Twelfth Night with the Earl (The Sutherland Sisters #3)(26)

She’d rolled her sleeves to her elbows and was kneading the dough. Occasionally she ran a bare forearm across her forehead, leaving streaks of flour.

“You’ve got flour in your hair.” His voice was soft.

She went still when he spoke, but she didn’t look at him or answer, and after a moment she went back to working the dough.

“On your face, too.” His boots made a muffled thump against the stone floor as he crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Just here.” He brushed his fingertips over the loose tendrils of hair near her hairline. “And here.” He trailed the fingers down her cheek.

She nodded, but she kept her gaze on her task, her hands never ceasing their movements.

“Thea. Look at me.” He touched a gentle fingertip to her chin, but when she raised her face to his at last, her green eyes were swimming with tears.

It was like a fist slamming into his stomach. He cradled the back of her head in his hand and pulled her against his chest. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I never should have said what I did. I never should have told you to get out.”

She nodded against his chest, but her tears continued to fall fast, wetting the front of his shirt. He ran his hands over her back in long strokes while he murmured to her in a low, soothing voice until she stopped crying and raised her tear-streaked face to his.

“It’s not just what you said. It’s all of it. Your mother, and Andrew.” She dried her tears with a corner of her apron. “Cleves Court is my home, but not all of my memories here are happy ones, just as yours aren’t.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know they’re not.”

But he hadn’t been behaving as if he knew. Since he’d arrived he’d been so wrapped up in his own pain, he’d forgotten she’d been through the same nightmare he had, but when he looked into those green eyes he loved so well, he could no longer hide from the truth.

None of them had escaped without scars.

The night Andrew died, Ethan had been in shock, and his memories of that awful moment were blurred around the edges, but he remembered Thea as clearly as if he could see her now, kneeling on the floor next to Andrew, touching a hand to his brother’s cheek. When she’d looked up at Ethan, her face had been whiter than he’d ever seen it, and he’d known Andrew was gone . . .

It had been as hard on her as it was on him—no, it had been harder for her, because he’d left her here to bear it alone. “I’m sorry, Thea. I wish . . .”

I wish I was stronger.

In that moment he wanted more than anything to tell her he wouldn’t close the house, and that she might stay here in this place she cherished, the only home she’d ever known. But he didn’t say it, because he wasn’t certain it wouldn’t be a lie by tomorrow. The old ghosts would be waiting for him when he woke. They always were, and he’d be just as desperate to escape them as he always was. He wouldn’t make her a promise he couldn’t keep.

But he could make another promise. He could stop running, stop drowning himself in whiskey, and instead do everything he could to try and make peace with this house.

Not just for Thea, but for himself.

She let him hold her for another moment, but then she pushed gently against his chest. “I beg your pardon, for . . . I don’t usually lose control like this. I suppose I’m tired. It’s been a long day. It’s just . . . I miss them, so much. Lady Isabel, and Andrew, I mean, and I’m going to miss—”

“Cleves Court.” He knew she wouldn’t say it, so he said it for her. “You’re going to miss Cleves Court.”

She hesitated. “I will miss Cleves Court, yes, but that’s not what I meant.” She looked down at her hands. “I was going to say I’ll miss you, Ethan.”

She started to slide past him, but everything inside him screamed in protest at losing her. He braced his hands on either side of the work table to stop her. “Wait, Thea. I—don’t go. I know it’s late, but I can’t . . .”

I can’t bear to let you go without touching you.

He dropped his forehead to hers. Just one innocent touch, and then he’d release her . . .

A soft groan rose from his chest as her rich, warm scent of vanilla enveloped him, and before he could stop himself he’d buried his face in her hair. Dear God, her scent drove him mad. He wanted to drown in her. He dropped a dozen tiny kisses against her temple before trailing his mouth down her cheek to nuzzle her jaw.

“So sweet, Thea.”

She didn’t reply, but she let out a breathless sigh and pressed her hands to his chest. He brushed his lips over the soft skin behind her ear to taste her there, and felt her pulse flutter wildly against his tongue.

God, he wanted her mouth. He wanted to slide between her lips and wrap his tongue in her sweetness, but she’d begun to tremble against him, and once he tasted her, he wouldn’t be able to let her go.

You can’t have her. Not now, and not like this.

In less than two weeks he’d be gone. He wouldn’t kiss her, and then leave her here alone. He’d never hurt her that way—not again.

He forced himself to lift his head and ease her back before he could pull her into his arms again. “Go to bed, sweetheart.”

She didn’t move, but stared at him as if she expected him to say something else, but then her gaze darted away from his, and she took a stumbling step away. “Yes, I . . . good night, Lord Devon.”