Nicholas - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,33

he’s ready to go.”

“He is, isn’t he? Miserable old pestilence.”

“I think he is miserable,” Nick said. “Angry and ashamed to be old and sick, and ready to get on with being remembered fondly.”

“By most.”

“But not all,” Nick agreed, smiling slightly. “I gather you did not grant him pardon, absolution, and remission of all sins?”

Nick’s directness on that issue was oddly welcome, even though it reminded Ethan starkly they’d once been able to read each other’s thoughts and had Bellefonte to thank for the distance between them now. “I could hardly stand to be in the same room with him.”

“One doesn’t need to bear a grudge against the man to feel thus.”

A soft tap on the door, and both men fell silent as the tea cart was rolled in.

“You pour.” Nick closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I am damned sick of being my own hostess.”

“You’re soon to acquire a countess, though, aren’t you?” Ethan asked as he peered at the tea. “It’s middling strong.”

“Let it steep,” Nick said, eyes still closed. “Did you put the earl in his place, Ethan?”

As if one could. The Lord God Almighty would probably be hard put to do as much. “I left in a snit. I did get something like an explanation from him, though.”

“Did you now?” Nick opened his eyes and sat up. “The grim reaper must be stalking him in earnest.”

“Or his indigestion was plaguing him. All those years ago, Bellefonte found you and me in the same bed.”

“Of course he did.” Nick looked puzzled. “Else the little boys would have heard all our secrets. As it was, every time Dolph had a nightmare, he was in with us as well.”

“But his lordship thought we were inappropriately attached to begin with,” Ethan said, “and when it became obvious we often bunked together, he decided we were engaging in perversions with each other.”

There was a beat of utter silence, then another, followed by a roar.

“He thought what?” Nick shot out of his chair and rounded on his brother.

Ethan remained seated, peculiarly gratified by Nick’s indignation. “He thought we were lovers, or the adolescent male variation on that theme.”

“God’s eternal balls,” Nick swore, pacing off. “Jesus George Christ Almighty in the Clouds. I cannot believe this. I am going to kill the misguided old goat and make it hurt. He cast you away because he thought we might have been a little too close? A little curious with each other? Jesus.”

Nick came to a halt and shut up, breathing deeply. Ethan watched, knowing he’d just seen Nick come as close to losing his temper as Nick ever would.

“I walked out,” Ethan said, “if that helps. Left him wheezing in his chair while I headed blindly for the stables. I ran into Nita there, and that distracted me temporarily.”

Nita had been a girl the last time he’d seen her, a pretty little girl who’d once told him he was her favorite brother.

“Nita would distract St. Peter. I am disappointed in our father, Ethan. I was disappointed in him for separating us in any case, but over nonsense like this… Disappointed and disgusted. Had you any clue?”

“No.” Ethan held out Nick’s teacup to him. “Not really, though we probably should not have been quite so cozy that late into boyhood.”

“That is utter tripe!” Nick shot back. “You left, so you have no idea what the rest of us got up to, Ethan. I can promise you George and Dolph were up to no good with each other, and Beck used to spy on you and me with the dairymaids while he pleasured himself. The earl had a randy damned pack of sons, and you and I were not the worst of the lot.”

Nick’s casual recitation of fraternal prurience hit Ethan with a curious blend of revulsion, humor, and relief. “I’ll take your word for it, though I do not think you are paying me the signal honor of a call after all these years to rehash ancient history.”

“I am not,” Nick admitted, looking at the teacup in his hand dazedly.

“Sit you down, Nicholas. We can talk more later, if you find you want to. I’m not sure I do. State your business.”

“I can hardly recall my business,” Nick growled.

Ethan waited him out.

“I need some help,” Nick said at length, his tone truculent.

Not at all what Ethan had expected—though he wasn’t sure what he had expected. “What manner of help?”

“I’ve been called to Belle Maison, but there’s a young lady here in Town whose safety

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