Alex responded with a dark look. “But I know that can’t be the case today.” His expression darkened further. “Don’t tell me you spent the whole day with some wench you met at The Golden Goose.”
“Your faith in me is touching as usual, brother, but I went to Skerrit’s farm as planned.”
Alex’s relieved expression annoyed Ethan, and he tightened his fingers on the brandy glass.
“And?” Alex scooted to the edge of his chair.
Ethan considered and took another drink of his brandy, swirling the liquid in the glass and watching the firelight glint off the crystal edges. He glanced at his younger brother. Alex had been watching Will Skerrit for almost three months and had compiled detailed information on the man—he probably even knew the color of his drawers. Ethan suspected that Alex had lived more in hiding places around Skerrit’s crumbling farm than he had within the walls of his newly acquired Grayson Park. And if not for the crackling of the logs on the fire, he imagined he’d be able to hear his little brother’s teeth grinding as he struggled to maintain his veneer of casual indifference.
His eyes shifted to Alex’s fingers, tapping a staccato rhythm on the side table. Ethan had every intention of telling his brother all that he wanted to know—in his own good time. But right now he had other things on his mind, specifically one petite, nosy girl with chocolate-brown hair.
“What do you know of the Dashing family?” Ethan asked.
A blank look dropped like a sheet over Alex’s face. “Who?” He turned to Pocket, now engaged in cleaning a nonexistent spot on Ethan’s coat, but the valet’s expression was equally bewildered. Although not, Ethan noted, as annoyed as Alex’s was fast becoming.
“Who?” Alex’s edgy tone mirrored his emotions. His brother really had to learn patience.
“The Dashings.” Ethan hooked one leg over the arm of his chair.
“Why the hell do you think I know who the Dashings are?” Alex almost exploded out of his chair. “If you want to know something about Skerrit, I can tell you what the man had for breakfast this morning, but I haven’t spent much time dallying with the locals.”
Ethan tapped a finger to his lips. “Then I suppose you don’t know Miss Dashing.”
“No.”
Ethan wondered how Alex managed to grind the word from his locked jaw.
“Now, can we return to the matter at hand? Skerrit?”
“This is the matter at hand.” Ethan emptied his glass then shook his head when Pocket gestured in silent offer to pour him another. “She was poking around Skerrit’s today.”
Alex started, granite-gray eyes hard and sharp. “Do you suspect her of some involvement?”
“Miss Dashing?” Ethan snorted. “Hardly. Her main concern seemed to be Skerrit’s horse. Apparently the man not only smuggles arms to the French, he also mistreats his animals.”
“Oh, dear,” Pocket murmured from across the room.
With a self-satisfied grin, Alex sat back. “So you concur with my assessment then? Skerrit is smuggling arms for the French.”
“All the signs are there. And the man is no fool, either. He had the gall to pull a weapon on me, but he was smart enough to use a rusty blunderbuss, not anything suspect.”
Alex stared at his brother, looking ready to smash him with the granite in his eyes. “Skerrit caught you!” He catapulted out of his chair. “I’ve been watching the man unnoticed for months, and the first time you, the much-lauded spy, attempt surveillance, you’re discovered. That’s just wonderful, Ethan. Tell me this gets better.”
Ethan looked hard at his brother. “Don’t presume to tell me how to do my job, Alex.” He set his glass down with a clink. “I’ll decide when and if I’ve compromised my position or yours. Don’t forget I was smuggling aristos out of Paris when you were still in leading strings.”
“Please.” Alex ran a hand through his hair. “You’re only six years older.”
“And for your edification, little brother,” Ethan added, “I did us both a favor this afternoon by ridding the area of the interfering do-gooder. If I hadn’t done so, we might have had her surprising us in the future at a less opportune moment.”
“And just how did you manage to rid us of the Dashing chit?” Alex sat and arched one skeptical brow.
“It was a mistake. I know that now.”
“Ethan.”
“I bought her the horse.”
Alex choked, then shut his eyes and reached for his brandy. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
“I admitted my mistake.” Swinging his leg back over the arm of the chair, Ethan set it on the floor with an audible thud. Alex threw him an exasperated look, and Ethan curled his hand around the arm of the Chippendale, restraining the impulse to pummel Alex senseless.
“When word of this leaks, you’ll be linked to the Dashing girl.”
Ethan dug his fingers into the chair arm. “The gossip will die if I don’t fuel it.”
Alex did not look mollified. Ethan released the chair and laced his fingers behind his neck. Attempting a casual air, he stared at the portrait of a reproachful ancestor hanging above the fireplace mantel. The ancient earl watched him with fierce blue eyes.
“I’ll look into her identity further.” He leaned back, suddenly liking the way everything was coming together, liking the notion of seeing the girl again, ensuring she was safe. There was little he could do at present if Skerrit suspected him, but at least he could find out more about her. “I’ll investigate.”
“We don’t have time for that, Winter,” Alex argued.
Ethan dropped his gaze from the portrait to his brother.
“Oh, dear,” Pocket murmured.
“I need your help with Skerrit.”
“You have it,” Ethan said, voice edged with annoyance. The two brothers locked stares.
“Oh, dear!” Ethan heard Pocket moan. “Not again!”
“Stop your ‘oh dears,’ Pocket,” Ethan snapped. “I want you to uncover something about this girl so I can locate her tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear,” Pocket muttered again.
“Find out what village she lives in and what her father does, whether he’s a farmer or a merchant—anything you can.”
“I shall do my best, my lord.” The valet closed the wardrobe’s door with a snick. “But I wonder if you might be referring to one of Viscount Brigham’s daughters? If I am not mistaken, their family name is Dashing, and I believe their estate is in these parts.”
Alex’s head jerked up. “Tanglewilde? It’s only a mile or so from Skerrit’s farm.”
Ethan thought back to the girl and shook his head. “No, she’s not gentry. She was plain. A country miss. Probably just a coincidence.” But Ethan felt a sliver of doubt lodge in his mind. Was he mistaken or had her accent been too refined for a simple country girl? And she had carried herself rather well...Of course, any well-trained servant could ape her betters.
A tap on the door interrupted them, and Ethan discarded the whole asinine notion. Pocket went to answer the knock, and while he spoke quietly to one of the servants, Ethan returned to staring at the frowning relic of the man in the portrait. Ethan was accustomed to disapproval and scorn, but he was also accustomed to having his way. The Miss Dashings of the world had never caused him serious problems before. Why should this one nosy chit be any different? He wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to interfere with his plan to snare Skerrit.