Worth The Wait. Lori Foster

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СКАЧАТЬ looked out over Warrington’s snipped and clipped and trimmed and polished world, almost able to hear the laughter from years before.

      Only, the laughter was not his, but directed at him.

      Of course, both he and Warrington had matured now. They had left foolish prattle and childish games behind.

      Warrington strode in. Rhys could still taste the medicinal the others had found in the apothecary jar and forced into Rhys’s mouth when they were children. That had to be his earliest memory.

      ‘Your Grace,’ Warrington greeted. The earl moved to stand at the mantel. He glanced once at the painting above it before he asked, ‘So what is the honour that brings you to Whitegate?’

      Rhys held out the arrow. ‘I found this on my property and heard that you have a guest who practises archery. I’d like to return it to her.’

      Rhys had never seen Warrington’s face twitch until that moment. He studied Rhys as if they’d just started a boxing match. ‘You are interested in talking with Bellona?’

      Warrington’s eyes flickered. ‘I’m sure whatever she did—’ Warrington spoke quickly. ‘She just doesn’t understand our ways.’ He paused and then sighed. ‘What did she do now?’

      ‘I just wish to meet with her,’ Rhys said, ‘and request that she refrain from shooting arrows on to my property—particularly near others.’

      Warrington grimaced and then turned it into a smile. ‘She does... Well...you know...’ He held out a palm. ‘Some women like jewellery. Flowers. Sharp things. She likes them.’

      ‘Sharp things?’

      Warrington shook his head. ‘Never a dull moment around her.’

      ‘Truly?’

      ‘Beautiful voice—when she’s not talking. Her sister forced her to attend the soirée at Riverton’s, hoping Bellona would find something about society that suited her. Pottsworth wanted to be introduced. She’d not danced with anyone. I thought it a good idea even though he is—well, you know Potts. She smiled and answered him in Greek. Thankfully none of the ladies near her had our tutors. Riverton overheard and choked on his snuff. We left before he stopped sputtering. He still asks after her every time he sees me. “How is that retiring Miss Cherroll?”’

      ‘Can’t say as I blame her. You introduced Pottsworth to her?’ Rhys asked drily.

      ‘I’m sure she might wander too far afield from time to time,’ Warrington murmured it away, ‘but your land has joined mine since before our grandparents’ time and we’ve shared it as one.’ Warrington gave an encompassing gesture, then he toyed with what could have been a speck on the mantel. ‘We’re all like family. We grew up together. I know you and I don’t have the very close bond of our fathers, but still, I count you much the same as a brother of my own.’

      ‘Much like Cain and Abel?’

      Warrington grinned. He waved the remark away. ‘You’ve never taken a jest well.’

      ‘The bull,’ Rhys said, remembering the very incensed animal charging towards him, bellowing. Rhys was on the wrong side of the fence, his hands on the rails, and the older boys pushed at him, keeping him from climbing to safety. He’d felt the heat from the bull’s nostrils when they’d finally hefted him through to the other side. Laughing.

      He couldn’t have been much more than five years old.

      Warrington had instigated many of the unpleasant moments of Rhys’s childhood. Actually, almost every disastrous circumstance could be traced back to War. Rhys had been lured into a carriage and then trapped when they wedged the door shut from the outside, and then he’d spent hours in the barn loft when they had removed the ladder. When they’d held him down and stained his cheeks with berries, he’d waited almost two years to return fresh manure to everyone involved. It had taken special planning and the assistance of the stable master’s son to get manure put into Warrington’s boots.

      Rhys’s mother and father had not been happy. The one time he had not minded disappointing his father.

      War’s face held camaraderie now—just like when the new puppy had been left in the carriage, supposedly.

      ‘I must speak with your wife’s sister,’ Rhys said. ‘I might have an idea which could help us both.’

      ‘What?’ The word darted from Warrington’s lips.

      ‘I thought Miss Cherroll might spend some time with the duchess. Perhaps speak of Greece or...’ He shrugged. ‘Whatever tales she might have learned.’

      ‘I forbid—’ Warrington’s head snapped sideways. ‘No. She is my family and she must stay with us.’

      Rhys lips quirked up. ‘But, War, we’re like brothers. Your family is my family.’

      Warrington grunted. ‘You didn’t believe that flop when I said it. Don’t try to push it back in my direction.’

      Rhys smiled. ‘I suppose it is your decision to make, War. But remember. I am serious and I will not back down.’

      ‘I assure you, Rhys, Miss Cherroll is not the gentle sort that the duchess is used to having tea with.’

      Rhys gave a slight twitch of his shoulder in acknowledgement. Warrington had no idea his mother was only having tea with memories of death. She’d lost her will to live. With her gone, he would have no one. No one of his true family left. And he was not ready to lose the last one. ‘Call Miss Cherroll. Let me decide.’

      With a small cough of disagreement, Warrington shrugged. ‘Speak with her and you’ll see what I mean.’ He reached for the pull. A child’s laughing screech interrupted him. A blonde blur of a chit, hardly big enough to manage the stairs, hurtled into the room and crashed into Warrington’s legs, hugging for dear life, and whirling so he stood between her and the door.

      Bellona, brandishing a broom, charged in behind the little one and halted instantly at the sight of Warrington.

      Rhys took in a breath and instantly understood Wicks’s fascination with the woman. Her face, relaxed in laughter, caught his eyes. He couldn’t look away—no man would consider it.

      ‘Just sweeping the dust out of the nursery,’ she said to Warrington, lowering the broom while she gingerly moved around him. The child used him as a shield.

      Warrington’s hand shot down on to the little girl’s head, hair shining golden in the sunlight, stilling her.

      Bellona’s attention centred on the waif. ‘Willa, we do not run in the house. We swim like fishes.’

      The child laughed, pulled away from the silent admonishment of her father’s hand on her head, puffed her cheeks out and left the room quickly, making motions of gliding through water.

      Warrington cleared his throat before the chase began again. ‘We have a guest, Bellona.’

      Rhys saw the moment Bellona became aware of his presence. The broom tensed and for half a second he wondered if she would drop it or turn it into a weapon. Warrington was closer, and Rhys was completely willing to let СКАЧАТЬ