“Not just this moment.” She settled more comfortably against his side. “For this moment, I have all I want and all I need.”
Ethan could not have agreed more, so he closed his eyes and sent up a prayer of thanks. Tomorrow he’d start worrying over how selfish he’d been; tomorrow he’d consider the news Heathgate had given him; tomorrow he’d deal with sending his brother back to Belle Maison; tomorrow he’d brace himself for Alice’s inevitable second thoughts and regrettable bouts of common sense.
Tonight, Alice had bestowed such a gift of pleasure, trust, and intimacy on him, he could only be grateful and at peace.
Dealing with illiterates was inconvenient, requiring that a man frequent awkward locations after dark. A baron should not have to trouble himself thus, but it seemed Ethan Grey—yes, the same Ethan Grey who had authored much of what discommoded Hart Collins to this very day—had grown wealthy and respectable in recent years.
Collins was inclined to renew his acquaintance with dear Ethan, or at least with a substantial portion of Ethan’s money, and so he waited for Thatcher in the trees behind the village green.
When that worthy came lumbering out of the shadows, bringing the scent of horse and ignorance with him, his question was predictable. “You’ve the money, then, Baron?”
Always the money.
“You’ll get your money when I see results. Now, tell me about these little boys and how I might best avail myself of one of them.”
“By God, they got up.” Nick’s tone was pleased as he spied his nephews coming down the path to the stables.
Ethan was not pleased. “I was hoping they’d sleep in. They were up quite late last night. Miller”—Ethan turned to find his stable master at hand—“if you’d saddle up the ponies and Argus?”
“The ponies are saddled up, and Argus is already groomed, but he’s fresh,” Miller cautioned.
“He’s always fresh. I’ll take the boys for a hack this morning when we’ve seen Nick off. It will take their minds off the departure of their dear uncle.”
Nick turned a glower on his brother. “And who will comfort me? I’ll be traveling clear to Kent all by my little lonesome.”
“Leah,” Ethan retorted. “It’s part of those vows, best as I recall. Gentlemen, good morning. Can we assume you want to ride as far as the village with me and Uncle Nick?”
“Can we?”
“May we?”
“Of course, and we’ll keep an eye out for the foxes coming home from their night of hunting. Of course, Argus might want to stretch his legs a little.” Miller’s cursing could be heard peppering the morning air.
“Or stretch his legs a lot,” Nick surmised. “Does he bite, Ethan?”
“Of course not,” Ethan scoffed. “But he and Miller have a certain good-natured antagonism that involves threatening to bite, and nearly stomping on feet, and narrowly pulled punches with cursing and dirty looks all around. If I die, Miller gets the horse.”
“I understand,” Nick said. “And if Miller died, the horse would be inconsolable.”
“Who’s dying?” Jeremiah asked, leading his pony out.
“I’m dying to get home,” Nick said, “but I will miss my favorite nephews. When next I visit, I expect to see a tree house or two gracing the property.”
“When will you come again?” Joshua asked, leading his pony.
“Soon. My friend Lord Val has asked me to attend the opening night of the symphony, and that’s little more than a month away. Up you go.” He swung each boy onto a pony, checked his mare’s girth one more time, then climbed aboard Buttercup. “Ethan, you’re holding us up.”
“Apologies for the inconvenience,” Ethan replied as Argus curvetted around on the end of his reins. “My boy is feeling frisky today.”
“A coincidence,” Nick muttered. “This boy misses his countess, and he’s feeling frisky too.”
Ethan took the reins, slipped them over the gelding’s head, and swung up in the single instant during which Argus held still. Immediately, the horse began to prop and spin and misbehave.
“Nicholas”—Ethan’s tone was bored—“lead us down the driveway. If he thinks his audience is leaving, he’ll settle right down.”
Nick obliged; his expression was disgruntled.
“I like a horse with spirit, Ethan,” Nick said as Argus settled down to merely passaging, “but that one looks like a lot of work.”
“He is,” Ethan said, sitting the prancing horse easily, “but he’ll jump anything, he’s never taken a lame step, and when it comes down to dicey moments, he makes sensible choices.”
“Still, I’ve no doubt your grooms won’t ride him, so he likely gets rank as hell when you’re gone for any length of time.”
“Uncle Nick said hell,” Joshua crowed from behind them.
“I sure as hell did.”
“Damn, my ears are good,” Joshua recited his part of the litany.
“My grooms won’t ride him.” Ethan ignored an uncle’s willingness to corrupt his nephews’ manners, because revenge was a certainty when Nick’s children were old enough. “Greymoor has taken note of him and offered to keep him for me if I need to travel. If I can stick on this horse, Greymoor can do it while taking tea.”
“Generous of him, and the horse would benefit.”
“Your friends are being kind,” Ethan said quietly, because the village was only a few minutes’ ride, and some things needed to be said. “To me and to mine.”
“My friends, your neighbors. They’ll be your friends if you let them, Ethan.”
“We’ll see,” Ethan replied as Argus finally settled into an honest trot. “Friendships take time.”
“And you’ve such a busy calendar?” Nick pinned his brother with a look. Right there in front of the children, he pinned Ethan with a visual dire warning.
“No, but I had a thought for you to ponder.”
Nick turned his attention back to his mare. “I’m listening.”
“The Bellefonte earldom owns a vineyard in France, as I recall, and properties in both Spain and Portugal. I suspect George would look in on them for you, if you asked. I own either land or businesses in Switzerland, Germany, and Denmark, as well as France, and I’m thinking of asking him to add them to his itinerary.”
“You own land in all those places?”
“They all make very good cheese, the German states have access to terrific stores of lumber, the Danes sail to every known port, and I’ve a little vineyard of my own in France, though I’m thinking of converting it to peaches.”
“Peaches?” Nick looked impressed. “Just how wealthy are you, Ethan?”
Ethan looked around uncomfortably but saw his sons were engaged in a rousing argument, and named a figure.
“More or less.” He shrugged. “Values are always fluctuating.”
Nick gave a low whistle. “My brother is a bloody cheese nabob.”
If they were boys—and they would never be boys again—that epithet would have become Ethan’s moniker for at least a span of weeks.
“When one hasn’t much else to do, and one is willing to travel in times of war, profit seems to happen. I didn’t mention my holdings to impress, Nicholas, but to point out that between us, we could keep a foreign agent busy more than full time. And George is acquainted with several languages.”
“It’s a good idea. A very good idea, in fact. I’m guessing Lady Warne might put him to use too. She has holdings of her own.”
“I’m to see your grandmother this weekend,” Ethan said as they approached the village green. “She’s to be my dinner partner at Heathgate’s on Saturday.”
Nicholas’s blond brows drew down in an expression much like Joshua’s fleeting bouts of thoughtfulness. “Give
