Epilogue
Five months later
“Henry and George set fire to the drawing-room carpet this evening.”
Thea was relaxing against the mound of pillows propped against the headboard, but at this she straightened with a sigh, and threw her feet over the side of the bed. “Again?”
“Yes. Don’t get up, sweet.” Ethan tossed his coat onto the floor, jumped onto the bed and grabbed her around the waist before she could stand up. “It’s all right now.”
“If it’s all right, then why do I smell smoke?”
He eased her onto her back and stretched out beside her. “Because I used my coat to smother the flames. It’s ruined, of course.”
“Oh, dear. Another ruined coat. Poor Fenton will be hysterical. He still hasn’t recovered from Martha’s last accident with your cravat.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got other coats, and Martha can do no wrong in Fenton’s eyes.”
Fenton and Martha had spent a few weeks circling each other warily when Ethan’s London servants arrived at Cleves Court, but somehow—no one quite knew when, or how it had happened—they’d struck up a curious but fierce friendship.
Thea laid her head on Ethan’s chest, sighing contentedly when he ran his fingers through the loose waves of her hair. “They’re an odd pair, aren’t they?”
“Mmmm.” He tightened his arm around her. “You smell delicious, love.”
Thea gave his chest a distracted pat. “How did the fire start this time?”
He rolled her over onto her back and nuzzled his face into the curve between her shoulder and neck. “Fire? What fire?”
“Henry and George’s fire, of course. I almost don’t want to know, but . . . Ethan? Are you listening to me?”
“Mmmm.” He nibbled on her neck, then pressed a dozen light, open-mouthed kisses to her throat. “Did you say something, love?”
She had, hadn’t she? Yes, something about . . . oh! “The fire. How did it start?”
He let out a low laugh. “We were playing hide and seek, but when I left the room to hide, Henry and George took a sudden interest in the fireplace poker. By the time I got back to the drawing-room, they’d rolled a burning log out of the grate.”
“What?” Thea had been arching her neck for his kisses, but now she pushed against his chest and sat up. “Why, those naughty boys! Whatever would possess them to do something so foolish?”
He chuckled. “I couldn’t say, sweetheart, but we’ve run out of settees to hide the burn marks.”
“Do you find this amusing, my lord?”
“They’re ten-year-old boys, love. They’re curious.”
“Curious, indeed. They’re naughty rascals, and you know it as well as I do, Ethan.”
“They are.” Ethan tried to frown, but he couldn’t quite disguise the pride in his voice. “Heathens, the both of them. Martha too, come to that. Three little demonic imps, and not a moment of bloody peace to be had while any of them are about. Let’s have them come live with us here forever.”
Thea blinked at him, certain she hadn’t heard him right. The children spent nearly all their time here, but they were still wards of the parish, and Ethan hadn’t said a word about taking them in permanently.
But before she could reply, he eased her backwards against the bed, then slid his leg between hers to hold her there. “How it is that I find even your nose enticing?” He dropped a kiss onto the tip of her nose.
“When you say you want them to live here, do you mean—?”
“Your lips, too.” A low growl rose from his chest as he pressed a kiss to one corner of her mouth, then the other. “I can’t look at your lips without wanting to ravish you.”
“Ethan! You said—”
“Your throat, and your neck, and your breasts . . .” His voice lowered to a throaty rasp. He plucked at the neck of her nightdress, sliding it off one shoulder. “Show them to me, love.”
“But . . . the children . . .”
He skimmed his mouth over the tops of her breasts. “They’re not invited.”
Oh, dear God, his lips were so firm, and yet so soft.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and was one kiss away from succumbing to his seductive touch when she remembered the children. “Ethan, wait.” She sank her fingers into his hair and tugged his head up so he’d look at her. “You want the children to come live with us forever?”
He was quiet for a moment, then. “I do. What do you think?”
“I think,” Thea said slowly, a smile curving her lips, “you were telling the truth when you said you don’t like your great-great grandfather’s Aubusson carpet. It won’t survive another month with Henry and George in the house.”
He laughed softly, but then he sobered as he held her gaze. “A few burn marks, some spilled jam . . . those things mean a family lives here. The boys remind me of myself and Andrew, and Martha, with that sharp tongue and those wild dark curls—she reminds me of you when you were a child, Thea. Having them here feels right.”
Thea’s heart swelled in her chest as she looked up into his perfect face. She’d never thought him more beautiful than she did right now. “I know just what you mean.”
“My mother . . .” he traced his fingertip over the crucifix resting in the hollow of her throat. “I think she’d be pleased with the idea if she were here. Don’t you?”
“I think she’d be proud.” She brought his face down to hers and kissed him, her lips soft and tender against his. “So proud of you, Ethan.”
He gathered her close against him, so close she could feel his heartbeat inside her own chest. “With all of us here together, Cleves Court isn’t just a house anymore, Thea. It’s a home. Our home.”