Twelfth Night with the Earl (The Sutherland Sisters #3)(11)

The child dropped the empty pot of jam back on the tray. “Ye have a nice smile, but I still don’t like ye.”

“I don’t like you, either. You’ve eaten all my jam.”

She lifted a small pitcher of milk from the tray. “Maybe ye’d like some milk, then?”

A sweet smile crossed her jam-smeared mouth, but Ethan caught the unholy gleam in her black eyes, and with a quick flash of horrified prescience he saw what she was going to do, right before it happened. “Maria, don’t you dare—”

But Maria did dare. She let out a little squeal of glee, then dumped the entire pitcher of milk onto his lap.

“Bloody hell!” Ethan leapt from the bed, covered in soggy muslin.

Maria ran across the room to the door, but before she disappeared into the hallway, she turned around, stuck her tongue out at him and yelled, “My name is Martha, ye arse!”

Arse? “Martha, is it?” he yelled back, though the door had already slammed shut behind her. “Good! When I speak to Miss Sheridan, I’ll be sure to say it’s Martha who’s due for a thrashing!”

He gave the bell a violent yank, tore his nightshirt over his head, and crossed to the basin in the corner of the room. “Foul-mouthed little fiend.” He dipped a cloth into the basin, wincing as he ran the wet end over his bare shoulders and chest. The water was freezing, and his fire had gone out, as well.

Where were the damn servants?

He tugged on the bell again, and then again a few minutes later, but no one came. He’d rung for a fourth time before it dawned on him what the trouble was.

It would do ye a world of good to serve yerself.

No. Surely even Thea wouldn’t go as far as that.

He gave the bell one more experimental pull, and waited.

Nothing. Resounding silence.

Devil take her. She would go that far. He might stand here all night and ring this bell, but no one would come.

Ethan threw a fresh shirt over his head, tugged on a clean pair of breeches, and stomped across the bedchamber and out the door. He ran down two flights of stairs, muttering crossly to himself as he went, but he crashed to a halt when he reached the entryway.

It was empty, and he didn’t hear a sound.

“Where the bloody hell is everyone?” His voice echoed off the marble floors, but no one appeared. His boots rang across the polished stone as he strode down the hall toward the drawing-room and pushed open the half-closed door.

“I ’spose it’s aw right if ye play, but ye didn’t find me, ye know. I came out on my own, and that don’t count as finding.”

Ethan whirled around just as one of the Munro boys slid out from the behind the drapes. Good Lord, one or the other of these urchins seemed to be always appearing out of nowhere. They were the slipperiest children Ethan had ever come across.

“Play what, ah . . . George?” If he did play, perhaps he could be rid of the little scoundrel as quickly as he’d found him.

“I’m Henry. Hide and seek, of course.” Henry spoke slowly, as if Ethan were simple. “So, are ye going to play, then? ’Cause there’s rules—”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure there are,” Ethan agreed, though he hadn’t seen any evidence of rules in this house thus far. “Where might I find Miss Sheridan, Henry?”

“I can’t tell ye that.” Henry gave him an offended look. “That’s cheating. It’s hide an’ seek. You’ll have to find ’er yerself.”

Find her? That could take all bloody night. Cleves Court was massive. “Earls don’t play hide and seek. Tell me where she is at once.”

“Can’t.” Henry shrugged. “Don’t know where she is. She’s hiding, innit she? Ye’ll have to wait till she comes out.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to keep his temper in check. “I’m going to ask you once again, Henry—”

“There you are, Henry. It’s time for your—” Becky came bustling into the room, but as soon as she saw Ethan, she skidded to a halt. “Oh! I beg your pardon, your lordship.”

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. At last, a rational adult.

Becky, however, seemed far less pleased to see him than he was to see her. She shrank back, away from him, and began sidling toward the door. “I—I didn’t realize you were awake, Lord Devon. I’ll just . . . that is, I have to—”

“What? Ye just woke up?” Henry smothered a derisive snort. “Ye’re a fine one, aren’t ye, lordship?”

“Hush, Henry!” Becky scolded him, then cast a nervous glance at Ethan.

“I need to speak to Miss Sheridan at once, Becky. Can you tell me where she is?”

“Don’t tell ’im!” Henry crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Ethan. “He’s a cheat, he is!”

“Do be quiet, Henry! Miss Sheridan is . . . oh, dear. Where is she? Oh! She’s hiding in that narrow cupboard under the stairs.”

Of course she bloody was. “Thank you, Becky.”

Becky darted out the door, and Henry followed on her heels, still muttering about “lordships what cheat” under his breath.

Ethan marched from the drawing-room toward the hallway, but in spite of his irritation, he couldn’t quite smother the grin twitching at his lips. He and Thea and Andrew used to play hide and seek when they were young, and even then the cupboard under the stairs was Thea’s favorite hiding place. They’d teased her about it, because she was always the first to be found, but she insisted she didn’t care—that it was peaceful under there.