Twelfth Night with the Earl (The Sutherland Sisters #3)(16)

Don’t think about his bare shoulders and back.

“Though now I think on it, soothing isn’t the right word.” His voice had lowered to a husky rasp, and he swept his gaze over her, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief, and something else—something hotter. “Perhaps stirring is a better word, or arouse—”

“Stop it, Ethan!” Oh, no. She’d blurted that out like an embarrassed schoolgirl. Had he noticed how breathless she was? Heat raced down her throat and over her chest. “What I meant to say is, I haven’t the least interest in your bathing habits, Lord Devon.”

“No? Pity.” He stretched his long legs in front of him and settled back in his chair with a contented sigh, as if he hadn’t just said the word arouse to her in that low, husky voice. “I’ll have those tarts now.”

Alas, there would be no tarts for Lord Devon. No bath, either, and certainly no rubbing.

Thea took a deep breath and managed to collect her scattered wits. “If that’s all, my lord?”

“Yes, but do let me know if you change your mind about the bath.”

Thea didn’t stay to answer, but fled the room and hurried down the stairs and back to the kitchen, where she’d left Henry, George, and Martha cutting Christmas decorations out of gold paper. “Get your outdoor things on, children. We’re off on an adventure.”

Martha climbed down from her chair at once. “Are we? What kind of adventure?”

“Why, we’re to search for evergreens and mistletoe to finish decorating the entryway. We haven’t nearly enough yet.”

Henry gave her a dark look and stuck his lip out. “I thought we weren’t going to have any more Christmas doings, on account of that lord.”

“Nonsense, Henry. We always celebrate the twelve days of Christmas at Cleves Court.”

“We won’t next year.” George kicked at the leg of Henry’s chair, a mutinous expression on his face. “That lord’s going to toss everyone out, and close this house down forever. I heard ’im say so.”

Thea blew out a breath. Dash it all. Children always seemed to find out everything. “Lord Devon is not going to close down this house, George. I won’t allow it.”

“But ’e’s a lord, innit he? No one can stop a lord from doing what ’e wants. Them lordships always gets their way in everything.”

“Nonsense.” Thea gave a brisk nod. “I’ll find a way to bring Lord Devon around.”

“Aw, but George is right, Miss Sheridan,” Henry said. “I wish I was a lord. It’d be right nice to always have yer own way.”

“Lord Devon isn’t going to get his way—not this time, because I’m going to do whatever I have to do to keep Cleves Court open, no matter how many lords come.” Thea held out a hand to George. “Now, come along, George. You too, Henry.”

George groaned as he slid off his chair. “There’s not going to be more lords, is there? We don’t even know how to handle the one we got.”

“I do!” Martha cried, her face lit up with glee.

“Ye don’t either, Martha.” Henry gave his sister the kind of scathing look only a big brother could manage. “Ye don’t know nothing about managing no fancy lords.”

“Don’t know anything,” Thea said. “You don’t know anything about managing any fancy lords.”

“See?” Henry scowled at Martha. “Even Miss Sheridan says so!”

“I wasn’t agreeing with you, Henry. I was correcting—”

“I do too know about ’em!” Martha stuck her little nose in the air. “I know they don’t like milk in their laps.”

“Martha! You didn’t!” Thea covered her mouth with her hand, not sure if she should be shocked or amused. My goodness, Ethan had been telling the truth. Martha really had assaulted him in his bed.

“Oh yes, I did. Ate all ’is jam, too. Ye should a’ heard him curse.”

“That was very naughty of you, Martha,” Thea said, trying not to laugh. Perhaps she’d use the milk pitcher on him the next time he teased her about his bath. “You’ll have to beg his lordship’s pardon. Not now, though, because now we’re going in search of mistletoe.”

She hurried the children into their winter things and then led them outdoors and around the side of the house where Ethan’s bedchamber was. She glanced up to his window on the third floor, but the sun’s angle prevented her from seeing anything, and he likely still had the drapes drawn.

But if he did happen to peek out the window and look down, he’d see the three of them quite clearly, and just in case he didn’t . . .

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,” Thea sang, and the children joined in at once, shouting, “A partridge in a pear tree!”

They disappeared into the trees at the far edge of the lawn, their booted feet crunching against the frosty ground, the cold air ringing with true loves and turtle doves, and echoes of childish laughter.



Where the bloody hell did she think she was going?

Ethan yanked the drapes back across the window and threw himself into his chair with a curse so wicked even he thought twice before uttering it aloud.

He’d been ringing the bell for the better part of twenty minutes, wondering where the devil his tarts and bath had got to, and now there she went off into the woods, as cool as you please, with those three unholy sprites on her heels.