Before The Scandal Read Online Free PDF Page B

At any rate, he hadn’t yet begun shaving when last he’d slept there. Thankfully he’d thrown all of his necessities into his trunk before he’d left his regiment.
    He sat back to look at himself in the mirror, shirtless, barefoot, and wearing an old pair of trousers to sleep in as he’d taken to doing in case the French attacked in the middle of the night. He bore a nice selection of scars from being shot and stabbed and having a horse or two fall on him, but nothing that could compare with what he’d done to William. He had the use of all his limbs, after all.
    Dark brown hair that was past due for a trim, his face leaner than it had once been and well tanned from long days in the Spanish sun. Even his eyes seemed different than the last time he’d sat there—still hazel, but…older.
    His door rattled with the force of a knock. Phineas jumped. “Come in,” he called, deliberately setting aside the razor. The only war here was the one of his own making.
    The door opened. “Good mornin’ to you, Colonel.”
    For a moment Phineas simply stared. “Gordon?” he finally managed. “What the devil are you doing here?”
    “That’s a bit of a tale, it is,” the stout Scotsman drawled. “That bloke downstairs took me bags. Hope he’s employed here.”
    Phineas sank back in the dressing chair. “Tall fellow, old as Methuselah?”
    Thaddeus Gordon snapped his fingers. “Aye, that’s him. Bit of a temper, too.”
    “Did you call at the front door?”
    “Aye. I couldnae climb in through one o’ yer windows. Wouldnae be polite, that.”
    “That’s what annoyed him.”
    The Scotsman lifted a craggy eyebrow. “That I didnae climb in through a window?”
    “That you called at the front door. You, Sergeant, are uninvited. Even worse, you’re my man.” When Gordon continued to eye him, Phineas grinned. Thank God for stubborn Scotsmen and their unflagging loyalty. “You use the back door.”
    “Oh. Right, then. Grand houses, back door. Ye might’ve said something before.”
    “You weren’t supposed to be here.” Phineas stood. “Which brings me back to my original question—why are you here?”
    “Ye answered that yerself, sir. I’m yer man. Couldnae stay behind and leave ye to fend for yerself.”
    “You’re in the service of His Majesty, Sergeant. You can’t simply leave when the mood strikes you.”
    “I didnae. I told Captain Brent that ye’d sent for me. And I stowed yer kit with the captain, in case ye was wonderin’. It’s nice’n safe.”
    Phineas blew out his breath. Under other circumstances, Gordon’s disobedience would have annoyed him greatly. After last night, though, he was happy to see an ally. “As long as you’re here, then, help me dress.”
    “In yer uniform, or are ye a civilian now?” the sergeant asked dryly.
    “Considering the current state of my civilian clothes, I’m still a soldier.” He cocked an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, I believe I have some ironing for you, as well.”
    “Oh, grand.”
    He might have dug through his old wardrobe, but at four inches taller and two stone heavier he wouldn’t be able to wear anything in there, anyway. Thanks to some vigorous shaking and the strategic application of a hot iron Gordon procured from somewhere, his uniform managed to remain parade-worthy even after a week of hard use.
    “Very fine, Colonel,” his man commented, stepping back as if to admire a painting he’d just completed. “Though yer boots could use a polish.”
    “They’ll do.” Phineas checked his pocket watch. Time to go down to breakfast and be civil, as Elizabeth—Beth—had requested. And time to see whether he could decipher what the devil beyond the general disrepair had happened to cause his sister to lie to get him to return to the estate he’d once called home.
    Sergeant Gordon pulled open the bedchamber door for him and then followed him out of the room. “I do believe I smell roasted chicken,” he crooned, rubbing his hands