Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(92)

“Scoundrels,” Garrett said indignantly.

“Aye,” came his rueful agreement. “But the experience put me in the learning of patent applications. In the years after that, whenever I came up with an improvement on an existing lock design, or a new prototype, I registered a patent under the name of an anonymous holding company.” He paused. “A handful of them still earn royalties.”

“How wonderful.” Her brain began to calculate possibilities. “If we add those to what I earn, someday we might be able to sell my house in King’s Cross and buy a larger one.”

For some reason, the statement seemed to disconcert Ethan.

Garrett’s face flamed as she realized the assumption she’d made. “Forgive me,” she said hastily, “I didn’t mean to imply—there’s no obligation—”

“Hush,” Ethan interrupted firmly, and pulled her head down to his. After quieting her with a long, searching kiss, he drew back and smiled at her. “You jumped to the wrong conclusion, love. Let me explain.”

“You don’t have to—”

His forefinger touched her lips in a brief caress. “I receive annual income from selling usage rights and privileges to manufacturers. Sometimes I take shares of a company in lieu of cash. I have stock and securities in more businesses than I could name offhand. I run everything through holding companies to remain anonymous. I employ three solicitors full-time just to handle patent infringements, and I have two others on general retainer.”

Slowly it dawned on Garrett that this so-called hobby of his was far more lucrative than she’d assumed. “But you said your patents were insignificant.”

“I said most of them are. But a handful turned out to be not so insignificant. A few years ago, I came up with the idea for a permutation lock.”

“What is that?”

“It’s an assortment of active and passive tumblers arranged around a central spindle, all enclosed in a ring that adjusts them—” Ethan paused as he saw her puzzled expression. “The kind of lock with a dial instead of a key.”

“Like the one on the cannonball safe?”

His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Like that one.”

Perhaps it was the proximity of his warm body, or the gently wandering hand on her leg and hip, but Garrett’s dumbfounded brain was slow to work through the implications of what he’d just revealed. “Was that your design?” she managed to ask. “Is that how you knew how to open it?”

“Aye.” Ethan continued slowly, giving her time to digest the information. “Those locks are used by banks, shipping and railway companies, dockyards, warehouses, military outposts, government buildings . . . everywhere.”

Her eyes turned huge. “Ethan,” she began, and paused, unable to think of a civilized way to phrase it. “Are you rich?”

He nodded gravely.

“Regular-rich,” she asked, “or vulgar-rich?”

Leaning closer, he whispered near her ear, “Swiney-rich.”

Garrett gave a bemused laugh, then shook her head in confusion. “But then why would you work for Sir Jasper? It makes no sense.”

The question brought a troubled look to Ethan’s face. “By the time the patent royalties started coming in, I’d already been recruited by Jenkyn. I didn’t want to stop. He was a fatherly figure. His approval . . . his interest . . . meant a great deal to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her heart wrenching as she realized how painful Jenkyn’s vicious betrayal must have been for him, and perhaps would always be.

Ethan gave a short laugh. “I’ve never had much luck in the way of fathers.”

“Does Sir Jasper know about your patents?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve always been careful to cover my tracks.”

“Is that why you lived in an empty flat? To keep anyone from suspecting you had another income?”

“Partly. It’s also never mattered what kind of bed I sleep in, or what kind of chair I sit on.”

“But it does matter.” It concerned and puzzled Garrett that he would deny himself an ordinary life of comfort. “It should matter.”

Their gazes met for a long moment. “It does now,” Ethan said in a low voice.

Filled with tenderness and worry, Garrett laid her hand against his lean cheek. “You haven’t been kind to yourself. You must deal more gently with yourself.”

He nuzzled into her palm. “I have you to be kind to me. I have you to deal with me in any manner you wish.”

“I’d like to domesticate you just a little,” she said, holding her thumb and forefinger a half-inch apart. “But not so much that you would feel like a lap dog.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Amusement glinted in his eyes. “It all depends on the lap.” He pressed her to the white cloth on the ground. His lips touched her collarbone and followed it to the base of her throat.

A glittering mosaic of sun, blue sky, and green leaves filled her vision as he browsed over her slowly, drawing in the scent and taste of her, feeling the shape of her limbs through her thin dress. “Someone might see,” she protested, squirming as she felt his tongue swirl in the hollow of her clavicle.

“We’re behind a pair of hampers the size of river barges.”