“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.”
He shrugged, or he attempted to with a bale of hay in his arms. “Nothing has gotten into me. I’m just…” Did he tell Rush that his uncle was insisting he wed? Or that this morning had underscored that he might need to make a few changes? Or did he say that he was tired of even the people closest to him finding him incapable?
Even Red. Hadn’t she been clear when she’d said she wasn’t interested? No one of merit was. Not his friends, not his uncle, and most likely, not his father.
Red was beautiful and intelligent, which meant she found him lacking. Why did he like her more for it? “Sometimes you meet a pretty lady, and you think to yourself, what might that be like?”
It wasn’t really true. Just like yesterday, he lied. But it sat a bit less like a lie in his chest and more like the truth. He didn’t want to marry her, didn’t want to marry anyone. If his uncle was attempting to force matrimony on Ethan, he didn’t want it. But Red had made him wonder.
What might life be like if he were a different man? A better one.
Natalie stood in the haberdasher’s shop, pretending to carefully choose a deep red ribbon to match the new gown she and her mother had just purchased for her upcoming season. In reality, she was eavesdropping. Was it still called that when one was not listening through the eaves but around a rack of ribbons?
“I heard that he raced a man in his phaeton in Hyde Park and the other man was nearly killed,” one lady whispered to another, their heads bent.
“Well, I heard he had a duel and was shot in the shoulder over a countess,” the other said. Was she just attempting to best her friend, or were these stories true? Natalie peeked over the rack, catching sight of the man who’d inspired such gossip. The Earl of Somersworth stood casually in the town square, looking tall and ridiculously handsome as he spoke to Lord Smith.
The two women were standing in the window and when he caught their stares, one of them waved, blushing furiously as she did. Natalie nearly rolled her eyes. He wasn’t that handsome—all right, perhaps he was…