“Be well, Allie. I’m here if you need me.”

She nodded her thanks and let him step back. He bowed slightly to Ethan then retreated, his pace, to Ethan’s eye, a little hasty. Alice stood beside Ethan, silent, until her brother disappeared into the stables. A funny little gulp of breath gave her away.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Ethan spun her gently by the shoulders and wrapped her in an embrace. “He’s only going to London, and you can have him out any time.”

“I m-miss him,” Alice said miserably. “He’s such a good brother, and I pushed him away, and this is all we have, and it’s my fault.”

“Hush. Brothers understand these things, and you have more with your Benjamin than I do with my younger brothers or sisters.”

“I miss Avie too,” Alice watered on. “I miss her so much. I haven’t seen her for five years, and that’s my fault too.”

“You are a terrible person,” Ethan assured her gently. “An awful sister and a disgrace of a governess. You should be banned by royal decree. Children should see you held up as a bad example, except my children, of course, and your name should replace Beelzebub’s as the imp of Satan. New sins should be named after you…”

He felt her shoulders twitch, and then she was aiming a soft, damp smile at him.

“Thank you.” When she should have stepped back, she bundled back in against his shoulder. “I’m all right until I see them, Ben or Vim, and then I go completely to pieces, but I miss them too.”

“I cried when I saw Nick for the first time in years.” He could say this to comfort her, and because she couldn’t see his face. “He cried too.”

“Of course.” Alice nodded against his chest. “When I saw Avie, I cried.”

There had been nothing of course about it, not until Alice pronounced it so. Ethan would consider that later. “What is wrong with this sister of yours, that she makes you cry only every five years?”

“She doesn’t leave Blessings and its surrounds,” Alice said, and she did step back—alas. Ethan proffered his handkerchief for her use. “She clings to the place. I can’t stand the thought of it.”

“I love Belle Maison,” Ethan said, missing the feel of her plastered against him. He linked his arm through hers by way of consolation and began a progress toward the battlefield. “Going back there made me recall the painful years of not being allowed to go home. It tainted the good memories.”

She sniffed at his handkerchief before using it to blot her eyes. “You need more good memories. You’ll bring the boys back for another visit, maybe at the holidays. You’ll pop out to check on Nick and Leah, and your sisters. I think they worry about you, by the way.”

“My sisters? We used to call them the Furies when they were little, so passionate were they in their loves and hates. I cannot wait to see what manner of gentleman takes each of them on.”

“Do you suppose they were curious as to which lady you wed?”

“A bastard approaches marriage differently,” Ethan said as they heard the first childish shrieks of glee. “Did honor not compel me, I would not have offered for Barbara, and I do not intend to find myself offering for anybody else.”

Alice peered up at him. “Why not? A woman loses everything by marrying. She becomes property, her children are chattel, and she has no money of her own, no authority over her own life. What could marriage cost a man that’s any worse than that?”

“Interesting perspective.” Ethan resisted the urge to pat her hand on his arm. She’d perceive the gesture as avuncular, and deserved his cooperation in her attempts to restore her dignity. “From my end of the trade, I give up the right to choose any other woman as the mother of my children, I provide for her every need, and all I can do is hope she’s faithful, or at least discreet, and kind to my children.”

Alice smoothed her fingers over his knuckles. “You did make an unfortunate choice.”

“We fought bitterly,” Ethan said, pausing out of sight of the warring armies. “And loudly, and often, but it pleased her somehow. I wasn’t raised with antipathy between the earl and his wives. I’m sure they had spats, but not before the children, and not so… viciously.”

He could reveal this much and have it be a relief, not a humiliation, or not much of one.

“My brother claims a mean woman will outstrip a mean man any day,” Alice said. “I’m sorry, Ethan, that all you knew of marriage was unhappy. You deserved better.”

He was, to his astonishment, coming to think he had too. “We patched things up somewhat when Barbara fell ill. Even before, I realized it didn’t matter to Barbara what we fought about, as long as she could get me to lose my composure. The last thing I wanted was to ally myself with a cruel intimate.”

“Well said,” Alice murmured. “Cruelty finds us often enough we needn’t seek it out.”

He wanted to hold her again, to press her soft, feminine body along the length of him and give and receive the comfort of simple touch.

And he wanted to toss her over his shoulder, cease this useless talking, and plunder her charms until her legs were locked around his naked flanks and she was whispering his name—a thought not nearly as astonishing as it should be.

He settled for a kiss.

* * *

The Baroness Collins put aside her letter, though correspondence was usually a welcome respite from the solitary monotony of penurious rustication. As a widow, she had peace, though, and peace was no small treasure.

Hart did not have peace, and never had. He’d gone from spoiled boy to rotten young man, making trouble with the help, and then with the neighbors. His mischief had gotten him all but banished to the Continent, where English coin went further toward procuring the lifestyle Hart believed was his due.

His current hostess was pleased to have a baron among her guests, but also tacitly complained about Hart’s treatment of the maids. Maids bore an unfortunate lot in life, but the smarter ones knew how to work that to their advantage. The baroness could not spare much concern for the maids.

Her concern was not even for her son, but rather, for the younger Portmaine girl, said to be governessing in Surrey. The letter cheerily informed the baroness that Hart’s next destination lay in Surrey, and that was not a good thing.

Not a good thing at all.

* * *

Ethan Grey’s company was seductive, and not just in the erotic sense. Alice was coming to think she could tell him anything—tell him everything—and he’d absorb all her terrible sorrows and secrets without thinking any less of her.

And yet, there was a carnal attraction, too, all the more appealing for the way he could receive or bestow a difficult confidence without flinching. The notion of genuine intimacy with him, intimacy of the body, mind, and heart, beckoned irresistibly.

His kiss was a surprise, though Alice recovered quickly. A soft, careful touch of his lips to hers was enough to inspire Alice to twine her arms around Ethan’s neck. She sighed against his mouth, in relief and satisfaction. She had not imagined their mutual appeal, not conjured it from loneliness and fancy.

He pressed his mouth more firmly to hers and let his hands slide down to her hips, an embrace that anchored her even as it transgressed beyond a stolen kiss. Alice wiggled a little with the pleasure of it, and brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, a slow, learning caress that both satisfied and stirred the peculiar ache in her middle.

And then she should have eased back, because a pleasant kiss was ricocheting around in her body, becoming a demanding, intensifying, stubbornly focused prelude to all manner of mischief. Instead, Alice sank more snugly into him, letting her breasts press against his chest. Lest he abandon her for her forwardness, she took his bottom lip between her teeth.

He muttered something, God in heaven maybe, and against her belly, Alice felt unmistakable evidence of male arousal.

Ethan slipped his tongue along her lips, and she went up on her toes, hungry for him. She met him, shyly at first, but he went slowly, always asking, never demanding, and she was soon exploring him as carefully as he was her. Her tongue rubbed along his; her hands traveled over his shoulders to his back, through his hair, and along his arms; and her body leaned into his embrace.

“Alice…” The dratted, enchanting man tried again to ease away. “The boys are just through the trees.”

“Boys?” She was kissing his neck, tasting the salt and cedar of his skin, wanting to rip off his shirt and kiss him everywhere.

“Joshua and Jeremiah,” he reminded her, his arms still wrapped around her. “My sons.”

“We should stop?” Whyever…? She kept one hand resting on his shoulder for balance. With the other she petted his chest through the fine tailoring of his shirt and waistcoat.

“Yes, love.” Ethan’s breathing was ragged. The chest she’d like to learn intimately was heaving. “We should stop.” He tucked her closer, so Alice could feel his heart thudding along beneath her cheek. “Just let me hold you.”

She wanted to kiss him some more, endlessly, wickedly. She could not lift her face from his shoulder though, because his hand cradled the back of her head.

He was, however gently, defending himself from her advances. “Oh, dear.”

“None of that, love. I kissed you first.”

She stood in his embrace, her hands linked around his waist, and cast around for something to say. An apology came to mind, even a tender of resignation, but then she felt Ethan’s arousal, a rigid presence against her belly. She eased her body away from his, though she didn’t take a step back.