Page 27 of How the Earl Entices

“You are?” Ethan asked warily, sliding a distrustful glance at Ross. “Why?”

“Because I have business in London, and it isn’t safe for women to travel alone.”

“Then I’ll come with you.” Another look at Ross, this one purely territorial.

The boy was a handful and chafed beneath his mother’s care, but he clearly loved her. Which was more than could be said of most sons of the aristocracy, who were raised by nannies and tutors and whose only interactions with their parents before the age of thirteen was to be paraded out nightly for a cursory review before being promptly returned to the nursery. Thank God he and Kit had been given a better childhood than that.

“You can’t, honey. You’ve got school, and I could be away for several weeks. You’ll stay here with Mrs. Walters and have a grand time.” Her forced smile faltered. “You won’t give me a second thought while I’m gone. So be a good boy for Alice, and kiss me goodbye.”

When she leaned in to kiss his cheek, Ethan scowled angrily and pushed her away. “I told you—I’m not a baby!”

Grace rocked back onto her heels and gaped at him, this time unable to hide the hurt from her face. Her lips parted delicately, stunned.

“Ethan,” Ross called out sharply.

The boy’s head jerked up in surprise.

He pinned the child with a hard look. “If you want to be a man, then you’ll respect your mother. In every way. Good menalwaystreat their mothers well.”

He held Ross’s gaze for a long moment beneath that chastisement, as if contemplating how far he could push back.

“Apologize to your mother,” Ross ordered. “Then be a man and kiss her goodbye.”

A sheepish look clouded the boy’s face, and he turned apologetically toward Grace. “I’m sorry, Mother.” Dutifully, he placed a contrite kiss to her cheek. “And I’ll be good for Mrs. Walters.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, blinking rapidly. “Now go on back upstairs. I’ll send letters as soon as I can.”

The boy nodded, then turned to Ross. “Goodbye, sir.”

“Goodbye, Ethan.”

The boy hurried off, whether to escape his mother’s coddling or further scolding, Ross couldn’t have said.

“And thankyou,” Grace repeated, solemnly meeting his gaze.

“It was nothing.” He took her elbow and helped her to her feet. “But you don’t need to worry too much. I was a rough and tumble boy once, too.” He grinned at her. “I’d like to think I turned out all right.”

She squeezed his hand. “You turned out just fine.”

He wished he could believe her.

Then her face darkened as she confided, “He deserves better than to die at sea. Your help in obtaining his inheritance will prevent that.”

Yet after so many years, the odds of it happening—Ross wouldn’t have placed that bet into the book at White’s.

But he also wouldn’t have bet on his odds of surviving his own flight from Paris, or the fate awaiting him in London.

“Here.” Alice Walters returned with several pieces of clothing in her arms. She set them on the counter, then picked up one of the shirts and held it up to his shoulders. She frowned, and for a moment, he wondered if she’d demand he strip to his breeches so she could measure him. “This one will work.” She tossed it over his shoulder and snatched up a jacket, quickly measuring it across the breadth of his shoulders. “This one might be a bit tight, but it’ll do.” Then she reached for a pair of trousers—

Ross grabbed them from her before she could measure other parts of him that she had no business being that close to in the first place. “These will all do nicely, thank you.”

She arched a brow. “Is there a reason you don’t have your own clothes?”

“I had to leave home quickly. There wasn’t time to gather my things.” He’d been prepared to leave everything behind. Once he stole the last of the documents, he knew that his life would never be the same again. “I hadn’t planned on getting caught in the storm.”

He hadn’t planned on getting caught at all.

“Hmm.” She raked her gaze over him once more, folding her arms across her chest as if she found him lacking. “A friend from Grace’s London days, huh?”