She took him with her as they stared into each other’s eyes with mutual awe. Lowering himself on unsteady arms, Ethan settled beside her. A place on his chest near the cradle of his shoulder seemed made for her head.
Stroking her back, he said, “I’ll have tae leave this bed eventually. I hope my legs work by then.”
She giggled. “I can’t feel my toes. Or my knees. I had no idea my knees could go numb.”
The vibration of his chuckle rumbled under her ear. Burrowing her nose in the side of his neck, she breathed him in. Contentment turned her bones to jelly, and she let the gentle brush of his fingers down her spine lull her.
“I’ll never get tired of touching you, love.”
She murmured sleepily, “Then don’t stop.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following morning’s salacious headline “Mr. M Warns the Heir to the Former Princess and Her Brute May Carry His Blood!” would surely give her father apoplexy if he read it. After the powerful and tender lovemaking of the night before, the gossip rag was a cruel return to reality. Neither of them deserved this nonsense, especially Ethan. He was a good man. Lottie slapped the paper down on the table with a growl. That didn’t satisfy, so she crumpled the newssheet in her fist, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it.
Agatha looked up from her tea with a benign expression, as if her honorary niece weren’t throwing a fit. She lifted an inquiring brow.
“I hate the gossips.” Lottie took her seat at the breakfast table once more and tried to emulate her aunt’s calm. Taking a sip of her tea, she said, “May every one of them find eternal release in a frigid watery grave. There. I feel better.”
“They shall settle soon. Mr. Montague seems to be enjoying his moment in the sun by drawing this out as long as possible. But even he will have to give way once you’re respectably married. It will turn out. You will see.”
Lottie wrinkled her nose and pushed her eggs to the other side of the plate. They were cold anyway. Her godmother was a mighty ally in this situation, and perhaps having her on their side would help sway Father. Her unruffled reaction to the slanderous headlines didn’t soothe Lottie’s riled sense of justice.
“You are not riding this morning?”
“Ethan will be by shortly. I wanted to sleep a little longer and recover from the late hour of the ball.” He’d sneaked out as dawn had crept over the windowsill, leaving her in the warm blankets that smelled of them. She’d immediately claimed his pillow and breathed in his scent. “The ball was a smashing success, by the way. Well done, Auntie.”
“Thank you, darling girl. It is always best to be the hostess who sets expectations in society, rather than the one who tries to meet others’. Now, perhaps we can discuss the wedding after your ride?”
“Already itching for a new project? Very well. Wedding plans begin this afternoon.” Happiness bubbled up, but she pushed the emotion down and drained her teacup. “If a letter from Father arrives while I’m gone, please open it and then prepare me for the contents.”
“I am sure your father will see reason. If you have moved past your history with the viscount, then I see no reason for your father to continue holding a grudge.”
Praying the letter would be that well received, Lottie kissed her aunt’s cheek, then left the room. She’d forgotten her hat upstairs, and Ethan would be here any moment.
Unfortunately, when Ethan arrived, it was clear their ride wasn’t on his mind. He wore a small satchel crosswise on his body and practically ran into the room.
“I’m sorry, lass. A messenger caught me on my way out the door. Woodrest is burning. It was faster tae stop on my way out of Town than write a note.” He grabbed her and gave her a fierce kiss. “I need tae go. I should have been there. Connor kept telling me tae come home,” he said, then bolted from the room. Stunned, she stood in place for a moment before his words fully sank in. Woodrest was burning? The house or the estate—and did that even matter? His home was in flames.
Should she follow? No, if he’d wanted her there, Ethan would have said so. Perhaps sending a group of willing footmen to lend aid wouldn’t be overstepping. She might one day be the mistress of Woodrest, but she wasn’t yet, and she didn’t quite know what she should do in this instance.
“Stemson!” Lottie called into the hall.
Ever the epitome of organization, Stemson soon had a group of the strongest footmen and grooms on their way to Woodrest to lend a hand.
Which left her with nothing to do. A pile of correspondence on her writing desk awaited her attention. Although referring to three letters as a pile stretched the truth.
A letter from Rogers with Stanwick Manor estate business sat at the top. After opening and skimming it to ensure there wasn’t a note from Father, she’d set it aside yesterday. Now she read it in full. Shockingly, Rogers reported her father continued to regain primary control of things back home. While she was happy Father’s mental state allowed him to be involved, years of disappointment held her back from fully embracing the good news as a permanent change.
The earl reclaiming his rightful place in charge of Stanwick meant things were returning to how they should be. Logically, she knew this. Once upon a time, he’d loved Stanwick as if the estate were another child. When Michael and Mother had died, his passion for life and all its responsibilities had died with them. So yes, her father paying attention to his tenants and land was a wonderful turn
