Desperate men did desperate things. Ethan rubbed a palm over tired eyes. Heavens, he should have slept days ago. He shared a look with Connor in silent agreement. “What’s your name?”
“Billings. John Billings.” The man eyed Connor’s peg leg, then his own. The look held such a weight to it, Ethan felt it in his chest. A plan came to him, fully formed, and the rightness of it fell into place with an almost audible click. Connor wasn’t the only man needing a home and work despite a missing limb.
“Mr. Billings, I will give you a choice. You were hired tae perform a dastardly task, and you did it, which tells me you’re good at following orders. I can walk away now, let you find your way back tae London and your family, as the man who hired you intended. But that assumes the other men let you get that far.”
The man’s eyes darted, taking in the angry faces around him.
Connor spoke up. “Or I take ye in a coach tae get yer woman an’ bairns. Then ye return tae rebuild what ye destroyed.”
John Billings froze, staring at Connor and Ethan. “Rebuild?”
“Do ye have any experience building things, or do ye jus’ prefer tae set them on fire?” Connor cocked his head in challenge. The circle of men shuffled closer.
“I built some in the army.”
Ethan offered the man a hand and waited until John grasped his palm before pulling him to his feet. He weighed next to nothing. Without releasing the hand, Ethan drew him close, until the man had to crane his head up to meet his eyes. “Your choice, Mr. Billings. Go back tae London and rot, or stay and make recompense.”
The tears on John’s face left rivers of mud in their wake. “Yer givin’ me a job? But I hurt yer master. Burned the granary. The lord will never let me stay.”
“Eh, the viscount does what I tell ’im,” Connor said, breaking the tension when several of the group chuckled.
Ethan grasped John’s hand. “You claim you’ve never done this before. Prove it. This is the hard path. I’m lord and master of these lands, and you’ve hurt my people, John Billings. I’m no’ like tae forget it soon. The men hate you. None of us trust you. You’ve an uphill battle ahead. I expect you tae work an honest day’s labor for an honest day’s wage. But hear me now—if you betray me, I’ll beat you myself, throw you tae the wolves, an’ never regret it.”
“Me wife an’ kids? They’ll have a roof? Food?”
“Aye. As long as you work without another issue like this, you have my word.”
John collapsed his beaten head against their clasped hands and, after a shuddery sigh, wept with such force his shoulders shook.
An hour later John Billings and two footmen were London bound. The local men begrudgingly agreed to not kill the man when he returned. Their acceptance came easier after Ethan assured them no one would starve or suffer from the sabotage. Purchasing grain from neighboring estates would take profits from the year, but in the end they’d all live to eat another day. Rebuilding might have to wait until after the next harvest, but they’d figure it out.
Back in his room, the water in the pitcher hit Ethan’s flame-toasted skin with all the gentleness of shards of ice, then trickled down his chest, rinsing away the soap. Drying with a linen, he searched for a clean shirt. The smoke-filled clothes from the night lay draped over a wooden chair, far away from any other fabrics they might destroy. It was when he donned a new waistcoat that he remembered the letter in his pocket.
Forgive me. Common decency demands I say these things face-to-face instead of writing. I suppose we shall add cowardice to my sins, listed below inconsistency.
I cannot marry you. No, that is not entirely true.
I will not marry you.
My father has refused the match and I find myself unwilling to challenge him in this. Thank you for offering the protection of an engagement when I needed it. As per our original agreement, I am ending our arrangement now that your services are no longer required. I tire of London and shall soon be free of Montague’s vile rumors.
Consider your moral debt paid, since we both know that is how all this began. Your slate is clean, Ethan.
I wish you the best.
The edge of the bed caught him because his knees were useless. Like a punch to the gut, Lottie’s words turned his vision to a watery haze.
The earl didn’t approve of the match. He’d probably rejected Ethan without a second thought. Or maybe this was just the natural order of things correcting itself. A shepherd didn’t marry a lady. A young man who hurt a woman from a place of damaged ego didn’t eventually win the girl. It wasn’t the way life worked.
His head weighed heavy in his hands, and Ethan’s breathing echoed as a harsh gurgle in the room. So this was how heartbreak felt. Aptly named when the woman you loved walked away, breaking and stealing pieces of you as she went. No wonder it hurt so damn bad. Parts of him were gone forever, given away with a kiss to the lovely Lady Lottie, who lost control only when she was in his arms.
Ethan crumpled the letter in his fist, threw it to the floor, then stared at it. In a fit of pique, he stomped on the paper.
What a day. Hell, what a week. The highest of highs, the lowest of lows, and a lovely bit of arson in between. At least Montague no longer had John Billings in his pocket. John, who hadn’t even realized he’d been speaking with the master here, because the
