Twelfth Night with the Earl

by Anna Bradley

  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.