Rush quirked a half smile as he trotted down the stairs, taking Ethan’s hand. “She’s a fair sight better than you. Somersworth, you look like shit and you smell worse.”

  “Do I?” Was it the vomit or the alcohol likely seeping through his skin? He gave himself a sniff. Hard to say…

  “What are you doing out here in the country? I pictured you as a city fellow.”

  He was. Very much so. “Your brother sent me.”

  “Which one?” Rush asked, frowning.

  “Gris.” A gin maker—the man had just gotten married, and he’d asked Ethan to make this journey to check on Rush and his new bride. A common enemy had attacked Gris in London and the other Smith wanted to be certain that his brother was safe.

  “Why?” Rush’s frown turned black. The Smith men were fiercely protective of their family.

  Ethan sighed. It was a long story and he was damned tired. “Nothing so pressing that it can’t wait an hour. Can I eat before I tell you all of it?”

  Rush’s brows drew together and his frowning gaze swept down Ethan. “You’re not coming into my house like that.”

  He gave himself another sniff. “You’re not going to make me bathe in the river, are you? It’s too bloody cold for that.”

  Rush waved him forward, calling to a footman, “Bring his trunk to the stables.”

  “The stables?”

  “The stables. Even my horses smell better than you.”

  A quarter hour later, he’d been stripped to the waist, buckets of partially heated though still frigid water pouring over his head.

  His body came alive, more of the hangover clearing as Rush handed him soap. “I’ve got another bucket warming for you to rinse with.”

  “You Smiths sure know how to show a man a good time,” Ethan answered, dutifully scrubbing his skin and hair. Rush and his brothers were pivotal to Ethan’s plan and so he’d bathe in the stable if he had to. Hell, he’d likely have jumped in the river, despite the near-freezing January temperatures.

  “A good time. Is that what you’re here for?” Rush asked, grabbing the brush they used to wash the horses and dipping it into the bucket of warming water, his gaze menacing.

  “You’re not going to wash me down like your gelding, are you?”

  “Perhaps,” Rush answered, lifting the soaking brush. “You still stink.”

  He grunted, wondering what Red thought of him. It didn’t matter, he knew it didn’t, but still…some part of him balked to know that she likely found him repulsive. “I met your neighbors. The viscount and viscountess. They had with them the most adorable auburn-haired—”

  The brush slammed into his chest with a force that nearly knocked him over. “Don’t,” Rush gritted out as he thumped him with the brush again.

  He yanked the brush from Rush’s hand, tossing it to the ground. This was not the first time that a man close to him had forbidden him to date his sister, friend, or neighbor. In fact, it happened with striking regularity.

  He ought to point out that her uncle had been salivating for Ethan to attend dinner, but he knew that had nothing to do with him. That was the title. The people who truly knew him—his friends, his business partners—they did not want him anywhere near women they cared about. Hell, his best friend in the world, Baron Boxby, had forbidden Ethan from going anywhere near his sister, and that had hurt. “The viscount invited me to dinner.”

  “Don’t go.” Rush stepped up to him, his chest expanding. His fierce eyes held Ethan’s in a way that might intimidate a lesser man.

  “I have only good intentions at heart,” he lied. Partially. “I plan to marry.” He hated himself a bit more for those words. But they were necessary. He’d leave Red better than he’d found her, in any regard.

  Rush gave him a long, suspicious glare before he turned back, grabbed the second bucket, and dumped it over Ethan’s head.

  And then he tossed him a blanket to dry with.

  “That is surprising. You with good intentions. Tell me why Gris sent you and then maybe I’ll believe you.”

  Ethan sighed. He supposed it was too much to ask to eat first. “The short version: You know a baby landed on Gris’s doorstep. And that he hired a nanny with Triston’s help.”

  “I didn’t know the second part,” Rush said with a grunt.

  “Oh. Well. He did. Lovely lady, the nanny. He’s marrying her and keeping the baby. But amidst the courtship, the man who has been attacking our clubs, Gyla, attacked your childhood home—”

  “What!” Rush roared.

  Ethan shook his head. None of the Smiths had much in the way of tact or patience.

  “Your brother thinks he shot Gyla, so there is that. But Upton is keeping Gris safe while watching the clubs and I was sent out here to help you.”

  “You?” Rush looked him up and down.

  He didn’t need to sound so insulting. “Yes. Me.” Why did no one trust him?

  The next night, Natalie sat across the table from the Earl of Somersworth, relieved that he looked a bit more neatly kept this evening. His hair was pushed back, his skin less sallow. His gaze was a bit blurry, but still, he gave her an easy smile as he took a sip of his wine. She didn’t smile back.

  “Natalie,” her mother said from the end of the table, “you must play the pianoforte after dinner.”

  She dipped her chin in agreement without speaking a word. She was quiet by nature, and her mother was doing plenty of talking.

  “She’s a lovely dancer as well, my lord. It’s a shame Emma’s not here to play so that you and Natalie might dance.”

  “Shame,” Somersworth murmured in agreement, his growing smile only partially masked by his glass.

  She cast her gaze down, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Must her family be so obvious? For the past hour, they’d been touting Natalie’s accomplishments one after the other. She was sick of hearing about herself, and Somersworth surely had lost any interest he might have had.

  Not that she was interested in him, either. Awful man…but still…

  Her family was likely to frighten off a real suitor with this sort of behavior.

  And didn’t her mother realize Somersworth wasn’t the sort of man who wished for a woman who could embroider? She didn’t have much experience with the world, but even she sensed that. He’d want a lady who might be troublesome with him.

  She cocked her head to the side, knowing that she did not fit that score at all. But then again, if a woman ever wanted to give trouble a try, this might be just the man to help her.

  “Dinner was wonderful,” Somersworth said as he leaned back in his chair. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” her mother said, rising. “The night is not so cold tonight. Perhaps you’d like a walk along the lawn to help you digest.”

  Natalie blinked several times. It was near freezing outside and she knew very well that her mother meant for her to lead Somersworth on that walk. Wide windows would keep them in view of her mother and uncle, but still, they’d not be able to hear a word that passed between her and the earl.

  “A walk sounds perfect,” Somersworth said, then gave her another grin, looking like the cat who’d gotten the milk.

  Her shoulders straightened as she rose. “I’ll get my pelisse. My lord, should I fetch your coat as well?”

  “Yes please,” he said, truly sounding pleased.

  Had her mother and uncle not frightened him away? Doing so herself was not a task she was used to. But she knew without a doubt that he was not the man for her.

  Certainly, he was handsome. And interesting. And he was just bad enough that he might make a fine friend to help her explore all the things she’d always wished to, but she’d not marry this man.

  At her core, Natalie was too…well behaved for him. He’d turn her into minced pie. She was too docile, and she suspected that he was too wild.

  Pelisse on, she took his arm, a strange energy moving through her as they walked toward the doors and stepped outside. The night air was cold, but they were blocked from the wind, tucked against the house, and the moon lit the night.

  She drew in a deep breath as she tried to decide what to ask Lord Somersworth, how she proceeded. How did one frighten away a man who lived on the edge of danger?

  But she didn’t have the chance. “You are truly lovely,” he murmured close to her ear. “I suspected as much yesterday when we met, but in the dress you’re wearing this evening…”

  His eyes moved down her, as though he remembered her gown that was now covered by her pelisse. Which confirmed several of her suspicions. A gentleman would not discuss her attire or her figure in such a manner. “And you are as devilish as I suspected.”

  He flashed her a playful grin, the sort that might melt a woman’s insides. “So you’re not the mouse you played at dinner tonight.”

  Mouse? How insulting. And possibly true. “I suspect I am the mouse actually, but I’ve also been cornered by the cat.”

  He laughed. “So true.” And then, with a quick glance back through the windows, he reached up his free hand and brushed a softly blowing lock of her hair back from her face. She stilled at his touch, mesmerized by the gentle brush of his fingers. She knew she didn’t want this man, but hands like that might just make a lady forget… “But shall I confess to you that my intentions are honorable?”

  “I don’t—” She didn’t believe a word, but how to say that without insulting him?

  “I assure you, my lady. They are.”

  Honorable? Him? “All outward appearances would suggest otherwise.”

  He laughed again. “Most women would disagree. Swarms of them would twist themselves into knots to be out here with me.”

  “Shall I invite them?” she asked, wondering when she’d become so bold. It wasn’t her nature at all, but then again, he didn’t seem angered in the least. On the contrary, he enjoyed every prickly word she was saying and that was somehow freeing.

  He laughed again. “Please don’t. It grows tiresome.”

  “How difficult for you. Women turning themselves inside out to spend time with you.” He was smiling in such a way that he didn’t appear to mind her barbs at all. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying them. Something in her rose, filled her with a buoyancy she’d never experienced before.

  “Not with me. With an earl. It’s different.”

  That was likely true and a sentiment she could understand. Too often she was told how lovely a personality she had when she’d not even said a word. Those people didn’t like her, but the absence of her. “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  She didn’t answer, because this was not a man to share her secrets with. So instead, she looked up into the sky, the crescent moon glowing bright as she let out a breath that filled the air with a cloud of vapor. “You can rest assured, my lord, that I do not wish to spend time with you just because you are an earl.”

  “Do you wish to spend time with me at all?”

  Her jaw hardened, she gave her head a soft shake. “Forgive me, but no. I don’t think it’s wise.”

  “Why?”

  “I already told you. Because I am a little mouse, and you are a dangerous cat.”

  He laughed again. “I see. Well, if I may, I’d like to prove that I am a cat without claws. Would you give me that chance at least?”

  She drew in a shuddering breath. It was a bad idea. “No. I don’t think so.”

  He turned toward her, his brow drawn together as he assessed her. “Why not?”

  Her tongue darted out to lick her cold lips while she considered her answer. But the moment it began moving over her upper lip, she felt the intensity of his stare, and she quickly pulled her tongue back into her mouth. “Because.”

  “Why?”

  What did she say? I can already tell you’re more man than I could ever handle? That would only encourage him to use his strength to force her into the position of his choosing. Thinking quickly, she attempted to say something that might put him off completely. “Your drinking, for one. I don’t like it.”

  She heard him rumble. She had every right to say the words. He’d ruined her favorite dress.

  “You don’t like my drinking.”

  She’d seen him tonight, at dinner. He’d had several glasses of wine, then port, a whiskey before the meal had even begun. And suddenly she knew exactly how to rid herself of this man. “I’ll make a bargain with you. A wager, if you will.”

  “A wager?”

  “Yes. You don’t drink for an entire week, and I’ll reconsider.”

  “A week of not drinking and then you’ll reconsider spending time with me?”

  “That’s right,” she answered, knowing full well that she’d never see the earl again.

  But he cocked his head to the side. “I’ll need something more concrete than that. If I go a full week without drinking, then you will allow me to court you.”

  “Court me?” Her heart stuttered in her chest. “You’re serious?”

  “As the plague,” he answered, raising his hand as though taking an oath.

  She would never marry him, she promised herself that no matter what her mother wished, she’d not succumb to the earl. She wanted love, but if she were going to be forced into a match, it would not be with a man so…dangerous. Even she had her sticking points.

  But if he could go without drinking and if he courted her, perhaps…perhaps he might help her complete some of the items on her list and then maybe, she’d find a bit of herself before she was lost to her mother’s choice of husband. “I accept.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ethan woke to the morning sun streaming through his window, wondering what time it might be.

  Scrubbing his eyes, he heard the clock chime eight. Christ, he hadn’t been awake at this hour in who knew how long. Which only made him wonder….When was the last time he’d gone a night without indulging?

  Mentally, he counted the drinks he’d had the night before. Had it been six or seven? He cursed low under his breath. Was that a reasonable wake at eight in the morning amount of alcohol? How much did he normally drink?

  He rose, feeling a deep pit of shame despite what ought to be a fine day. He was awake, alert, and the sun was shining, but still he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t deserve the sun’s warmth.

  He came down the stairs to find Rush dressed in simple clothing and headed for the door. “Where are you off to?”

  Rush turned to him, looking surprised. “What are you doing awake?”

  He grimaced. “I am up plenty of mornings.”

  Rush gave a snorting laugh. “Like bloody hell you are.” Then he jabbed his thumb toward the back of the house. “Triston left his bars and weights in the stable and I’ve been using them for exercise. I’ll have to help plant the fields this spring and I’m trying to be ready.”

  Ethan rubbed more of the sleep from his eyes. “Plant fields? This is something you actually wish to do?”

  “I do. Before I came here, I was chained to a desk doing the accounting for the club. I still do, of course, but now”—he spread his arms wide—“I get to be outside in fresh air with exercise and the freedom to move and the quiet to think.”

  Ethan considered those words as he made his way down the stairs. “Can I join you? In the stable?”

  He’d always been naturally muscular, with broad shoulders, but of late…he felt his upper arm, noting that much of the muscle had disappeared.

  “Of course.” Rush gave a nod. “If you’re going to help protect us, you should probably be able to lift a sword.” And then he laughed heartily at his own joke.

  Ethan didn’t find his words nearly so funny as he followed the man out to the stable.

  The first thing he noted when they entered was that more buckets of water sat warming by the stove. “What are those for?”

  “I wash up after. Can’t go back to my new wife reeking, can I?”

  Ethan’s grimace pulled even tighter. He didn’t wish to marry Red, but he did want to court her, which had been made more difficult when he’d acquainted her with his least attractive bodily fluids. He was paying the price now. Only, some part of him wondered if this felt less like a punishment and more like an awakening.

  Rush moved to a back stall and Ethan raised his brows as Rush jumped up, grabbing a bar, and began to do pull-ups. When he finished, taking ages to complete no less than fifty of them, Ethan followed suit. Grabbing the bar in his hands, he noted that it had a rougher texture to help with grip. Though he still struggled to maintain it as he attempted to pull himself up.

  How had Rush managed fifty of these? By sheer force of will he did fifteen and then dropped himself to the floor, only to turn around and find Rush lifting a large wooden box over his head. He’d shucked off his shirt and his muscles rippled as he moved, his face barely registering the heavy weight.

  Ethan grunted, realizing what poor condition he’d descended into. Squaring his shoulders, he watched Rush drop the box, and then he crossed over to where the box now sat on the floor.

  Rush’s brows lifted but he said nothing as Ethan hefted the damn thing over his head. It was heavier than it looked; his body strained to lift it five times.

  On and on this went, Ethan struggling to complete a quarter of the work Rush managed, and when they were finally done, Ethan sagged against a large wooden post, relieved and wondering how much he’d hurt tomorrow.

  That’s when Rush began climbing toward the loft. “What are you doing?”

  Rush kept climbing as he answered. “I’m throwing down some hay.”

  Ethan groaned. Damn the man and his stamina and damn Red for throwing out that wager that had turned his whole world upside down. He preferred the oblivion of alcohol and its aftereffects.

  So why did thinking of her prompt him to his feet to start up the ladder after Rush?

  “What’s gotten into you, anyway?” Rush asked as he tossed a bale down.

  “Nothing.” He groaned inwardly and tossed one too.

  “First you come here talking of marriage, and now you’re up and exercising in the morning.”