Free Scandal of the Year by Olivia Drake Page B

around the handles of the dish. He kept his face sober, his gaze focused straight ahead as he’d been instructed.
    From the corner of his eye, he took in the intimate gathering. Matching silver candelabra cast a soft glow over the room. He’d spent the better part of an hour assisting in laying out the white linens, the array of silver utensils, the china plates and fine crystal. Now, glasses and cutlery clinked as the family prepared to partake of the main course.
    There were seven of them in all at dinner. George and Edith occupied opposite ends of the table. Two gentlemen who must be the husbands of Portia and Lindsey sat with their backs to the door. On the other side, Blythe was positioned in between her sisters, and appeared to be engaged in a lively conversation with them.
    He was struck by the sight. Surely three more winsome females could not be found anywhere in England. Portia and Lindsey had dark hair, pale skin, and startlingly blue eyes. By contrast, Blythe with her coppery hair looked uniquely delectable in cream silk cut low at the bosom.
    He wanted to stare at her, but he dared not risk more than a glance. It would be idiotic to focus on her, anyway. She was merely a distraction to his purpose here.
    “Arthur was quite the handful in the coach,” one of the sisters was telling the group. She must be the eldest daughter, Portia, who had traveled here from Kent. “Thank goodness his papa very kindly offered to take him up in the saddle to ride for a time.”
    “He’ll make a fine horseman someday,” the man across from her drawled. “If ever he can learn not to piddle all over his father’s leg.”
    Everyone laughed except Mrs. Crompton, who mildly chided her son-in-law about inappropriate dinner conversation.
    Walking past the table, James risked another look at Blythe. She held a wineglass to her lips, her face bright with merriment and her hazel eyes sparkling. His blood beat with the same lust that had assailed him that morning in her bedchamber. She had been open and friendly, almost as if they were equals. Her attraction to him had been obvious. She had touched his arm and given him the peacock feather. The egalitarian nature of her behavior had caught him off guard.
    Now, as her sisters continued to chatter, she glanced across the room and looked right at him. Her cheerful expression sobered somewhat, though in surprise or alarm he couldn’t tell. Their gazes held for the space of a pulse beat. Then, she broke the contact and resumed talking to her sisters.
    As if he didn’t exist.
    Jaw clenched, James marched after the other footmen to the sideboard. He felt unaccountably annoyed as if she had delivered the cut direct to him in a ballroom. What the devil had he expected, that she would beckon him closer and make introductions? A lady was supposed to ignore the servants. He had no true interest in Miss Blythe Crompton, anyway, except as an unwitting informant.
    Earlier in the day, he’d deliberately fostered a sense of trust between them. The task had been simple enough. He had played upon her goodwill by asking questions about India, and she had fallen into his trap with all the naiveté of a green girl. Now, it was a matter of biding his time and awaiting another opportunity to continue his interrogation of her in private. Somehow, he had to lead her into revealing what she knew about her parents.
    He noticed Godwin frowning in his direction. The head footman was a stickler for rules. If the fussbudget had caught James looking at the family, he’d be in deep trouble.
    James busied himself at the sideboard by removing the domed cover from the dish of green peas in cream sauce. He selected a silver serving utensil, one of the spoons he’d spent hours polishing. The need for vigilance burned in him. He mustn’t forget, not even for an instant, that he was playing a role here. One false move and he’d be tossed out of the house on his ear, his ruse in ruins.
    Thankfully, Godwin had turned