her my love if you have to admit you’ve seen me. Let’s get Buttercup a drink, shall we?” Nick swung down and led his mare to the communal trough on the village green. It was an excuse to prolong their parting, but Ethan was grateful for it. He’d said good-byes to Nick before, and even a few in the recent past, but this one felt more… personal.
Nick turned to his nephews, who sat on their ponies looking uncertain. “You gentlemen will behave for your papa and Miss Alice. You will build a tree house or two and send me sketches of them. You will take your baths and eat your vegetables and go to bed when you’re told, so you grow up as big and strong as I am.”
“I only want to be as big as Papa,” Joshua said, “but I don’t want you to go.”
“Joshua Pismire Grey,” Nick intoned sternly, “if you make me cry in front of my older brother, I will tickle you silly.” He feinted with his fingers, causing Joshua to giggle and curl away. “That’s better.” Nick carefully hugged his smallest nephew then turned to Jeremiah.
“You have a special mission,” Nick said, leaning down and whispering something into Jeremiah’s ear. “You can tell Joshua when I’ve left. You’ll need his devious-little-brother assistance.”
“Don’t worry, Joshua,” Jeremiah assured him. “It’s something good.”
“And you.” Nick turned to his brother, who’d dismounted to watch the partings. “Come here, Ethan Grey.” He held out his arms, and Ethan stepped into his embrace. “Don’t be a stranger.”
For the first instant, Ethan endured the embrace. This was a skill learned of necessity, an ability to temporarily vacate whatever aspect of the mind catalogued and experienced bodily perceptions: the sandalwood scent of Nick’s soap, the soft thump of a leather-clad hand between Ethan’s shoulders, the exact contour of his brother’s muscular body.
And then something… let go. Something emotional sighed along with Ethan’s body, and the endured embrace became a quick, shared hug.
“My love to the ladies,” Ethan said, stepping back, “and safe journey home, Nick.”
“Thanks for the hospitality, and look after my nephews.” He was on his horse and cantering away before Ethan could say anything more, and really, that was for the best. The morning air had put the damned tickle back in Ethan’s throat.
“Will you miss him, Papa?” Joshua asked.
“I’ll miss him silly,” Ethan said. “I can still see him”—could still feel the echoes of that hug—“and I miss him silly already.”
“Me too.”
“Me too.”
Argus did not miss Uncle Nick, silly or otherwise, and reminded his owner of that by tossing his head so Ethan almost lost his grip on the reins.
Ethan scowled at the horse. “Bad pony. Spoiled rotten, you are.” He was in the saddle before Argus could comment further. “Gentlemen, shall we let them stretch their legs?”
“You mean trot?” Jeremiah asked.
“Canter?” Joshua’s tone was hopeful. “Gallop?”
“We’ll play master and field,” Ethan said. “Joshua, you’re the master, and we’ll follow you. You can’t go anywhere Argus can’t follow, so no low-hanging branches, and mind you don’t lead us into danger. We’re silly, drunken gentlemen out from Town for a little hunting, and we can hardly sit our horses, because we’ve had too much of Mr. Grey’s famous peach brandy.”
Both boys looked fascinated at this spate of paternal nonsense. In the distance, Ethan heard Buttercup’s hoofbeats fade away.
“I can decide how we get home?” Joshua clarified.
“Anywhere on the lanes and paths,” Ethan said, “or on Tydings land. Take us across a planted field, though, and the steward will want me to thrash you.”
“I know that,” Joshua scoffed. “Hey, Jeremiah—remember when we were chased by pirates?”
The next thing Ethan knew, he and Argus were watching eight little pony hooves disappear at a furious gallop. Ethan let Argus bring up the rear, glad the horse seemed to understand his job was to trail the ponies. Joshua led them over stiles and banks, across ditches and logs, over the stream, back over the stream, and into the bridle paths crisscrossing the woods.
“Hold up!” Ethan yelled to his sons, but they’d seen Heathgate’s mare as soon as he had, and pulled up so hard their ponies were practically sitting. Heathgate had angled the mare right across the path, but turned her when he saw the ponies come to a stop.
“And here I thought I was saving a couple of runaways,” the marquis drawled. “Fancy riding, gentlemen. My boys would be envious. Morning, Grey.”
“Good morning, your lordship,” the boys replied politely enough.
“We were out riding with Papa,” Joshua added helpfully. “I was the master, and he and Jeremiah were the field.”
“I see. My compliments, Grey, for I’ve neglected to introduce my children to that particular means of scaring the hair off a parent. Shall we let your horses blow a little?”
“Papa?” Jeremiah looked uncertain.
“His lordship means to walk them,” Ethan said, “and since your ponies are heaving like bellows, it’s a good idea.” Even Argus had settled down over the course Joshua had chosen. Ethan let the boys pass him, then fell in beside his neighbor.
“I almost didn’t get my ride in this morning,” the marquis began. “Too much peach brandy. You’ll want to provide a few flasks to the Regent and get his imprimatur on it. Have you considered what I told you last night?” Heathgate asked, quietly enough not to draw the children’s notice.
“Not much. Hart Collins is a subject of the Crown. He was bound to return to England someday.”
“You could bring charges,” Heathgate suggested.
“Right. And have the whole world know I was incapable of defending myself? Only to have one of his cronies testify I enticed the man, or Collins was nowhere in the vicinity, and as I was facedown over the top of a barrel, how could I know for certain who was violating my person?”
Discussing the matter in the pretty summer morning seemed blasphemous, but the topic had lingered in Ethan’s imagination—a reptile lurking in the muddy marshes of his memory—since the moment Heathgate had called him aside the previous night.
“You bring the charges,” Heathgate said. “You don’t expect to prosecute them.”
“He’s a member of the bloody Lords, Heathgate.” Ethan spoke tiredly. “I’m a bastard who married my mistress. Bringing charges would be a joke, and as far as my family is concerned, a joke in poor taste.”
“It’s your choice, but you will likely run across him sooner or later, or Nick will, because he’s a member of the bloody Lords too—as am I, come to that.”
Ethan shot Heathgate a look, but the man was impossible to read. “No offense intended.”
“Likewise. I thought you should know he’s back.”
“My thanks for the warning.”
“You never told your family, did you?” Heathgate pressed. “Not even Nick.”
“Especially not Nick.” Heathgate had kept his peace on this most unfortunate subject for nearly twenty years. It was a relief, in a way, to have it in the open, but the old humiliation was there as well.
“Why not? He’s your brother, the head of your family, and he loves you cross-eyed.”
“He loves me. I love him.” Hence Ethan would never bring up at least two very personal subjects with his brother.
“If I had a bottle of whiskey for every time I’ve heard him brag on you or reminisce about his perfect childhood with you, I could get the Royal Navy drunk.” Heathgate paused and eyed the children.
“Your point?” Ethan inquired,
“You are trying to protect your brother,” Heathgate said gently, “because it will hurt him to know what you’ve suffered. It will hurt him more you didn’t think him worthy of your confidence. I have a younger brother, you will note, and speak from experience.”
Ethan sighed, not sure if being a marquis gave one the right to divine minds or hearts. “The incident in question left me more deeply ashamed than I care to discuss.”
Heathgate watched the ponies before them. The boys were concocting another scheme involving pirates on
