A Lady's Secret Weapon Page 0,3
The more clean-shaven of the two footmen noticed his approach and eyed him like one would a rabid animal.
Ethan stubbed his toe on a nonexistent stone, making a big show of catching his balance. “Damn me, who put that there?” He glanced around while grumbling to himself and scratching the back of his head.
The eagle-eyed footman finally decided he posed no threat and rejoined his companion. After a couple more tottering steps, Ethan came within hearing distance.
“My bones hurt,” the stubble-faced footman said.
His partner sent him a sharp glance. “How long?”
“Not quite sure,” stubble man said. “You know how it is.”
“Perhaps you could make a guess.”
“No need to get testy, Mac. The pain started gradual-like. Sometimes it’s there for a while before my brain registers the discomfort.”
Eagle-eyed Mac sighed. “When did you first notice your bones, Mick?”
“When we were leaving the agency.”
Mac glanced up at the Abbingale’s facade. “You should have told me before now, dammit.”
Ethan veered around the two men and stumbled up onto the foot pavement, belting back a drink and swaying to the side.
“What?” Mick asked. “You think you could have stopped her?”
“That’s not the point. I could have warned her to stay alert.”
“Do you even realize what you’re saying?” Mick asked. “Have you ever known Miss Hunt—”
A shhh-ing sound stopped stubble man mid-sentence.
“Right.” Mick glanced around. “Have you ever known her to go into a situation with blinders on? Get your head out of your heart, brother.”
“My head is exactly where it needs to be,” Mac said in a lethal tone. “As will be my fist, if you don’t shut your trap.”
“There’s nothing that can come of it. You’d be better off paying more attention to the looks Amelia keeps giving you.”
“Amelia, is it?”
Mick’s mouth curled into a roguish smile. “Since you weren’t interested, I’ve become quite friendly with the wee assistant. Sweet thing.”
Mac stepped forward. “Keep your filthy hands off Mrs. Cartwright.”
“You can’t have them both.”
Hoping the footmen would continue their conversation, Ethan plopped down on Abbingale’s steps and curled up in a nap-worthy ball. His new position shook things up a bit, causing him to burp loudly. Gin fumes stung his nostrils. The two brothers on the verge of a nice bout of fisticuffs turned to him. Both had the same rugged features highlighted by the lightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were indeed perfectly matched. Twins.
“Here now.” Mick grabbed Ethan’s arm. “You can’t bed down there.”
Ethan knocked his hand away. “I’ll cut ye heart out if ye try to steal me medicine again.”
“Medicine.” Mac snorted in disgust. “We don’t want your damned gin.” He moved to the other side.
Strong hands clasped Ethan by his upper arms and yanked him into a standing position.
“Good God, man,” Mick said. “Are you drinking your spirits or bathing in them?”
“Let me go, ye bleeders. Ye got no cause to send me on me way.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Mac said.
“Can’t have you blocking our mistress’s way when she comes out,” Mick said. “Besides, don’t want you scaring any of the children.”
They half dragged, half carried him several feet away before propping him up against the building next door. “Too fine a lady to walk around?” Ethan mumbled, checking to make sure he still had his knapsack.
“The very finest,” Mac said.
Mick tugged on Ethan’s coat at various places, presumably to make him more presentable. “Sober up first, my friend,” he said with a pat to Ethan’s shoulder.
Ethan frowned, not understanding the footman’s advice. “First for what?”
But the stubble-faced footman only winked at him before they resumed their positions near the carriage. Beneath the rim of his hat, Ethan studied the footmen, marveling at their firm, yet respectful care of him. They obviously held their mistress—Miss Hunt—in high regard. Every time they spoke of her, their voices took on a reverent tone.
Abbingale’s entrance door opened and the estimable Miss Hunt and her assistant swept through the opening. Halfway down the steps, Miss Hunt’s gaze found her footmen, and she sent them one hard shake of her pretty head. The action struck a discordant note with Ethan, but he was at a loss as to say why.
From his new vantage point, Ethan affirmed his earlier assessment of the lady and developed some new ones. High cheekbones, black eyebrows above emerald eyes, and a strong, yet feminine jawline made her an intriguing contrast to many of England’s delicate, oval-faced beauties. Even though she wore a high-necked gown and pelisse, one could not miss the elegant quality of her statuesque frame. She