betrayed you so terribly that you cannot trust a simple countrywoman?”

Her voice was soft, sympathetic, and nearly compelling enough for him to respond with the truth. He nipped the compulsion
in the bud, quickly taking a different tack. “How old are you, Katherine?”


“Will you call me Kate?”

“Kate.”

“Thank you.”

He liked the sound of her name, so he said it again. “How old are you, Kate?”

“Two and twenty. How old are you?”

She wasn’t as young as he’d thought. Still, she was far too young for him. Too sweet for him. Too innocent. Too… different.
He had no intention of selecting a bed partner anytime soon, but when he did, he’d make certain the woman was experienced.
And as jaded and cold as himself.


“Far older than you,?