But his warning came too late. Thea let out a little cry as her foot skidded off a branch, and in the next moment she was falling.
“Thea!” Ethan made a grab for her and managed to catch her around the waist, but her momentum threw them both outward, away from the tree. They tumbled to the ground, and Ethan landed with a hard thump right on top of her.
The boys gasped, and Martha began to cry.
Oh, no. No.Dread rolled through Ethan as he struggled to his elbows and peered down into Thea’s face. Her eyes were closed. “Thea!” He patted her cheek to try and rouse her, but her long, dark lashes remained flush against her pale cheeks.
Martha threw herself into George’s arms with an ear-piercing wail. “That lordship! He’s killed Miss Sheridan!”
* * * *
I’m not dead.
Thea opened her mouth, but she couldn’t seem to make her lips work well enough to say the words aloud.
“Thea?” Gentle fingers patted her cheek. She’d been so cold up in the tree she’d gone numb, but something heavy was on top of her, and it was ever so warm. Hard too, but in the best kind of way, and it smelled lovely—just the faintest hint of fine whiskey, and clean, fresh snow.
“Open your eyes, Thea.” The voice was low, pleading. Familiar.
Ethan.Not Lord Devon, but Ethan, the golden-haired boy with the bright blue eyes she’d loved for as long as she could remember. He’d come back, but there was no telling how long he’d stay. Perhaps if she could hold on tightly enough . . .
She lifted her arms, wrapped them around his neck and held him, her eyes squeezed shut.
Don’t go, Ethan.
A warm breath fanned across her face, a sigh of relief. “It’s all right, Thea. Let go. I’m heavy, and I don’t want to crush you.”
She tightened her arms around his neck, a distressed sound escaping her lips.
“What, do you suppose I’d leave you here?” A sound brushed against her ear, a soft laugh. “A tempting thought, but without you, I’d run out of apple tarts.” His warm weight disappeared as he eased away from her. “Are you hurt?”
She opened her eyes, peeked up at him from under her lashes, and then shook her head. “No, I—I don’t think so.”
He ran careful hands over her, checking for injuries. She shivered as his palms cradled her neck. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and his skin was warm. And his hands . . . how could such large hands be so gentle? Thea bit her lip to hold in a sigh as his palms slid over her body. He was so close, if she just arched her back the tiniest bit, she’d feel his chest press against hers, and—
“I don’t feel any broken bones.” He finished his inspection and pulled away. “Stop crying, Martha. Miss Sheridan is fine. She’s just had the wind knocked out of her. Boys, tend to your sister.”
“Aw, come on, Martha. Stop yer carrying on, ye peahen.” Despite his harsh words, George’s voice was trembling. “Miss Sheridan’s aw right, isn’t she, lordship?”
“She is.” He was looking down into her face, but it was too dark for her to see his eyes. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but his voice was strained.
“Hold onto me.” He slid one hand under her knees and the other around her back.
Thea gasped as the ground fell away beneath her, and her gasp was echoed by Martha, who stopped crying at once and stared at Ethan, her jaw hanging open. “D’ye see that? That lordship just picked up Miss Sheridan like it were nothing!”
“So?” George huffed. “What of it? I’d ’a done the same, if I were bigger and stronger.”
Martha sniffed. “Ye’ll never be as big and strong as ’im.”
“Eth—that is, Lord Devon.” Thea squirmed in his arms. “This isn’t necessary. Put me down. You’re upsetting the children.”
“No.” Twigs snapped under Ethan’s boots. “The children will survive, and itisbloody necessary. You had a bad fall.”
“So did you!”
He glanced down at her, and a faint smile drifted over his lips. “Ah, but I landed on something soft, whereas you, well . . . something hard landed on you.”
Hard, yes. Deliciously hard. He’d said she wouldn’t enjoy the outcome if he had to fetch her from the tree himself, but that wasn’tquitetrue.
