Twelfth Night with the Earl (The Sutherland Sisters #3)(20)

“Christ. They sound like a bloody herd of elephants.” Ethan went to the sideboard, poured some amber liquid from one of the crystal decanters into a glass, and handed it to her. “Here, drink this. It’ll warm you more quickly than the fire.”

“Thank you.” Thea took a tiny sip, choked a bit, and then lowered the glass.

Ethan laughed at the face she made. “Go on, drink it all. It’s only a bit of brandy. It’ll do you good.”

“What if I told you I don’t bother with things that do me good?” Thea asked, throwing the words he’d spoken earlier that day back at him. They’d troubled her for reasons she didn’t quite understand. “What would you think of me then?”

“I’d think you were a bloody fool.” He stripped off his coat, threw it over a chair and then took the seat next to her on the settee. “Is that what you want me to say? That I’m a bloody fool?”

“You’re many things, Ethan, but a fool isn’t one of them.”

“No? Well, that little fiend—the dark-haired chit—she told me I’m a wicked, wicked man. Quite ironic, since she was stealing my jam at the time.”

“She does have a name, you know. It’s Martha.”

“Oh, I know her name. I’m not likely to forget it. She reminded me of it right after she dumped milk in my lap and called me an arse.”

“An arse? Oh, dear.” Despite herself, Thea pressed her lips together to hold back a smile. Martha hadn’t mentioned that part. She shouldn’t laugh, of course, but, well . . . Ethan likely had been being an arse.

They sat without speaking while Thea finished her brandy, but then Ethan got to his feet, went to the sideboard, and poured a heavy measure of whiskey into his glass. “If you’re recovered from your fall, you’d better go tend to those three savages, before they smash the rest of the glasses to bits and steal all the silver.”

Thea huffed out a breath. “They haven’t stolen a blessed thing.”

Ethan snorted. “Not yet.”

“Accusing innocent orphans of thievery, Lord Devon? Martha’s right. You are a wicked, wicked man.”

And an arse.

He only laughed, then drained his whiskey and poured another measure into the glass.

Thea frowned up at him. She’d go, and he’d sit in the study alone and drink whiskey, and then he’d sleep all day and wake up with a sore head, and as bad-tempered as a bear.

“Won’t you come with me to the kitchens? I’ll get you some tea, and then we can get our evergreens ready for hanging tomorrow, just as we used to the night before your mother’s Christmas Eve parties. Don’t you remember how much your mother loved Christmas?” Thea smiled at the memory of Lady Isabel, and instinctively reached for the tiny crucifix hidden under the high neck of her dress. “I’ll even make another punch, with brandy this time, if you like—”

“No.”

His tone wasn’t encouraging, but still Thea hesitated. He’d come out of his bedchamber today, and wandered all over the grounds searching for them. Surely that was a good sign? “My lord—”

“I said no. I don’t need anything more festive than a flask of whiskey.”

“But it’s the holiday! You can’t sit in here and drink alone. I won’t hear of it.”

“You won’t hear of it? Do you suppose it’s up to you? I told you I won’t be dragged into your damned Christmas frolics, Miss Sheridan, and I meant it.”

Thea looked into his hard face, and a shiver of apprehension darted down her spine. He would be dragged into her Christmas frolics, and much sooner than he thought. His lordship was going to be furious when he found out what she’d done.

But it was too late to change her mind. She’d sent Peter around the village to invite the guests today, and nearly everyone had said they’d come. It was all was arranged, right down to the pine-scented piles of evergreens.

Even if she could change her mind, she wouldn’t.

Whether his lordship liked it or not, he was hosting a party tomorrow night to celebrate his return to Cleves Court. Now all she had to do was manage to pry the flask from his hands, and force him from his bedchamber into the drawing-room by tomorrow evening.

And she knew just the way to do it.





Chapter Five


December 27, 7:00 p.m.

“Five golden rings! Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a—”

No. Not the bloody partridge in the pear tree. Not again.

Hadn’t he forbidden anyone to play that song in this house?

Ethan slammed his book closed and banged his forehead into the hard leather binding, but it was too late. It was as if someone had smeared the song into his brain with sticky, jam-covered fingers, and once it was there, even an entire flask of whiskey couldn’t drown it into oblivion. It continued to play in a nauseating loop in his head until he was ready to tear his hair out with frustration.

Damn it, what kind of fool gifted his true love with geese at Christmas?

He tossed the book onto the side table, and it hit the tray sitting at his elbow, sending his teacup crashing to the floor. Ethan frowned at the smashed porcelain. At least he hadn’t spilled the tea this time. His cup was empty.

It had been empty for hours now, and the plate at his elbow barren of tarts. Thea had been to his bedchamber again and again this morning to cater to his many demands, always with a sweet smile on her face, but by late afternoon she’d stopped answering the bell.