Darling grinned. “Milady, let’s you and I have a talk, yes?”
A half hour later, her mind swimming with new knowledge, Lottie sent a message to Ethan to apologize for not meeting him in the library, claiming a need to rest until dinner. It wasn’t entirely untrue. The big bed with the soft floral blanket called to her like a siren song, and frankly, it was the perfect place to hide.
Darling, bless her, was a thorough teacher. She’d left after their talk to send for the supplies they’d discussed, which meant the bedroom was empty except for Lottie and her swirling thoughts battling between what she wanted and what she needed.
Everything came back to the plan. When she’d left Westmorland, there’d been a clear path laid out, a pros-and-cons list made in her head, and a firm idea of the man she’d marry. He would, firstly, be a man Father found suitable—otherwise this entire exercise would be a waste of time and money.
Secondly, he’d be a man who would be content to stay in London, living his own life, leaving her to run her home and land as she deemed fit. Having seen what Town had to offer in the summer, she now realized that would require a unique combination of disinterest and affability.
Thirdly, he didn’t have to be rich, but he couldn’t need her fortune so desperately that she wouldn’t be able to use it to further her property. A man content to live on an allowance would be ideal, but she’d begun to doubt such a man existed.
Finally, she refused to end up with a relationship like her parents’. While they’d been happy together, their bliss had come at the expense of their children and eventually their tenants. Giving one person the power to destroy her, like Mother’s death had leveled Father, wouldn’t be wise. That would never be a choice she’d make, having already survived it twice. First as a child, excluded from the warmth they’d shared, and then as an adult, left to pick up the pieces. No, a love match wasn’t for her. Let another fool fall in that trap.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Lottie hugged herself as she’d been doing since childhood and rolled onto her side. The pillow dipped under her head, smelling of a fresh herb sachet from whatever linen closet the bedding had been stored in. Staring out the window, she let her gaze wander over trees and vast stretches of green fields. In the distance a stone-and-timber structure stood in midconstruction. Probably the new brewery they planned to visit after Mr. Macdonell arrived.
Reviewing her plan and making lists usually calmed her. But the list wasn’t the problem today. The list was comprehensive. For once, it offered no comfort. Because instead of the man she’d set out to find, she had Ethan. A fiancé who was none of those things, except wealthy in his own right.
Logically, that was reason enough to return to her plan, as she’d told Darling she would, and let this temporary arrangement expire in three weeks.
Yet despite her best intentions, she wanted him. The man who was the antithesis of everything she’d set out to find.
Disinterested? Not even close. He walked in a room, and her body tingled, sensing him. By the time she caught sight of him, his eyes were already on her. The sensations she experienced when he kissed her were headier than brandy.
And lest she forget, Ethan was the one man Father would never approve of. Assuming she decided to keep him and he wanted to marry her—which was a giant leap from their current agreement.
That was the reality. The truth without emotion.
All this worry might be for nothing, because who said Ethan wanted her for longer than three weeks? Sitting up, she pushed a curl off her face and scrubbed her palms over her eyes.
If she wanted to create the life she dreamed of, she needed a husband who checked the boxes on her list. She had three weeks to enjoy Ethan, then they’d end it.
And if this month-long detour from the original plan meant she didn’t find a suitable candidate by the end of November, well, she’d deal with that when the time came. Father would have to see sense and recognize her efforts to find a husband he’d agree to. Or perhaps by then she could convince him to let her remain on the shelf and use the dowry to establish her own house.
Either way, it would work out. She’d make it work out.
Chapter Fifteen
After dinner, Lottie perused the shelves of his library, moving ever so slowly toward him, section by section. Geography. Poetry. Agriculture—a large section and a shared interest. That was an area she could have lingered in for a while, if her goal hadn’t been to eventually make her way to the fireside.
She could feel the weight of Ethan’s gaze from where he lounged in a chair by the fireplace. Since arriving at his home, he’d made no effort to hide how much time he spent watching her. Sometimes with a light of arousal in his eyes, sometimes curiosity, and sometimes simple enjoyment.
And he didn’t just watch. The man loved to touch. All day while they’d visited the brewery site, talked to workmen, and greeted Macdonell, he’d maintained contact. Whether a brush of a finger, holding her hand, or touching her where no one could see. As a result, her body had been simmering with awareness that could flare into desire at any moment.
“I dreamed of you in this chair once,” he said.
“Was it a good dream?”
“Started that way.”
The firelight illuminated his features, while the dimple in his cheek played with shadows. The dark evening beard gave him a devilish appearance, reminding her that Lucifer had been the most beautiful angel. That low simmer rose to a steady flame, and she couldn’t resist touching him.
Knowing she wanted more than kisses from him lent her a boldness she might not have had otherwise. Ethan’s eyes grew wide when she stepped between his knees and sank her fingers into his curls. His hands wrapped around her waist, and he held her gaze as he slid his palms down to her hips. If he waited for her protest, he’d find none forthcoming. For the moment, she was content to simply touch him. Seducing a man wasn’t something she had experience in, but one could assume that touching was a good start.
When her fingers wove through his hair, playing with the curls and gently tugging the strands in a strange kind of scalp massage, he closed his eyes and made a low happy sound. His silky wayward curls tickled her hand with warm flicks that still held on to his body heat. The fingers at her hips flexed, pulling her closer until she swayed farther into him.
“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 me as the direct sort.”
“It was my fault,” he said.
Stubborn man. “Yes. That is not up for debate.” Lottie brushed loose hairs from his shoulder and inspected her work thus far.
“Do I want to know what’s happening here?” Aunt Agatha appeared in the doorway.
Lottie tilted her head and fanned her fingers through his curls to see if the hairs were relatively even. “I’m cutting his hair. My virtue’s safe. I’m armed with scissors.”
“And even sharper opinions,” Ethan said.
“Why are you down here, Auntie?”
“I’m feeling peckish. Lord Amesbury—if I may be so formal while you’re half-naked—do you know where your cook keeps something sweet to nibble?” Agatha wandered over to the shelves and began opening crocks and canisters.
“The jar on the far right with the blue lid usually contains shortbread.” Ethan stood. “Here, let me.” With his long arms, reaching the high shelf was easy. Behind his back, Lottie exchanged a glance with her godmother, who winked in return.
“Thank you, young man.” Agatha bit into a biscuit and closed her eyes with a happy sigh. “Bliss. My compliments to your cook. This is excellent. Now, you two. As the chaperone, I should be on the verge of apoplexy about all this.” She waved a biscuit in the direction of Ethan’s bare chest. “However, you two are engaged.” She plucked a few more pieces of shortbread from the jar and fluttered a hand over her shoulder as she left the room. “Carry on.”
“I think your godmother likes me,” Ethan said.
“You may be right. Come sit. I’m almost done.” His skin was hot under her fingers when she gently pushed him toward the stool before the hearth. The heat radiating off him was intense, and she didn’t want to remove her hand. Such a simple choice to indulge in the pleasure of touching him. Trailing her fingers from the heavy bulge of his shoulder, toward the side of his neck, then down the deep indent of spine and sinew, she followed the lines delineating muscles she didn’t know the names of. Delicious maximus, surely.
Under her touch, Ethan’s skin erupted in goose bumps. Like a giant cat wanting to be petted, his muscles bunched in response to her as he leaned into her hand.
What was it about firelight hitting this man that scrambled her wits? She’d begun the evening with a plan—a practiced speech that laid out the reasons he should indulge her in exploring this passion between them. Here she was with her careful mental script set aside in favor of running her fingers over every available inch of him. Lottie couldn’t even find it in herself to feel bad about taking advantage of the opportunity to touch him, although any chaperone worth her salt would be having a conniption at this situation, and no lady of good breeding would be in this situation to begin with. Besides, it could be argued that she was here with her chaperone’s blessing—not that it mattered, when the whole point was that she’d make her own decisions during this stay in Kent.
Settling into the soothing rhythm of combing, measuring the hair with her fingers, then evening the ends, she tried to find her carefully prepared script amidst her enflamed senses. “Agatha might be onto something. Perhaps we should enjoy the time we have.” She cocked her head, enjoying the picture he made with freshly trimmed hair. The sides and back were shorter, but she didn’t have the heart to take too much off the top. Those floppy curls did something to her equilibrium, and the only place she wanted to see them spread out was a pillow—not cast aside on the floor.
“What are you saying, Lottie?” He turned to meet her gaze, pulling her to stand between his legs like she had in the library. His hands found their place on her hips, and she wished he’d take the chance to explore her, as she was him. The fingers digging into her curves told their own tale—Ethan was clinging to self-control as tightly as he was her hips.
She set the scissors aside, then brushed the stray hairs off his shoulders. “I’m propositioning you. You know I don’t want a love match. But I’d like to experience whatever this is before I settle into a society marriage. I spoke with Darling, and she sent away for French letters. It may be a day or so before they’re here and we can fully indulge, but she’s assured me that there are plenty of other ways
to enjoy each other in the meantime. Unless you have a supply of French letters?” Unexpected nerves made her chatter. Lord, if only she could remember the words she’d prepared. There was mention of French letters and precautions in her carefully worded proposition she’d practiced, and the whole thing was supposed to sound worldly and sophisticated.
His eyes lit with humor. “I’m sorry tae say I don’ have any on hand, no. It’s been a long time since I’ve needed one. That must have been quite the conversation between you and your maid.”
The teasing made her relax somewhat. With a sigh, Lottie admitted, “She made me sit, then paced and talked for a half hour. It was like a sexually graphic schoolroom.”
A low laugh rumbled from his chest, and Lottie would have sworn she felt it vibrate through her core. “Did you take notes? Were there sketches involved?”
She swatted his shoulder playfully, shaking her head. “No. Are there sketches available? I should find the shelf in your library devoted to reference texts of that nature. I’m sure if I search long enough, I’ll find something.” It felt natural to place a small openmouthed kiss on the side of his neck, then another on the sharp blade of his cheekbone.
His hands encircled her waist, drawing her closer. “You were on the right wall earlier. Far corner by the window. Third—no, fourth row up. Educate yourself at will, lass. I can join you for hands-on lessons if you prefer.”
As a child, she’d placed colorful river rocks in a canister with water, gravel, and sand. When they’d all rubbed together, the result had been shiny colorful stones that she’d believed to be gems at the time. His voice was rough like the gravel, carrying an acceptance of her desire that was as precious as the gems she’d treasured.
Perching on one of his heavily muscled thighs, she marveled at the look of him. Everything about Ethan was solid and wide. In comparison, she felt delicate—a novel experience. With one hand on the back of his neck, Lottie pulled him close for another taste, nipping the corner of his lip. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on very hands-on lessons, my lord. You’ll find I’m an eager student.” A soft noise escaped her when he sucked her lower lip, letting his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. Giving herself over to the heat between them, she explored the angles of his face, enjoying the stubble of his cheek as it roughed the pads of her fingers.
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