Oh.Had that been a teapot? He leaned over the edge of the bed and saw a pile of broken porcelain on the floor. “Well, so I did. What of it?” If he had another teapot to hand, he’d throw that one, too. Maybe that would frighten this nosy little beast away.
“Now Peter says ’e won’t serve ye, and Becky says the same, and do ye know what Miss Sheridan said?”
Oh, he could just imagine what Thea had said tothat. Ethan stacked a pile of pillows against the headboard and leaned back against them. This conversation might prove amusing, after all. “I assume she reminded them I’m the earl, and told them theywouldbloody serve me, or else they’d lose their places.”
“No. She said they didn’t have to serve ye, and then she said it would do ye a world of good to serve yerself.”
“Serve myself? What bloody nonsense. What’s the use of being an earl if I have to serve myself?”
“Don’t know.” Maria shrugged, and a dollop of jam slid from the end of her thumb and plopped onto the white bedsheets.
“Mind the jam!” For God’s sake. Why was this child still in his bedchamber?
“Then Miss Sheridan said it would be amusing to see ye try an’ serve yerself, since most earls can’t even fasten their own breeches without help.”
“She said that, did she?” Yes, that sounded like Thea.
“Is it true?” The child swept a disdainful look over him. “Ye really don’t know how to fasten yer own breeches?”
“I manage.”
Another dollop of jam disappeared into her mouth. “Then Miss Sheridan said earls know how tounfastentheir breeches well enough.” She frowned. “I don’t know what she meant by that, but she and Becky laughed and laughed.”
Despite himself, a corner of Ethan’s mouth twitched. Thea might play at being the respectable housekeeper, but that green-eyed hellion still lurked beneath the surface.
The child dropped the empty pot of jam back on the tray. “Ye have a nice smile, but I still don’t like ye.”
“I don’t like you, either. You’ve eaten all my jam.”
She lifted a small pitcher of milk from the tray. “Maybe ye’d like some milk, then?”
A sweet smile crossed her jam-smeared mouth, but Ethan caught the unholy gleam in her black eyes, and with a quick flash of horrified prescience he saw what she was going to do, right before it happened. “Maria, don’t youdare—”
But Maria did dare. She let out a little squeal of glee, then dumped the entire pitcher of milk onto his lap.
“Bloody hell!” Ethan leapt from the bed, covered in soggy muslin.
Maria ran across the room to the door, but before she disappeared into the hallway, she turned around, stuck her tongue out at him and yelled, “My name is Martha, ye arse!”
Arse?“Martha, is it?” he yelled back, though the door had already slammed shut behind her. “Good! When I speak to Miss Sheridan, I’ll be sure to say it’sMarthawho’s due for a thrashing!”
He gave the bell a violent yank, tore his nightshirt over his head, and crossed to the basin in the corner of the room. “Foul-mouthed little fiend.” He dipped a cloth into the basin, wincing as he ran the wet end over his bare shoulders and chest. The water was freezing, and his fire had gone out, as well.
Where were the damn servants?
He tugged on the bell again, and then again a few minutes later, but no one came. He’d rung for a fourth time before it dawned on him what the trouble was.
It would do ye a world of good to serve yerself.
No.Surely even Thea wouldn’t go as far as that.
He gave the bell one more experimental pull, and waited.
Nothing. Resounding silence.
Devil take her. She would go that far. He might stand here all night and ring this bell, but no one would come.
Ethan threw a fresh shirt over his head, tugged on a clean pair of breeches, and stomped across the bedchamber and out the door. He ran down two flights of stairs, muttering crossly to himself as he went, but he crashed to a halt when he reached the entryway.
