“You need a haircut,” she mused.
Ethan shrugged. “My hair has a mind of its own no matter how long or short. The curls do what they want. Cal wanted his valet tae cut it, but his man scares me.”
She chuckled. “Scares a big guy like you?”
His hands smoothed up to her waist, then down to the bottom of her hip, fully traveling the curve of her bum. “Aye. He wants tae put a linen noose around my neck and make me wear coats that pinch my shoulders. If I wore a queue like Cal, I’d never have tae cut it.”
“I like it longer, but it could use a trim in some places. You’re bordering on unkempt.” Lottie wrapped another curl around her finger. “Would you let me cut it?”
The hands at her hips paused in the slow caress she’d been enjoying. “Have you ever cut a man’s hair before?”
“I’ve sheared sheep. How different can it be?”
A beat of silence stretched as he stared at her. Finally, she couldn’t contain the laugh. Giggling, she gasped out, “Don’t worry. I used to cut my father’s hair. Mother taught me how. He preferred she do it instead of his valet.”
Ethan seemed to think it over for all of three seconds. “All right. Have a go. But in the kitchen, or else the maid will complain about sweeping the hair from the rug.”
“You want me to do it tonight? Now?”
“No time like the present. I’ll get Connor’s shears and meet you in the kitchen.” With a final squeeze, he let her go.
The kitchen—much like the rest of the house—had its own sense of order in a comfortable, welcoming way. A maid finishing her duties jumped when Lottie entered the room.
“Beggin’ your pardon, milady. Do you need something?”
“Lord Amesbury will join us in a moment. While I stoke the fire, will you find a stool for him to sit on? I’m cutting his lordship’s hair.”
The maid raised a brow but fetched a short stool. “Will you be wanting help, milady?”
Lottie shook her head, placing the fireplace poker next to the hearth. “No thank you. I’m sure we can muddle through if anything comes up.”
The maid left her with a shallow curtsy. Footsteps echoed down the short hall beyond the open door. Lottie brushed damp palms on her skirt, then warmed her fingers by the fire. There was no need to be nervous. She’d cut her father’s hair dozens of times. Perhaps hundreds. But then, it wasn’t the haircut she was nervous about.
Would Ethan take her to bed tonight if she asked? What if he said no entirely? It might be a matter of honor to him, after all. Trying to calm the butterflies, Lottie focused on her breathing. Inhale, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three.
The stool scuffed on the stone floor. Ethan sat, then shifted his weight as he untucked his shirt. Was he going to—yes. Bless him, he was. The shirt sailed to land in a lump under a wooden chair.
Lottie gulped. Any possibility of keeping her composure disappeared when she was faced with all that sun-bronzed skin within arm’s reach.
“I won’ bite, lass. Not hard anyway.” Ethan winked, then handed her a pair of scissors and a small comb.
“Thank you for trusting me to do this.” She gave him a light kiss, intending to keep it short, but lingered at his rich, warm taste. He’d had wine with dinner and fruity notes lingered on his tongue. The butterflies in her belly swirled lower. Forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand, she drew back and ran the comb through his hair. Glossy curls parted, then sprang back under the comb. There was a whorl near one ear that would no doubt give her trouble. The firelight caught on a silvery-white line marring his shoulder.
“This must have been a significant injury. What happened?” Lottie traced the line with a finger. Goose bumps rose on his skin.
“That’s my reminder tae be a better person. Connor lost his leg and career. I walked away with this. Barely anything, really,” he said.
Barely anything? “This scar is sizeable, Ethan. You didn’t walk away unscathed.” The roll and shift of his muscles when he shrugged paused her brain for a moment. Lord, the man’s body could distract a saint. “Having seen Connor in action these last few days, I’d say he’s adapted admirably to the circumstances. He may not be in the king’s army, but he’s certainly the general of this house.”
“Shouldn’t I be the general in my home?” Ethan asked with a short laugh.
Lottie tugged at the lock of hair she’d just combed. “Let’s not kid ourselves. Connor is in charge here. He may be unorthodox and informal to the point of rudeness, but the man has Woodrest firmly under control.”
“True enough. Are you planning tae play with my hair all night, or cut it?”
“If you rush me, it’s on your own head.” Lottie gathered a handful of hair and made one giant snip in the center of his head. There. No going back now. For several moments the only noises in the kitchen were the snick of the scissors and the pop of firewood. “Do you think Connor’s forgiven you? For the leg, I mean.”
“How could he? That’s no’ something a man just moves past.” His quiet but firm voice suggested he’d already decided the concept was impossible. As if he believed he’d never receive forgiveness.
“He doesn’t seem to be wallowing in misery. From what I’ve seen, he appears to consider you both an employer and friend.”
“What are you getting at, Lottie?”
She nudged his head to drop his chin down for better access to the nape. “I’m just saying I think he’d have mentioned it if he hated his life and blamed you. Connor strikes
