Twelfth Night with the Earl (The Sutherland Sisters #3)(33)

He took a step closer to her, backing her against the work bench. “Especially then. But I do remember the pond. Vividly. I couldn’t forget it, since I saw your bare bottom that night, too. It’s even more absurd to observe the formalities now, given our scandalous history.”

His voice had gone hoarse, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her neck, at a hint of creamy skin above the high collar of her gown. He wanted to kiss her there. No, he wanted to start there, and then keep going until he’d tasted every inch of her.

“Hardly scandalous, my lord.” Despite her denial, she seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. “We were just children.”

“But we’re not children anymore, are we?” He planted his arms on either side of her, trapping her between the workbench and his body.

“Lord Devon—”

“No. Don’t call me that. No more Lord Devon, and no more Miss Sheridan, Thea.”

As soon as he said her name in that low drawl, something shifted between them, drew taut, and then tighter still until the air hummed with tension. Ethan’s heart pounded against his ribs, and he was so hard for her he couldn’t think of anything but touching her, and taking her lips with his own.

Thea tried for a causal shrug, but her gaze burned into his. “You may call me whatever you wish. I’m only a servant, and you’re the lord of the manor. Aren’t you . . . Ethan?” The last word came out low and breathy.

He touched his fingertips to her chin and raised her face so he could look into her eyes. “I’ve never thought of you as a servant, sweet. When I think of you, when I see you in my mind I see your eyes, and I hear your laugh, and I swear I can taste cinnamon on my tongue.”

She moved her face away from his touch, but her eyelids had gone heavy, and she couldn’t look away from him. “We can’t, that is, I shouldn’t be . . . it’s late, Ethan.”

He gave a slow shake of his head, cupping her face in his palm to still her. “I can’t think of anything but you, and you already know that, don’t you, Thea?”

She shivered in reaction to his words, and her eyes went such a dark green they were almost black, but he saw uncertainty there too, and in the next moment she tried to edge past him. “Let me go, Ethan. I’m fatigued, and I have to finish the tarts before I can retire.”

“I can’t let you go, Thea.” He raised a hand and brushed his fingers against the loose tendrils of hair at her neck. “Can I . . . will you let me help you?”

He held his breath. If she asked him to go, he’d do it—he’d do whatever she wanted—but after what felt like an eternity, she nodded. His breath left his lungs in a heated rush. “Like this.” He turned her gently by the shoulders, wrapped his hands around her waist and eased her back against his chest. “Lean back against me.”

She didn’t speak, and she stiffened when he slid his arms around her, but as the moments drifted one into the next, she let herself sink against him until he was wrapped around her, his heart pounding against her back.

A groan escaped him when her soft body melted into his. “Give me your hands, love.” He laced their fingers, pressed their joined palms into the dough on her work table, and together they began to knead. Her hands felt small under his, her long fingers slender and delicate, but he felt the strength flowing through her as they moved. Thea had always been the stronger of the two of them, in the only place where it meant something to be strong.

In her heart.

She let her head fall back against his shoulder, and he dipped his head and brushed his lips against her neck. She sighed at the gentle kiss, and Ethan felt an echo of that sigh in the deepest recesses of his heart.





Chapter Nine


January 3, 1:00 a.m.

He’ll leave you behind.

Thea’s eyes drifted closed. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been tempted by Ethan—a time when she hadn’t loved him. Every night for a year after he’d been sent away to school, she’d lain awake in her bed, her eyes squeezed closed, and wished with each beat of her heart he’d return.

And he had. He’d come back at last, just as she’d dreamed he would.

But he wasn’t here for her. In another few days he’d close the house and go back to London, and when he left this time, he’d never return. She’d be alone again, with nothing but memories and a heart that would never recover, but God help her . . .

She was tempted still.

“Dreamed of tasting you like this.” His fingers tightened over hers as his tongue touched the sensitive skin behind her ear, then his teeth closed around her earlobe, biting and nipping at her, his breath hot against her neck. “So sweet, even sweeter than I remembered.”

Thea shivered as desire raced through her, but in its wake was something else, something bittersweet. Sadness, perhaps, or a consciousness of inevitable loss that came even before she’d lost him, even as his arms were wrapped around her.

She could send him away, lose him now—right now, at this moment—or she could risk everything, give in to the demands of her body and her heart, and hope with all she had inside her this one night with him would be enough to last her a lifetime.

“Want you so much, sweetheart.” His chest moved against her back as he drew in a long, deep breath, and his hands slid away from hers and up her arms to settle at her hips. “Can’t get enough of you.”