“As if I could.”
Her smugness was a lovely, lovely thing, well worth the loss of a man’s wits, his dignity, and every shred of his self-control. When Ethan shifted and the remains of his erection slipped from her body, she whimpered, and her fingers curled into fists on the pillow.
“I’ll be back.” Ethan kissed her nose and extricated himself from her embrace, tossing the sheets back off them both as he left the bed.
Alice watched him, fastened her gaze on his glistening cock, and watched while he washed off. He wrung out a clean flannel for her in the wash water, reminding himself next time—please, merciful heavens, let there be a next time—to keep some heating closer to the hearth.
“Spread your legs, love.” He sat at Alice’s hip and gazed down on the flushed, rosy front of her. “You are so lovely. I could just look at you and bring myself off.”
“Is that what you did inside me?” She was watching him, her gaze soft and luminous in the candlelight. “Bring yourself off?”
“No.” Ethan took her hand, put the cool cloth in it, and then pressed her hand to her sex. “You brought me off, spectacularly, I might add.” Alice looked bashfully pleased with that, as he’d meant her to be—too pleased to be self-conscious about her ablutions.
As he watched her with the same shameless fascination she’d shown him, Ethan realized he loved her and he adored her.
“I enjoy this, Ethan. With you…” Her voice trailed away as if even words were too much effort. She slapped the cloth back into his hand.
“I will look forward to inflicting this pleasure on us both in future.” Ethan eyed her sex, wishing he could light a hundred candles, the better to admire her by. “You are not sore, then?” He rose and rinsed the cloth again, hanging it over the edge of the washbasin before returning to the bed.
“You didn’t answer me,” Ethan said as he rejoined Alice beneath the sheets. “Talk to me, Alexandra. I’ll fret that I was too demanding, too rough, too precipitous, too…”
She stopped him with a finger over his lips.
“Hush.” She pushed him to his back and straddled him. “You are too desirable, too skilled, too generous, too careful, too worried, entirely too handsome, too dear, and inside me…” She cuddled down onto his chest.
“Inside you?” Ethan’s hands came up to stroke her back, to learn yet more of the wonder of her.
“Too perfect,” Alice finished, her tone smug and wistful at once. “I had no idea, Ethan Grey. No earthly idea, and I account myself a woman with an excellent education and a good imagination.”
“You have a wonderful imagination, though I’ve only ever heard you turn it to wolves, witches, and sea monsters.”
“Interesting point, and you are none of those, but, Ethan?”
“I’m listening,” he said, though it was difficult to hear her over all that singing in his soul.
“I was worried,” Alice said, her voice getting softer. She nuzzled at his shoulder for a moment before raising her face to meet his gaze.
“Tell me these worries, that I might disabuse you of them.”
And he meant that. He wanted her passion; he wanted her worries, her everything.
“I was worried.” Alice ducked her face against his sternum. “Worried I would have a breathing spell, that I would not be skilled enough to please you, that it would all be awkward and embarrassing and regrettable.”
“And?” Ethan’s caresses were purposely slow and soothing, but he’d known some of the same worries, and too often—with others—they’d been justified.
“And…” She hunched down more tightly to his chest. “I never want to leave this bed, I never want to put my clothes on, and I never want to let you out of my sight.”
His hands slowed further, for her honesty and forthright speech reached into his shadowed soul like beams of summer sunlight, but God Almighty, how to respond?
Alice cocked her head to peer at him. “I suppose I should not have said that. You will forgive me my emotional excesses. I am all at sea.”
“Your sentiments are reciprocated.” He wanted to say more but dared not. Not yet, and maybe not ever. That she felt the least bit possessive of him was… precious.
She lifted her face to his again, though this time she was smiling at him.
“You aren’t just being gallant, are you? I am not accounted a sentimental woman, you know. I understand the intended nature of our dealings, Ethan.”
“Hush.” He gently pushed her back down into his embrace lest she lecture him on the intended nature of her dealings with him, and break his heart all unknowing. “You need not retreat from honest feelings, Alexandra. In fact, you must continue to set the better example for me in this regard.”
“Me? Set an example for you?”
“You are brave to be so honest. I admire your courage.”
“I am not brave. I am weak, wicked, and likely very foolish for disclosing my feelings to you.”
“No.” Ethan drew his fingers over her features. “You honor me, and you show me a kind of trust of which I hope to be worthy. I have not…” He gathered his courage and leapt headlong into an abyss of trust, because on this point he needed to be very clear.
“I have not belonged to anyone, Alexandra. When I was a boy, I thought I belonged to Bellefonte or to Nick or at least to Belle Maison. I was wrong. I thought I’d belong to my wife, but again, I was wrong. I haven’t even truly belonged to my own children, at least until recently. If you do not want to let me out of your sight, it suggests I might belong a little to you, and I would be honored to think it so.”
“You are mine,” Alice said in fierce, certain tones. “In this bed, Ethan Grey, for the hours you share it with me, you are mine.”
Ethan closed his arms around her. “And you are mine.” And not, he silently added, just when we are together here. “Go to sleep, my love, and worry not. If you never allowed me another moment in your arms, I would still be forever in your debt.”
“And I in yours.”
In the darkest hour, before even the kitchen or the milkmaids rose, Ethan wakened and silently lectured himself to leave Alice in peace. The warmth of the bed was perfect though, and the feel of her in his arms…
His sigh of bliss—or perhaps his growing erection—wakened the lady around whom he’d wrapped himself.
“Go back to sleep, my dear.” He brushed a kiss to her cheek. “You need your rest, and as to that, I will not come to you tonight, either, that you might have your sleep.”
And that her inexperienced body might adjust to intimate relations.
Alice trapped his hand against her breast. “I do not think I will rest nearly as well without you as I do with you. Why is that?”
Ethan flexed his hips a little, enough to snug himself into the curve of her buttocks. “Because we fit.”
“We do,” Alice said, wiggling back a little against him. “You are a comfortable bedfellow, Mr. Grey, despite your penchant for hogging pillows.”
Mr. Grey. He thanked a generous deity that he had lived long enough to hear her call him Mr. Grey naked in bed.
“You kick,” Ethan said, pleased to no end she liked to cuddle with him.
“Never on purpose. If you don’t come to me, I will miss you.”
“If I don’t come to you, you can be sure I am missing you as well. Now, leave off showing me your favorite toys, and try to get a little more sleep.”
Alice reached around and closed her fingers around his cock. “My favorite toy is lacking some starch.”
“Temporarily.” Ethan held still while she caressed him, and he felt—God help him—lust roaring forth at her touch. He sat up and still didn’t move beyond her grasp.
“Alexandra?”
She met his gaze, still holding his cock in a gentle grip.
The courage came more easily this time. “I leave you now, but part of me stays here with you, too. I would not go were it simply a matter of our pleasure—I hope you believe that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” In the shadows of a setting moon, Ethan saw a grin spread across her face. “I would not allow it.” She tugged his cock once for good measure then dropped her hand. “How will I face you at breakfast?”
He folded down over her and covered her chest with his own. “With a smile, at least. You must not feel ashamed. This has been a night of more beauty than…” He kissed her rather than attempt poetry.
“I’m not ashamed. I am overwhelmed and moved and pleased and grateful.”
“Grateful?” Ethan levered up and considered the notion. “I should tell you that the gratitude is all mine, but who am I to tell you what to feel? I am grateful too, and nobody is going to talk me out of it. Now, sleep and dream of me.”
He kissed her forehead, not daring to do more, drew the sheets up around her, and silently dressed in the dark. By the time he padded barefoot to her door, she was asleep, breathing easily, and he hoped, dreaming of him.
He moved silently down the hallway, turning the corner to move through the darkened house toward his own rooms, one floor down. He paused, though, and listened to a door opening in the nursery wing just behind him. The creak of the door was followed by a soft tap.
“Miss Alice?”
Jeremiah’s voice, tentative and worried.
“Miss Alice?” Another tap, more definite, but Ethan was not about to let a child’s nightmare or wet sheets disturb Alice’s slumbers.
“Jeremiah?” Ethan hoped his impression of a papa coming to check on his children was credible. “Is something amiss?”
“Papa!” A wealth of relief flooded the boy’s face. He was down the hall and wrapped around Ethan’s legs in an instant. “Joshua doesn’t feel well. He’s hot, and he says he hurts all over.”
Eighteen
Fever. Barbara’s final illness had started with fever. Memories of helplessness and panic clawed their way into Ethan’s mind.
“Let’s see to your brother,” Ethan said, picking Jeremiah up and returning him to his room. “It’s probably just a passing cold or sore throat. He’s been sick before, and I daresay he’ll be sick again.” He kept his tone brisk to hide his anxiety, but any minor illness or injury could claim a child’s life. Colds turned into lung fever; cuts became infected; a bump on the head became a coma.
“Shall we fetch Miss Alice?” Jeremiah asked, glancing longingly at his governess’s door.
Ethan hugged his son for reassurance. “Let her sleep for now. If Joshua is ill, we’ll need to take turns sitting with him, and Miss Alice will need her rest. Joshua?”
“Papa?” The child’s voice was groggy.
Ethan set Jeremiah down and sat on the narrow edge of Joshua’s bed.
“Your brother says you are unwell.” Ethan laid the back of his hand on Joshua’s forehead. “I am inclined to agree. You have a fever, sir.”
“I’m hot,” Joshua muttered, shifting restlessly in his bed. “And I hurt, and my throat hurts, and I have to pee.”
“The last is easily taken care of.” Ethan flipped back the covers and hoisted Joshua from the bed.
“C’mon, Joshua.” Jeremiah took his brother’s hand, and while Ethan tried to calm the rising flood of panic in his gut, both brothers made use of the chamber pot.
Joshua blinked at his father and knuckled sleepily at one eye. “Is it time to get up yet?”
“Not quite.” Ethan looked his son over. No red spots were emerging on the child’s body, so the illness wasn’t chicken pox. What else could it be? Barbara’s typhoid had started just this way. “Joshua? Is your stomach at all sore?”
“A little.” Joshua yawned as he stood before his father. “Here.” He pushed on himself. “Not a lot, but achy.”
Ethan ran a hand through his hair. “Back into bed with you, and back to sleep if you can manage it. We’ll have you feeling better, though it may take some time and cooperation on your part. Jeremiah, I’ll set Davey outside the door, and you’ll call for him if there’s need before I’m back.”
“Yes, Papa.” Jeremiah sounded worried but not as badly spooked as he’d been when Ethan had found him.
“I’ll be back soon to make sure you’re sleeping.” He mustered a mock glower for Jeremiah’s benefit. Joshua’s eyes were already closed.
God above, Ethan was going to be sick, so miserably did anxiety choke him. He was standing beside Alice’s bed without knowing how he got there, hating that he had to wake her but unable to manage otherwise.
“Sweetheart?” He crouched beside the bed, bringing his face level with hers. “Alice? Love? Wake up.”
Her eyes drifted open, and she smiled at first then caught the worry in his eyes.
“The boys?” she guessed, flinging back the covers so fast Ethan had to rise and step away.
“Joshua is ill,” Ethan said, hearing the tremor in his voice. “A fever, aches, and his stomach is sore.”
“The bellyache might just be hunger,” Alice said, grabbing her nightgown then tightly belting her wrapper. “He’s been sleeping more lately, and I should have guessed he was coming down with something. It isn’t the season for flu. Did you look at his stomach to check for chicken pox?”
“I looked at his arms,” Ethan said, feeling a measure of relief. Alice wasn’t ringing for a maid; she was preparing to deal with this herself. “No spots on his arms.”
“They usually emerge on the belly first, but often not until the second day of illness.” Alice tied her hair back with a ribbon then turned to regard Ethan steadily. “Children get sick, Ethan. If I had a week off for every time Pris came down with something, I’d be on holiday until May Day. You can’t overreact.”
Ethan ran a hand through his hair. “Joshua has all the initial symptoms of typhoid.”
“If it is typhoid,” Alice said, wrapping her arms around his waist, “we have a long, hard battle ahead, but he’s a very healthy young fellow, Ethan, and we’ll give him the best of care.”
“Barbara had the best of care.” His arms went around Alice automatically, and he held her just as desperately as he had at any point in the previous night. “Barbara died. It took weeks, and she suffered terribly, and Joshua is just a small child.”
He buried his face against Alice’s neck, lest any more such sentiment unman him.
“Ethan,” she said, gently stroking his nape, “your son is small but vigorous, and he loves life. He loves you, his brother, and his pony. I daresay he even loves me a bit. He has much to live for, and we’re going to help him.”
He stepped back, though it was an effort.
“So sensible.” And he didn’t resent her for it; he treasured her all the more.
“Governesses pride themselves on being sensible. Now, off to the kitchen with you, Mr. Grey. Tell Mrs. Buxton what’s afoot, and let her know we’ll need willow-bark tea and feverfew for the fever and aches, a tisane of slippery elm for Joshua’s throat, some cold water to bring the fever down. Then take yourself to the library to find us some decent reading books. And, Ethan?”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob, relieved to have something constructive to do.
“He will be fine,” Alice said. “You must believe that, and you must reassure his brother of that.”
Just as Alice was reassuring him.
* * *
“Medicine for the boy, ma’am.” Davey offered Alice a cautious smile when he met her at the door to the boys’ room not ten minutes later. “Mr. Grey said you was to eat as well. There’s tea and toast.” Davey motioned to the tray as he set it on the table in the boys’ room. “Mr. Grey said I’m to remain in the hall in case the boys need anything, so mind you ring if there’s more you want. When Master Jeremiah wakes, I can set one of the other fellows to bide by the door, and take the boy to the stables to groom the ponies.”
“That will help. Watching one’s brother fall ill is no way for a boy to spend his day.”
Davey gave a little bow and withdrew, but Alice had been glad for his presence. A governess coul
d be the loneliest of creatures, neither family nor quite one of the upper servants.
She realized, as she pulled a rocking chair up to Joshua’s bed, she felt a sort of belonging as a member of the household staff. She didn’t belong to the other servants, or they to her, but all of them belonged to Tydings. And she belonged to the master of Tydings, for as long as he would have her.
And a little bit—more than a little bit—she belonged to the boys who slept so soundly in their beds. They’d stolen and stormed into her heart, into the empty place left by Priscilla’s absence, and by the absence of any children of her own. She loved them for themselves, but loved them as well for being Ethan’s sons, the little boys who were towing a big quiet man from shadows to sunlight, one pony ride, one tickling session, and one impertinent question at a time.
Joshua Nicholas Grey was not going to die. Alice would not allow it. She’d let down her sister and knew the bitterness of long regrets. She was not going to let down Joshua or Jeremiah or Ethan.
* * *
Joshua continued to sleep, then awaken only to complain of his aches, sore throat, and fever. As uncomfortable as he was, Ethan knew the illness was likely to worsen at night. If it was typhoid, it could go on for weeks…
“Barbara’s illness started off the same,” Ethan said when Alice drew him across the hall into her room. He’d hovered near his son more and more closely as the day went along, first bringing his correspondence upstairs then abandoning any attempt at productivity. Jeremiah, at least, had gone out to the stables with Davey and groomed both ponies, then repaired to the hallway to beat Davey at Patience.
“Joshua does not have cramping of the bowels,” Alice reminded him. She’d probably made the same point a half dozen times earlier in the day. “Intestinal distress is a hallmark of typhoid.”
“I was tempted to send for Nick.” Ethan looped his arms around Alice’s waist and held her loosely, when what he wanted was to clutch her to him. “I thought about sending for him—Nick is the head of our family and travels easily and often—but I simply informed him Joshua was ill with fever and aches, a sore throat, and a tender stomach.”
Ethan: Lord of Scandals ll-3 Page 25
