Page 42 of A Most Unsuitable Lover
Ethan’s jaw worked so hard that Juliette was afraid he might crack all his molars. “Get. Out.” Ethan’s growl brooked no further conversation. A tense moment passed between them before Ian seemed certain she would be unharmed in his absence, and then he inclined his head and turned to leave.
In his wake, Ethan silently seethed, chest heaving, eyes unfocused on the carpet between them. Never had she witnessed her twin in such a state. She hated his reaction, loathed the things he’d said to Ian, but he was still her beloved brother.
“Ethan,” she whispered his name, but there was no indication he’d heard her. “Ethan,” she said a little more loudly. “If you will only allow me to explain—” Her words stopped abruptly when he held up a hand to silence her. She bit her lower lip as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, still breathing heavily, but more evenly than before.
“I need to sort this out…to decide what to do with you.” He met her eyes and, for the first time since this horrible encounter had begun, she saw something else there. Pain. Betrayal. And she knew he would never look at her again as he used to. An irreparable alteration had been made to their bond. A twinge of guilt began to build behind her sternum, but she refused to cave into it. Juliette was past thinking about how her behavior might be viewed by her brother. She was many years beyond the point where she was a shy sapling of a girl, bending to every gusty blow of whim and influence from the small bubble around her. Ian had shown her that there was so much more to the world, life, toherthan she had ever believed possible.
Ethan broke their gaze and rushed past her, the dust from his riding boots trailing in his wake as he bellowed for his gloves and crop, for his horse to be brought back ‘round from the stables.
Several guests had been milling about outside the office and, while it had been easy for Ethan to blow past them, several curious eyes peered into the study to stare aghast at her. None approached her.
Her cheeks burned, but not for herself…for the fact that Ian had been forced to traverse this wicked garden of leering gazes on his own.
Juliette left standing alone in the study to wonder at the mess she’d made was nothing in comparison to the disaster she had visited upon Ian.
Chapter Eighteen
An hour later, a carriage had been made ready and Ian’s trunks were stacked and strapped to it one by one. He managed the task as he did most everything else in his life—quick efficiency and methodical order.
He had no desire to encounter Hopesend again before he took his leave, so he did his best to keep to his corner of the house and only ventured forth when it was time, once more, to check on Meredith. Her bright red hair had been plaited and she rested comfortably in the large bed. Color had returned to her cheeks and her eyes misted over with grateful tears when Ian repeatedly reassured her that the bleeding had stopped and all indications pointed to a healthy pregnancy so long as she rested and continued to eat the prescribed diet rich in the sustenance her body required. She clutched his hand and, where he’d once felt a powerful rush of desire, there was only a deep-rooted affection. His heart would always lean toward his longtime friend, but it now belonged steadfastly in the delicate hands of another.
When he was finished, Sommerfeld followed Ian out into the adjacent sitting room, closing the door behind him. Ian needed less than a moment to discern what was coming next, so he headed it off.
“I don’t doubt you heard of this morning’s incident.” The viscount had enough grace to avert his eyes. “It went about as poorly as can be expected,” explained and turned his gaze to the pastoral scene outside the window. He was startled back into himself by Sommerfeld’s hand on his shoulder. Ian’s eyes flicked from the gesture and into the viscount’s green eyes.
“Condolences.” He removed his hand with an awkward gesture. “I’ve been well acquainted with the earl for several years now. I don’t know how successful I will be, but I can attempt to smooth things over with him once you take your leave.” Whether out of pity or gratitude for how Ian had helped both him and Meredith, regardless, Sommerfeld seemed genuinely sincere in his offer. If those words had been a surprise, the next were a shock.
“I am man enough to admit that I haven’t always treated you fairly, Dr. McCullom,” Sommerfeld said in a low voice. “And I may not be proud of it, but I have experienced jealousy once or twice when it comes to your history with my wife. But, I can admit that I am certain you are not someone who takes advantage of anyone. I’ve never known you to be a man anything other than professional and proper. If this…situation with Lady Juliette transpired as I suspect it did, then Lady Juliette went into it with her eyes wide open. You never would have used her. And I believe she must also mean a great deal to you if you were willing to risk so much for her.” Sommerfeld cast a glance over his shoulder where his wife lay in the bed beyond the door, silently conveying he understood and would do the same—risk everything for the woman who owned his heart.
At a loss for any proper words, Ian could only incline his head in gratitude. The viscount offered him a handclasp, which Ian accepted gratefully.
∞∞∞
Just as Ian was supervising the loading of the last of his items, there was a commotion from the house. Ian paused with one hand on the carriage door, poised to hoist himself aloft, when Juliette burst from the front door to form a tableau Ian would never forget as long as he lived.
The bodice of her morning dress was stained scarlet, it coated her palms and smeared up her bare arms, a smudge of it marred the perfect flesh of her cheek. His name being torn from her lips set him into immediate motion. Lunging toward her, Ian immediately ran his hands over her body, trying to locate the source of the bleeding.
“Where are you hurt?” he demanded, doing his best to ignore the unsteadiness of his hands, the quake in his voice, the painful thumping of his heart, the ringing in his ears. “What did he do?”
Her bright, frantic eyes met his and she shook her head. “Not me,” she gasped. “Not me.”
“What happened?”
“There was an accident,” Juliette stammered.
Ian’s hands gripped her more tightly. “Show me,” he said more steadily before now that he knew she was not the injured party. Knowing Juliette was safe allowed Ian’s pulse to slow as he slid into his physician’s persona.
Ian shed his coat as they dashed to the back of the house and down to the kitchens. The earl’s valet met them an rapidly explained how Hopesend had taken off on his horse once more following their earlier confrontation. He’d been furious and reckless. Recognizing the danger, a couple of the other male guests who had taken part in the hunt returned to their mounts and followed shortly behind to try to calm him. They had caught up to the earl just in time to see the horse—already on edge from its furious rider—shying as a hare dated across the way. The animal had balked violently, but the earl would have been able to keep his seat had the horse not fallen. He had landed beneath the beast, striking his head on a rock.
Hopesend had been carried back to the house, bleeding and unconscious, and was now lying on the long wooden table in the kitchens. The staff had been shooed out, their various tasks left unfinished and scattered around them like detritus following an explosion.
His assessing gaze traveled the length of the earl’s unconscious form, noting the dirt and blood, the awkward angle of his left arm.
“Retrieve my leather satchel from inside the carriage,” Ian barked at the nearest pale-faced footman. The lad appeared almost grateful for the task, at being allowed to leave the room filling with the metallic stench of blood and sweat. The men with stronger stomachs would be needed for what Ian must do.
∞∞∞
Juliette watched with numb amazement as Ian examined her brother. Refusing to be ushered from the room, she made herself as unobtrusive as possible and held Ethan’s gloved hand in her own. He was so pale, so mortal. His dark curls were plastered to his head, matted with mud and twigs, and blood so dark it didn’t appear real.
