What Happens in Scotland by Jennifer McQuiston Read Free Book Online

happened.
    Instead of correcting the servant’s presumption, she asked, “Has anyone come by today? The cook, perhaps?” She cupped a hand around the fabric that held the kitten, still curled up between her breasts. Though her own stomach was not up to the task of breaking her fast, the little thing needed milk. Although, to her recollection, the cook had not brought a bottle of milk during her previous visit. Her cousin was vocally averse to dairy, claiming it affected his bowels in a disagreeable fashion. It had not occurred to her when she had accepted the little burden that such luxuries would be as hard to find at Randolph’s home as ladies’ maids.
    “No, miss.” The groom shook his head. “ ’Tis Mrs. Pue’s day off.”
    Concern for the kitten tugged at her. It was but a bit of fur and claw, and it would certainly not survive long without sustenance.
    The servant looked nervous. “But there is—”
    “There is bread and cheese in the larder,” Randolph interrupted, coming around to stand too close. He handed the reins to the servant, who, after casting an uncertain glance toward Georgette, began to unhook the traces from the swaybacked gray mare.
    “It is a blessing Mrs. Pue is not here to see you looking like this,” Randolph went on, pulling her to the side and whispering fiercely. “Why, the woman is a notorious gossip and would spread the tale far and near.” His gaze scoured her misshapen neckline. “You look shameful, Georgette. And I think just the bread for you this morning. It is clear you cannot be trusted to have a care for yourself, and I do not want to have to clean up after you when your stomach objects to heavy fare.”
    His cutting words stung. Georgette forced herself to stand still, to bear the heavy touch of his hand. Randolph scolded her as if he had a right to do so. Her husband had used just that tone, all too frequently. She was never good enough. Never obedient enough. Never desirable enough. Nausea pricked at her like a needle threaded with painful memories. Her husband stumbling home, another woman’s scent on his skin.
    Her husband trying to touch her, and her pulling away.
    The vicious doubts her life as a married woman had conjured had not disappeared with her husband’s untimely, drunken death. She had felt inadequate then, a failure as a wife. She felt inadequate now, a failure as a woman. What sort of lady spent a forgotten evening frolicking with a stranger, but could not bring herself to bear a husband’s touch? Perhaps that was why her husband drank so much during their short time together. To forget his disappointment in his wife.
    Perhaps that was why she drank last night—to forget her cousin’s similarities to her dead spouse.
    But she was no longer a wife. At least, she was not Randolph’s wife. He had no right to speak to her as if she was. Georgette drew herself up. “It is my mistake, and my problem. We are not married, and you do not control me.” Resentment colored her voice. It felt good to speak so directly after a morning mired in guilt.
    Randolph’s eyes narrowed, making his nose appear a thin, sharp hook. “I daresay if you had married me you would be enjoying the morning a bit more.”
    Bile, hot and acrid, knocked against the back of her throat. The idea of sharing a bed with her cousin made her knees buckle in revulsion. She could not imagine doing with Randolph what she had apparently done with her mysterious bed partner.
    “I did not say my morning was without enjoyment.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. But it was the truth. On some level, she had enjoyed the view of her naked, brawny Scotsman this morning, more so than she was enjoying the course of the current conversation.
    Randolph’s eyes bulged behind his spectacles, bringing to mind a myopic frog. “Acting the lightskirt does not become you, cousin.” The light pressure on her arm shifted to a forceful push on her elbow. “Go inside while I sort