Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(91)

Reaching out to the luxuriant undergrowth of wintergreen shrubs beneath the stand of beeches, Ethan plucked a sharp minty leaf. He lay back on the cloth and nibbled on the bit of green, staring up at the canopy of sky and leaves overhead. The beeches were gnarled and graceful, their branches tangling as if they were holding hands. All that could be heard were rustling leaves and the trill of a wood warbler. The air was fresh with the loamy scent of rich earth. Rustling leaves and the occasional trill of a wood warbler were the only sounds they could hear.

“I’ve never been in a place so peaceful, outside of a church,” Ethan said.

“It’s a world away from London. All the clashing fire bells and the roar of railways and construction . . . and the air filthy with smoke and dust . . . and all those tall buildings blocking out the sun . . .”

“Aye,” Ethan said. “I miss it too.”

They both chuckled.

“I miss my patients, and the clinic,” Garrett confessed. “Now that you’re too healthy for me to fuss over, I must have something to do.”

“You could begin writing a memoir,” he suggested.

Unable to resist the temptation he presented, Garrett bent over until their noses nearly touched. “My life,” she told him, “hasn’t been nearly sensational enough for my memoir to be interesting.”

“You’re in hiding with a fugitive,” he pointed out.

Her lips quirked. “That means you’re the one with an interesting life, not me.”

Ethan traced the edge of her low-necked gown with his fingertips, and hooked his forefinger into the soft valley between her breasts. “We’ll return to London soon, and I’ll provide all the excitement you want.” His lips brushed hers with teasing dry warmth, and she let him draw her down, increasing the pressure until the kiss was strong and damp and savoring. Her senses were filled with him, the sweet taste of his mouth, the vital feel of his body as he pulled her full length against him.

In the past week, Ethan had made love to her twice more, managing to overcome her concerns with the perfect mixture of reassurance and temptation. The man was a silver-tongued devil. He spent long minutes whispering, kissing, caressing her, until every subtle movement sent delight humming through deep-secreted chords in her body.

Trying to keep her mind on the conversation, Garrett turned her mouth from his long enough to ask, “What are you planning to do when we return? Go to the Lord Chancellor? The Attorney-General?”

“I’m not sure who to trust,” Ethan said ruefully. “I think it’s best to put them all on the hook by making the information public.”

Propping up on her elbow, Garrett looked down into his face with a slight frown. “But you gave the evidence to Commissioner Felbrigg. Will we have to break into Lord Tatham’s safe again?”

“I kept a few extra pages,” he said. “Just in case.”

Her eyes widened. “Where did you put them?”

A lazy smile curved Ethan’s lips. He was a handsome sight, his skin gold-dusted in the light, his eyes dark and vivid blue. “Can’t you guess?”

“Somewhere in your flat?”

“I gave them to you.”

“To me? How . . . Oh.” Garrett laughed. “You wrapped them with the monkey picture.”

“I pasted an envelope to the back of it,” he said. “It contains the pages, and a copy of my will.”

Although Garrett had been about to ask more about the evidence, she was distracted by that last part. “You have a will?” she asked skeptically.

He nodded. “I named you as the sole beneficiary.”

Surprised and touched, Garrett said, “That’s very kind of you. But shouldn’t you leave your possessions to a relation?”

“My mother was cast off by her family. I’d never give them a farthing. And anyone on the Ransom side would put it to ill use. No, it’s all for you. When the time comes—hopefully none too soon—you’ll be well taken care of. My lawyers will help you through the patent rights transfers, not only here but abroad. Everything will be put in your name, and—”

“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” Garrett asked in bewilderment. “Patents for what?”

“For lock designs.” He began to toy with the trimmings on her dress, tracing the seams with his forefinger. “I have about three dozen. Most of them are insignificant and don’t turn a farthing in profit. But a few—”

“I call that impressive,” Garrett exclaimed, beaming with pride. “How many talents you possess. You’re going to be a great success someday—in some profession other than spying, I mean.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said, enjoying her praise. “But there’s more to tell you. You see—”

“Yes, tell me everything. When did it start?”

“It was while I was still apprenticing for the Clerkenwell locksmith. I’d worked out a way to make the standard cell locks pick-proof, by adding a stop-plate to the bolt. The prison governors—and the locksmith—had me draw the plans and write out the specifications, and then they took out a patent on the invention. They made a pretty penny on it.” With a cynical twist of his mouth, Ethan added, “They cut me out of the profits, since I was only a boy.”