Chapter Four
Boxing Day, 11:00 a.m.
If she had to make one more trip up the stairs, Thea was going to wrap the bell cord around Ethan’s neck and strangle him with it.
He’d rung early this morning for his tea, but when she brought it to him he’d sent her back downstairs at once for more apple tarts. She’d fetched them for him and hastened back to the kitchen to gather her ingredients for a cake, but before she could even lay hands on the flour he’d rung again, demanding clotted cream.
After that it had been a warm blanket for his chilled feet, more hot water for the basin, a cup of chocolate, books from the library to amuse him, then different books from the library, because what the devil did he want with novels? She’d been up and down the stairs so many times her legs had begun to ache, and it wasn’t even noon yet.
They’d had a lovely Christmas dinner last night—just Thea and the children and a few close friends from the village, but Ethan had refused to come down for it, and she hadn’t managed to coax him to take even a step outside his bedchamber door today, either.
He had, however, done a splendid job of cursing, demanding, irritating and teasing her right out of countenance.
He was running her ragged, and driving her mad.
Thea dragged a sack of sugar closer to her work table, but before she could begin to measure, the bell rang again.
“Oh, for pity’s sake. That’s it!” She tore off her apron and threw it across the room. If she could have lifted the sack of sugar over her head, she’d have tossed that, instead. “He’d better be hanging by one fingernail from the bloody window ledge this time, or else I swear I’ll—”
She stopped on her way up the stairs and slapped a hand over her mouth, aghast. Throwing things across the room, cursing, and falling into fits of temper?
Dear God, she was becoming him.
“You will not toss him out the window,” she muttered to herself as she marched up the stairs. “You will not drown him in his water basin. You will give him your sweetest smile, and fetch whatever it is he wants without a word of argument, or else he’ll be off to the Duke’s Head before the day is out.”
No, the trick was to lure him out of that room with a honeyed tongue, not flay him with a barbed one. Thea took a deep, calming breath when she reached his door, pasted her best smile on her face and knocked.
“It’s about bloody time. Come!”
She straightened her shoulders and opened the door. He was sitting in a chair by the window in a dark blue banyan, his feet up on a tufted ottoman, a cup of tea and a plate of half-eaten tarts at his elbow.
“What the devil took you so long? I’m not accustomed to waiting. But you look flushed, Miss Sheridan, and your hair has come loose.” He shook his head with mock regret. “Is something amiss?”
Not a word, unless it’s yes, my lord, or very well, my lord, or of course, my lord.
“Well? Have you had a difficult morning, then? What have you got to say for yourself?”
I’d like to drown you in your water basin.
“How can I help, Lord Devon?”
His eyes narrowed at her sweet tone. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like more tarts.”
Thea gritted her teeth. He’d eaten half a dozen of them just this morning, for pity’s sake.
“But you look cross, Miss Sheridan. It isn’t too much trouble, is it?”
“Of course not. It’s just . . .” Thea nodded at his plate. “You haven’t finished those yet.”
He gave her an angelic smile. “Those are cold.”
“I’m afraid there aren’t any fresh ones.” She hadn’t had a spare moment to bake, what with running up and down the stairs on his every whim.
“Make more, then.”
Thea pressed her lips together as hard as she could to keep herself from screaming. “Very well, my lord.” She snatched the plate from the table and turned to leave, but he stopped her before she’d taken two steps toward the door. “One moment, if you please.”
When she turned, he was holding up one of the books she’d brought earlier. “Fordyce’s Sermons, Miss Sheridan? In fear for my immortal soul, are you? I’m touched by your concern, but I’m afraid it’s too late for me to mend my wicked ways now.”
She walked back to him and jerked the book from his hand with more force than she’d intended. “Perhaps it would help if you told me what you’d like to read?”
His lips twitched, then, “How about Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure? Surely you have that in the library?”
Oh, the maddening man. Her cheeks went so hot she wanted to stick her own head in the basin, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “You told me you don’t like novels.”
“It’s not a novel. It’s a memoir.”
Thea snorted. “A courtesan who never catches a disease? It sounds like fiction to me.”
He laughed. “I’m shocked to find you know so much about Fanny Hill’s adventures, Miss Sheridan.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m certain we don’t have that book in our library.”
“Nonsense. Everyone has that book, whether they choose to admit it or not, and it sounds to me like you’ve read it, so it must be there. I’m sure a thorough search will turn it up. Make sure you check the spine of each and every book until you find it, won’t you? Perhaps I’ll have you up later this afternoon to read it to me.”
Such a pity to disappoint his lordship, but Thea knew beyond a doubt she wouldn’t find that book, no matter how hard she searched.
She dropped a stiff curtsey and turned for the door again.
“Where do you suppose you’re going? I haven’t dismissed you.” He took another bite of the tart, his eyes drifting closed. “One more thing, if you please.”
Dear God in heaven, what now? “Yes?”
“I fancy a bath. Have the footmen bring up the water at once.”
Thea bit her tongue until it bled, but she managed to keep her voice even. “It’s Boxing Day. All the servants have a holiday today, and even if they didn’t, they won’t serve you. The footmen, or the housemaids.”
“That nonsense still? None of them would last a fortnight in London.”
“You mean to say every lord in London is as arrogant and intolerable as—ah, that is . . . I apologize on the servants’ behalf, my lord.”
“No matter. You’ll just have to fetch my bath yourself.”
Blast it. It would take her the rest of the morning to drag the buckets up all those stairs, but it would give him far too much satisfaction if she protested.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a walk, my lord?” She glanced around the darkened bedchamber. He refused to let her open the drapes, and the room was gloomy and stale. “Some fresh air would do you a world of good.”
She had to find a way to get him out of his bedchamber. If he languished in here for his entire visit, she’d never persuade him to fall back in love with Cleves Court.
“I don’t bother with things that do me good.”
Thea blinked in confusion as his words landed with a dull thud in the center of her chest. What did he mean by that? Everything about it felt wrong—
“There’s no fresh air in London, and I see no reason to start inhaling it now. It will only confuse my lungs. In any case, I’m content with where I am.”
Yes, he was content, wasn’t he? Thea’s eyes narrowed as she studied him, lounging in his cozy chair in his banyan, with his plate of sweets at his elbow. All he needed was a pile of tasseled pillows, and he’d look just like a Turkish pasha.
He was rather too content.
If he were deprived of his tarts, his whiskey and his bath, he’d be far less so, wouldn’t he? He might become so discontented, in fact, he’d venture out of his bedchamber in search of his pleasures—
“What are you plotting, Miss Sheridan?”
Thea jerked her attention back to him. “Why, nothing at all, my lord.”
“You forget how well I know you. I recognize that tiny smirk at the corner of your lips.” A slow grin crossed his face. “But perhaps you’re only imagining me in my bath?”
“No!” Heat surged into Thea’s cheeks. She hadn’t been imagining him in his bath at all, but—blast the man—now she was.
“Because a visit could be arranged.” He took in her red cheeks and the infuriating grin widened. “No need to blush, Miss Sheridan. I’m not suggesting you get into the bath with me. Unless you wish it, of course.”
“I don’t wish it!” Dear God, it felt as if her entire body had burst into flames.
“How disappointing. But as I said, there’s no need join me in the bath. You can rub the wet cloth over my shoulders and back just as easily from outside the tub. Have you ever had someone wash and rinse your back for you, Miss Sheridan? It’s quite soothing.”
Thea bit her lip before she could ask if his marchioness usually rubbed his naked back for him. Why should she care what he did in his bath? He might have a dozen marchionesses rub and wash and rinse him, and it wouldn’t make the least bit of difference to her. Not the least bit at all.
Don’t think about his bare shoulders and back.
“Though now I think on it, soothing isn’t the right word.” His voice had lowered to a husky rasp, and he swept his gaze over her, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief, and something else—something hotter. “Perhaps stirring is a better word, or arouse—”
“Stop it, Ethan!” Oh, no. She’d blurted that out like an embarrassed schoolgirl. Had he noticed how breathless she was? Heat raced down her throat and over her chest. “What I meant to say is, I haven’t the least interest in your bathing habits, Lord Devon.”
“No? Pity.” He stretched his long legs in front of him and settled back in his chair with a contented sigh, as if he hadn’t just said the word arouse to her in that low, husky voice. “I’ll have those tarts now.”
Alas, there would be no tarts for Lord Devon. No bath, either, and certainly no rubbing.
Thea took a deep breath and managed to collect her scattered wits. “If that’s all, my lord?”
“Yes, but do let me know if you change your mind about the bath.”
Thea didn’t stay to answer, but fled the room and hurried down the stairs and back to the kitchen, where she’d left Henry, George, and Martha cutting Christmas decorations out of gold paper. “Get your outdoor things on, children. We’re off on an adventure.”
Martha climbed down from her chair at once. “Are we? What kind of adventure?”
“Why, we’re to search for evergreens and mistletoe to finish decorating the entryway. We haven’t nearly enough yet.”
Henry gave her a dark look and stuck his lip out. “I thought we weren’t going to have any more Christmas doings, on account of that lord.”
“Nonsense, Henry. We always celebrate the twelve days of Christmas at Cleves Court.”
“We won’t next year.” George kicked at the leg of Henry’s chair, a mutinous expression on his face. “That lord’s going to toss everyone out, and close this house down forever. I heard ’im say so.”
Thea blew out a breath. Dash it all. Children always seemed to find out everything. “Lord Devon is not going to close down this house, George. I won’t allow it.”
“But ’e’s a lord, innit he? No one can stop a lord from doing what ’e wants. Them lordships always gets their way in everything.”
“Nonsense.” Thea gave a brisk nod. “I’ll find a way to bring Lord Devon around.”
“Aw, but George is right, Miss Sheridan,” Henry said. “I wish I was a lord. It’d be right nice to always have yer own way.”
“Lord Devon isn’t going to get his way—not this time, because I’m going to do whatever I have to do to keep Cleves Court open, no matter how many lords come.” Thea held out a hand to George. “Now, come along, George. You too, Henry.”
George groaned as he slid off his chair. “There’s not going to be more lords, is there? We don’t even know how to handle the one we got.”
“I do!” Martha cried, her face lit up with glee.
“Ye don’t either, Martha.” Henry gave his sister the kind of scathing look only a big brother could manage. “Ye don’t know nothing about managing no fancy lords.”
“Don’t know anything,” Thea said. “You don’t know anything about managing any fancy lords.”
“See?” Henry scowled at Martha. “Even Miss Sheridan says so!”
“I wasn’t agreeing with you, Henry. I was correcting—”
“I do too know about ’em!” Martha stuck her little nose in the air. “I know they don’t like milk in their laps.”
“Martha! You didn’t!” Thea covered her mouth with her hand, not sure if she should be shocked or amused. My goodness, Ethan had been telling the truth. Martha really had assaulted him in his bed.
“Oh yes, I did. Ate all ’is jam, too. Ye should a’ heard him curse.”
“That was very naughty of you, Martha,” Thea said, trying not to laugh. Perhaps she’d use the milk pitcher on him the next time he teased her about his bath. “You’ll have to beg his lordship’s pardon. Not now, though, because now we’re going in search of mistletoe.”
She hurried the children into their winter things and then led them outdoors and around the side of the house where Ethan’s bedchamber was. She glanced up to his window on the third floor, but the sun’s angle prevented her from seeing anything, and he likely still had the drapes drawn.
But if he did happen to peek out the window and look down, he’d see the three of them quite clearly, and just in case he didn’t . . .
“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,” Thea sang, and the children joined in at once, shouting, “A partridge in a pear tree!”
They disappeared into the trees at the far edge of the lawn, their booted feet crunching against the frosty ground, the cold air ringing with true loves and turtle doves, and echoes of childish laughter.
* * * *
Where the bloody hell did she think she was going?
Ethan yanked the drapes back across the window and threw himself into his chair with a curse so wicked even he thought twice before uttering it aloud.
He’d been ringing the bell for the better part of twenty minutes, wondering where the devil his tarts and bath had got to, and now there she went off into the woods, as cool as you please, with those three unholy sprites on her heels.
The littlest one had been skipping. Skipping!
It didn’t look to Ethan as though Martha had received the thrashing she deserved.
Damnation. Now here he was, alone in his bedchamber again, with no tarts and no bath, no Thea to distract him, and no filthy memoirs to keep him amused.
What the devil was he to do now?
He could venture out and fetch his own book and tarts, he supposed, but he wasn’t going to do it. It was the principle of the thing.
Ethan paced back and forth across his bedchamber for another hour, fuming and muttering darkly to himself. Why his father had appointed Thea housekeeper at Cleves Court, Ethan couldn’t imagine. She was far too uppity to be a servant. Why, he had a mind to go after her and bring her back here at once—
Go after her, and bring her back here at once.
He’d thrown his shirt over his head, fastened his breeches—by himself, mind you—and had one arm in his coat before he came to a halt in the middle of his bedchamber.
Dear God, she’d done it again.
He was doing precisely what Thea wanted, just as if he were dangling from a string on her fingertips. Thea might be uppity, but she was damn clever, too. She’d lure him outdoors today, then she’d coax him into going to church next Sunday, and the next thing he knew he’d be loitering under a kissing ball, humming the Twelve Days of bloody Christmas.
Well, it wouldn’t work.
No one managed the earl, for God’s sake. He’d never wanted the title, but now he was stuck with it, it had to be good for bloody something, didn’t it?
He threw himself back into his chair, took up the book Thea had left, and settled in to wait her out. She couldn’t ignore him forever. If he refused to come down, she’d have to send someone up eventually before he froze or starved to death, and even Thea wouldn’t take it that far.
Would she?
No, no. She might be prickly and stubborn, but underneath the nerve and impudence she had a tender heart, and anyway, no one wanted a dead earl on their hands. The live ones were trouble enough.
Ethan opened his book to a random page. He’d simply sit here and enjoy this diverting book about . . .
He glanced down at the page. “On Female Virtue.”
Christ. He’d forgotten. She’d brought him Fordyce’s bloody Sermons to Young Women. Very well. He’d see what Fordyce had to say about female virtue, then. It couldn’t be that tedious.
“What shall we say of certain books, which we are assured (for we have not read them) are in their nature so shameful . . . that she who can bear to peruse them must in her soul be a prostitute—”
He slammed the book closed. It was that tedious.
Fine. He’d have a nap, then. By the time he awoke, Thea would have returned to the house.
But he didn’t sleep, and she didn’t return.
The sun dropped below the horizon, and it began to grow colder by the minute. Where the devil had they got to? They’d been gone for ages.
Damn it. He wasn’t going after them.
He struggled through another half hour, but still there was no sign of Thea or the children. What if something had gone wrong? What if they’d somehow gotten lost, or someone was hurt—
Nonsense. No one was hurt. He wasn’t bloody going after them.
But how would she manage three children in the dark? And now he thought of it, none of the four of them had been dressed properly for such cold weather.
He rose from his chair and shoved the drapes aside. Surely they’d be on the path back to the house by now, or at least at the edge of the wood, or visible from the top of the—
Oh, no. Was that a snowflake? For God’s sake, why didn’t Thea come? Couldn’t she see a blizzard was about to descend on them?
Damn it. He was going after them.
He shoved his feet into his boots, threw on his greatcoat and hurried out the door, cursing Thea’s stubbornness the entire way. He didn’t realize he was running until he reached the stone terrace that led into the grounds and came to a halt, his lungs burning as he panted for breath.
He had no idea where to go next. They could be anywhere by now. He hesitated, then walked around to the far side of the house toward the last place he’d seen them, and followed the path they’d taken into the woods.
He walked for a long time, listening for a voice or a shout or a bit of that maddening Christmas carol to guide him, but aside from the gentle rustlings of small animals in the brush, he heard nothing.
He and Andrew had walked through the grounds like this when they were young, and his brother had always marveled at how oddly silent the woods were, even as life teemed all about them. Ethan smiled a little, thinking about it. Andrew had loved the outdoors. If he’d ever had the chance to go to university, Andrew would have studied the natural sciences, or perhaps botany.
Of course, they never ventured far from the house, because if Andrew had one of his fits when they were out here alone . . .
Ethan’s throat closed, thinking about it. The old, familiar fury and despair came at him, and his hands clenched into fists. God, he hated this. It wasn’t fair, damn it. It wasn’t bloody fair—
“Use the stick, Miss Sheridan!”
Ethan’s feet stilled on the path at his feet. The voice was faint, but he knew at once it was one of Thea’s hellions. He turned and began to walk in the direction from which it had come.
“No, not like that! Ye have to stab it with the stick, Miss Sheridan, or it’ll never come loose.”
“If ye know so much, why don’t ye climb up the tree and do it yerself, Henry?”
Climb up the tree?
Thea wouldn’t be so foolish as to climb a tree in the dark, would she?
Of course she bloody would.
Ethan quickened his steps until he was running toward the voices. The children had begun to squabble, so it was easy enough to hear them now.
“I would a’ climbed it, George, but Miss Sheridan wouldn’t let me!”
“’Cause she knew ye’d fall, like you did last time,” a high-pitched voice taunted.
Ethan heard the sound of a slap, then a sharp cry, and then Thea’s voice, clear and calm. “What did I tell you about hitting your sister, Henry?”
“Ye said not to. But she said—”
“Never mind what she said. It’s never right to use your fists—”
“Oh, what bollocks.” Every head swung toward Ethan as he strode over to them. “Every boy should know how to use his fists. What bloody nonsense are you teaching these children, Miss Sheridan?”
There was a stunned silence, then George hissed, “It’s that lord! What d’ye suppose ’e’s doing ’ere?”
Henry shook his head, his gaze fixed on Ethan. “I don’t know, but that’s two curses already, and ’e just got ’ere!”
The three children were standing at the foot of the tree, and Thea . . .
Good Lord, was she mad? She was standing on a branch at least ten feet up in the air, one hand wrapped around the trunk, and the other batting with a long stick at something above her.
A strange sensation, part-anger and part panic made Ethan’s voice harsh. “What the devil are you doing up in that tree, Miss Sheridan? You’ll break your neck!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lord Devon. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been climbing trees since I was a girl, remember?”
“I don’t give a bloody damn if you’ve climbed every tree in Cornwall. Come down here at once!”
“I will, just as soon as I’ve got this bunch of mistletoe. It’s a lovely big one, and—”
“Thea!” Ethan’s voice thundered through the dark, and all three children jumped. “If you don’t come down here right now, I’m coming up to get you, and I warn you, you won’t enjoy what happens next.”
“Oh hush, will you? You’re scaring the children. Anyway, I’ve almost got it. Just a bit more to the left . . .”
She’d hushed him? Oh, no. No one hushed an earl. It wasn’t done.
Ethan braced one foot against a low, sturdy branch and began to climb. His long legs made quick work of it, and within minutes he came even with Thea. He held out his hand. “Give me the bloody stick.”
She ignored him. “I’ve almost got it.”
Ethan gritted his teeth. “No, you don’t. Give it to me. My reach is much longer than yours.”
She made an irritated noise in her throat, but she handed over the stick. He prodded at the mistletoe, still cursing under his breath. Within minutes he’d dislodged it, and it fell to the ground below.
The children let out a loud cheer, and George called out, “See, Henry? All lordships aren’t useless like ye said. Look what that one done!”
Thea was beaming at him, and for one wild moment a surge of unexpected joy swelled Ethan’s chest. “There. Now will you come down?”
He’d made his voice as gruff as he could, but Thea’s smile only widened. “I will, indeed.”
Ethan was to her right, balanced on another branch, and as she climbed down he kept pace with her, ready to grab her in case she slipped. “Be careful. The branches are slippery, and—”
But his warning came too late. Thea let out a little cry as her foot skidded off a branch, and in the next moment she was falling.
“Thea!” Ethan made a grab for her and managed to catch her around the waist, but her momentum threw them both outward, away from the tree. They tumbled to the ground, and Ethan landed with a hard thump right on top of her.
The boys gasped, and Martha began to cry.
Oh, no. No. Dread rolled through Ethan as he struggled to his elbows and peered down into Thea’s face. Her eyes were closed. “Thea!” He patted her cheek to try and rouse her, but her long, dark lashes remained flush against her pale cheeks.
Martha threw herself into George’s arms with an ear-piercing wail. “That lordship! He’s killed Miss Sheridan!”
* * * *
I’m not dead.
Thea opened her mouth, but she couldn’t seem to make her lips work well enough to say the words aloud.
“Thea?” Gentle fingers patted her cheek. She’d been so cold up in the tree she’d gone numb, but something heavy was on top of her, and it was ever so warm. Hard too, but in the best kind of way, and it smelled lovely—just the faintest hint of fine whiskey, and clean, fresh snow.
“Open your eyes, Thea.” The voice was low, pleading. Familiar.
Ethan. Not Lord Devon, but Ethan, the golden-haired boy with the bright blue eyes she’d loved for as long as she could remember. He’d come back, but there was no telling how long he’d stay. Perhaps if she could hold on tightly enough . . .
She lifted her arms, wrapped them around his neck and held him, her eyes squeezed shut.
Don’t go, Ethan.
A warm breath fanned across her face, a sigh of relief. “It’s all right, Thea. Let go. I’m heavy, and I don’t want to crush you.”
She tightened her arms around his neck, a distressed sound escaping her lips.
“What, do you suppose I’d leave you here?” A sound brushed against her ear, a soft laugh. “A tempting thought, but without you, I’d run out of apple tarts.” His warm weight disappeared as he eased away from her. “Are you hurt?”
She opened her eyes, peeked up at him from under her lashes, and then shook her head. “No, I—I don’t think so.”
He ran careful hands over her, checking for injuries. She shivered as his palms cradled her neck. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and his skin was warm. And his hands . . . how could such large hands be so gentle? Thea bit her lip to hold in a sigh as his palms slid over her body. He was so close, if she just arched her back the tiniest bit, she’d feel his chest press against hers, and—
“I don’t feel any broken bones.” He finished his inspection and pulled away. “Stop crying, Martha. Miss Sheridan is fine. She’s just had the wind knocked out of her. Boys, tend to your sister.”
“Aw, come on, Martha. Stop yer carrying on, ye peahen.” Despite his harsh words, George’s voice was trembling. “Miss Sheridan’s aw right, isn’t she, lordship?”
“She is.” He was looking down into her face, but it was too dark for her to see his eyes. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but his voice was strained.
“Hold onto me.” He slid one hand under her knees and the other around her back.
Thea gasped as the ground fell away beneath her, and her gasp was echoed by Martha, who stopped crying at once and stared at Ethan, her jaw hanging open. “D’ye see that? That lordship just picked up Miss Sheridan like it were nothing!”
“So?” George huffed. “What of it? I’d ’a done the same, if I were bigger and stronger.”
Martha sniffed. “Ye’ll never be as big and strong as ’im.”
“Eth—that is, Lord Devon.” Thea squirmed in his arms. “This isn’t necessary. Put me down. You’re upsetting the children.”
“No.” Twigs snapped under Ethan’s boots. “The children will survive, and it is bloody necessary. You had a bad fall.”
“So did you!”
He glanced down at her, and a faint smile drifted over his lips. “Ah, but I landed on something soft, whereas you, well . . . something hard landed on you.”
Hard, yes. Deliciously hard. He’d said she wouldn’t enjoy the outcome if he had to fetch her from the tree himself, but that wasn’t quite true.
But for all she knew, he could be injured. No one had checked him for broken bones. “But it’s a mile or more back to the house! You can’t carry me that whole way. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
Even as she said it she couldn’t help noticing he hadn’t once broken stride, and he didn’t appear to be struggling to carry her, or at all winded. She let her hand trail just the tiniest way over his shoulder, and her palm met nothing but hard muscle.
My goodness.
“You seem to be under the impression you’re in charge here, Miss Sheridan. Allow me to correct you. I will carry you the whole way, and before you think to argue with me,” he added, when her mouth opened. “I’ll remind you I’m the earl, and I won’t be trifled with.”
Oh, for pity’s sake. Whenever he took to reminding her he was the earl, there was no point in arguing with him.
Thea looked over his shoulder at the children, who were walking behind them, their arms full of evergreens. They were whispering to each other, their gazes fixed on Ethan’s wide back. “Henry, George, take Martha’s hand.”
“Aw, do we have to, Miss Sheridan? She’s aw right.”
“Do as Miss Sheridan says at once,” Ethan said, in as lordly a tone as Thea had ever heard him use. “It’s dark, and we don’t want to lose anyone.”
There was a pause, then a meek, “Yes, sir—er, I mean, yer lordship.”
No one said another word until they reached the house. The boys ran ahead to open the door for Ethan, and he carried Thea through the entryway into the study, and placed her carefully on the settee in front of the fire.
The children stood in the doorway, watching with wide eyes until Ethan turned to them. “What were you three urchins doing before Miss Sheridan took you out to hunt for mistletoe?”
“We was making paper decorations,” Henry replied.
“Very well. Go do that, then.”
“They need their tea.” Thea began to rise from the settee. “They must be hungry—”
Ethan laid a hand on her shoulder. “Sit back down. Miss Sheridan is going to rest for a moment or two. I don’t suppose you three have any objection to that, do you?”
“No, lordship.” All three children shook their heads.
“Very good. If you’re hungry, eat whatever sweets are left in the kitchens.”
“Hurrah! Lordship says we can have sweets for tea!” The three children vanished from the doorway and charged down the hallway, the sound of their thundering feet fading as they ran toward the kitchens.
“Christ. They sound like a bloody herd of elephants.” Ethan went to the sideboard, poured some amber liquid from one of the crystal decanters into a glass, and handed it to her. “Here, drink this. It’ll warm you more quickly than the fire.”
“Thank you.” Thea took a tiny sip, choked a bit, and then lowered the glass.
Ethan laughed at the face she made. “Go on, drink it all. It’s only a bit of brandy. It’ll do you good.”
“What if I told you I don’t bother with things that do me good?” Thea asked, throwing the words he’d spoken earlier that day back at him. They’d troubled her for reasons she didn’t quite understand. “What would you think of me then?”
“I’d think you were a bloody fool.” He stripped off his coat, threw it over a chair and then took the seat next to her on the settee. “Is that what you want me to say? That I’m a bloody fool?”
“You’re many things, Ethan, but a fool isn’t one of them.”
“No? Well, that little fiend—the dark-haired chit—she told me I’m a wicked, wicked man. Quite ironic, since she was stealing my jam at the time.”
“She does have a name, you know. It’s Martha.”
“Oh, I know her name. I’m not likely to forget it. She reminded me of it right after she dumped milk in my lap and called me an arse.”
“An arse? Oh, dear.” Despite herself, Thea pressed her lips together to hold back a smile. Martha hadn’t mentioned that part. She shouldn’t laugh, of course, but, well . . . Ethan likely had been being an arse.
They sat without speaking while Thea finished her brandy, but then Ethan got to his feet, went to the sideboard, and poured a heavy measure of whiskey into his glass. “If you’re recovered from your fall, you’d better go tend to those three savages, before they smash the rest of the glasses to bits and steal all the silver.”
Thea huffed out a breath. “They haven’t stolen a blessed thing.”
Ethan snorted. “Not yet.”
“Accusing innocent orphans of thievery, Lord Devon? Martha’s right. You are a wicked, wicked man.”
And an arse.
He only laughed, then drained his whiskey and poured another measure into the glass.
Thea frowned up at him. She’d go, and he’d sit in the study alone and drink whiskey, and then he’d sleep all day and wake up with a sore head, and as bad-tempered as a bear.
“Won’t you come with me to the kitchens? I’ll get you some tea, and then we can get our evergreens ready for hanging tomorrow, just as we used to the night before your mother’s Christmas Eve parties. Don’t you remember how much your mother loved Christmas?” Thea smiled at the memory of Lady Isabel, and instinctively reached for the tiny crucifix hidden under the high neck of her dress. “I’ll even make another punch, with brandy this time, if you like—”
“No.”
His tone wasn’t encouraging, but still Thea hesitated. He’d come out of his bedchamber today, and wandered all over the grounds searching for them. Surely that was a good sign? “My lord—”
“I said no. I don’t need anything more festive than a flask of whiskey.”
“But it’s the holiday! You can’t sit in here and drink alone. I won’t hear of it.”
“You won’t hear of it? Do you suppose it’s up to you? I told you I won’t be dragged into your damned Christmas frolics, Miss Sheridan, and I meant it.”
Thea looked into his hard face, and a shiver of apprehension darted down her spine. He would be dragged into her Christmas frolics, and much sooner than he thought. His lordship was going to be furious when he found out what she’d done.
But it was too late to change her mind. She’d sent Peter around the village to invite the guests today, and nearly everyone had said they’d come. It was all was arranged, right down to the pine-scented piles of evergreens.
Even if she could change her mind, she wouldn’t.
Whether his lordship liked it or not, he was hosting a party tomorrow night to celebrate his return to Cleves Court. Now all she had to do was manage to pry the flask from his hands, and force him from his bedchamber into the drawing-room by tomorrow evening.
And she knew just the way to do it.