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
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,
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
“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.
“I am afraid to look at you,” she said, nose still buried at his throat. “I am mortified.” Men could not help their responses, not even a man as self-possessed as Ethan Grey.
“You are lovely,” Ethan corrected her. “We merely got a little carried away on the basis of confidences exchanged. I gather it’s been a while for you?”
He sounded hopeful, not embarrassed. She did pull back enough then to see his face. “A very long while. You?”
“Years.” He tucked her back against him, out of kissing range. “Long, long years.”
“You don’t seem to be out of practice,” Alice remarked on a sigh.
“Oh, shame on you.” Ethan nuzzled her crown with his chin. “I am inspired by present company and trust the same is true for you.”
This was not mere gallantry. He sounded as flustered as she felt—which was no end of reassuring, though it did not change their circumstances. She mustered a smile and slipped her arms from his waist. “I did not expect this to happen.”
His eyes shuttered, suggesting her observation was not what he wanted to hear. “You did not expect it to happen, or you wish it had not happened? I can manufacture an apology if you absolutely insist.”
“I did not expect it.” Alice managed a few steps of distance and turned her body so she would not see him and his blue eyes and his broad shoulders, much less any evidence of their kiss. “If we are honest, we will admit neither one of us wants a complication.”
“A single kiss does not a complication make.” Bless the man, he was going to see reason, though he didn’t sound happy about it.
“It doesn’t.” Alice’s smile felt bleak. “But you are my employer, and neither of us wants marriage, so we must deal with the question of intentions.”
“Must we deal with it
