Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight

W ith the turmoil over, Ethan wanted to marry Xenia as soon as possible. Yet his mama had insisted that everything be done right for Xenia's sake, and he'd relented…up to a point. He was willing to wait three weeks, sufficient time for the banns to be read and preparations to be made. Mama and Gigi, who'd taken charge of planning the affair, protested vociferously at the haste, but Xenia sided with him and offered to help expedite the arrangements however she could.

The wedding would take place in the village church, with a reception afterward at Bottoms House. Thus, fixing up the manor became a priority since it had sustained damage during the battle with Lady Jo. Fortunately, the Hirschfield brothers were up to the task…as were other residents of Chuddums. To Ethan's surprise and gratitude, the villagers came in droves to lend a hand.

Mr. Bailey and his sons helped rebuild the gazebo. Mr. Duffield brought over fabric samples and agonized with Mama, Gigi, and Xenia over the color scheme for the wedding. Mrs. O'Hara was supplying flowers from her garden (as long as Mrs. Elmwood's felonious feline hadn't dug them up), and Mrs. Thornton and Mrs. Pettigrew offered to cook for the afternoon reception, with Mr. Khan bringing a selection of sweets. The catering came as a blessing because Ethan once again found himself without a cook.

The jewels Xenia had found matched those taken during a spate of house burglaries. The Corrigans had been the main suspects, but without the goods, the constables had lacked proof of wrongdoing. Now that the jewelry had been recovered—in chests that bore the Corrigans' insignia—Rawlins and his men went to make arrests and discovered Mrs. Johnson living in the gang's flash house.

Apparently, the cook was married to a gang member and had been sent to infiltrate Ethan's household and search for the stolen loot. Failing to find the jewels, she'd killed the chickens, staged the hoax with the piano, and set fire to the gazebo in hopes of scaring Ethan off the premises. Rawlins had taken her into custody and arrested Harlow and other gang members for burglary and extortion, as several villagers had come forward to bear witness. A few ruffians had escaped, but the constable wasn't concerned because the gang's power had dwindled since the village's revolt against them.

Peace settled over Bottoms House, and Ethan had never been happier. He was spending time with his family, including Owen. With Xenia's help, he was making progress on his sonata and discovering a passion for composition. Sitting at the piano, he felt a renewed sense of purpose and destiny, especially when he had his pretty fiancée by his side. During those intimate sessions, they worked on his pieces, their hands moving in perfect synchrony over the keyboard...and often over each other.

They had cozy talks, too.

Xenia finally felt free to tell him about her past. Tears had streamed down her cheeks as she'd shared how her mama had taken away the two men who'd protected and cared for her and her fear that Lady Jo would do the same to Ethan. She'd described a few happy memories, too: of her papa and how he'd given her a love of stories.

It was Ethan who suggested that Xenia find a new way to channel her storytelling talents now that she'd laid Sirena to rest. This had started gears turning in Xenia's head, and she'd eagerly started outlining a novel which included a love story, treasure hunt, and a ghost. He couldn't wait to see what she came up with.

As for Xenia's mother, Lady Jo had been convicted of numerous offenses and put behind bars for the rest of her days. Rawlins had given Xenia credit for the capture of Lady Jo. Although the issue of Xenia's past involvement in the gang had arisen, the magistrates rightfully saw Xenia as a blameless victim of her mama's brutality, and no charges were pressed against her.

Xenia was free from her past. She no longer had to pretend to be anyone but herself—the brave and inventive little minx he'd fallen in love with. Freedom suited his bride-to-be. It was as if the burden of her history had been a disguise of its own, and she shed that entirely now. She radiated happiness, her peerless eyes bright with the promise of their future. She was so beautiful that he couldn't stick to his gentlemanly intention to wait until their wedding night.

During their rendezvous, they explored each other with ravenous delight. She'd been sore after their first time, but he'd discovered a creative use for her balm. The memory sizzled through him of pushing his ointment-covered fingers deep into his beloved's snug cunny, her eyes heavy-lidded as she watched. He'd spread the stuff thoroughly, stirring his digits until she'd begged him for more. He exhaled, recalling the tingling tightness of her pussy around his cock. When he showed her one of his favorite variations, turning her over and rubbing the ointment over her pearl as he plowed her from behind, she'd sung her Siren's song into a pillow, her rippling climax milking him dry.

Xenia entered the study, her expression quizzical. "What are you smiling about, darling?"

Her blush-colored frock set off her fiery hair perfectly. She was as delectable as a peach, and he couldn't wait to eat her. Tonight, hopefully.

"You." Reminding himself that their wedding night was only a few days away, he satisfied himself with a kiss on her cute, freckled nose. "Is that a new dress?"

"The garments keep arriving." She looked a little frazzled. "Your mama says I must have a proper trousseau, but at the risk of sounding ungrateful, she has ordered enough clothing for a dozen brides. Your parents have already been generous beyond words, and I don't know what to do."

Toying with a loose tendril at her temple, he suggested, "Let them spoil you."

His family adored Xenia, and he wasn't surprised that they recognized in her what she still sometimes had difficulty seeing in herself. Her humility was part of her charm. And he had a lifetime to cure her of it—to prove to her just how special she was.

"They are not the only ones spoiling me," she teased.

She wiggled the fingers of her left hand, causing her engagement ring to glitter. He'd chosen the large center ruby to match her hair and added a halo of diamonds for extra sparkle. Since she'd protested that the ring was too much, he couldn't wait to see her reaction to the matching necklace he planned to give her on their wedding day.

He lifted his brows. "Are you complaining?"

"No. I am wondering how I got so lucky."

Her adoring expression thickened his throat.

"I am the lucky one," he said huskily. "I love you, and my family does too. That is why they are welcoming you with open arms and why you should let them do so."

Her eyes shimmered. Cuddled in his arms last night, she'd shared how much she looked forward to becoming a Harrington—to belonging to a loving family. He'd replied that he was happy to give that to her…and that, in her own way, she'd given him the same. Because of her, he was himself again and able to reconnect with the people he loved.

"Speaking of your family and fresh starts." She fiddled with a button on his waistcoat. "Have you spoken to your younger brother?"

He…hadn't. The truth was he was avoiding it. He and Owen now had civil conversations, and while the ability to tolerate one another wasn't the same as their past closeness, it was better than their prior hostilities. As he'd told Xenia during one of their talks, he wasn't as angry as he'd once been. He recognized the changes in Owen, whose actions had, after all, led to his rescue and foiled Lady Jo's scheme.

Ethan owed Owen…but he didn't know if he could forgive his brother completely.

Xenia's response had been the same then as it was now.

"Talk to your brother," she urged. "You will both feel better for it, and I say this as someone who has learned the importance of confronting the past. If you feel uncertain about what to say, just pretend that you know what you're doing and follow your instincts."

While he didn't share her optimism that talking would improve matters with his brother, he did want to clear the air. Thus, he went to look for Owen and found him outside. To his surprise, Owen was helping the gardener with the planting of rosebushes.

"You needn't bother with such work," Ethan said to his brother. "I have staff now."

"I know. I needed something to occupy myself with."

Rising, Owen dusted himself off. He was dressed to work in old trousers and a loose shirt, a cap jammed over his shaggy hair. His collar was open, the cloth tied around his neck darkened with sweat.

His grey eyes were wary in his tanned face. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Come walk with me," Ethan said.

Wordlessly, Owen strolled with him along the neatly cleared garden path. The walkway had been weeded and blanketed with new gravel, the flanking hedges neatly trimmed. The sun was bright, the sky blue, and birds and butterflies were in abundance. The setting had the makings of an idyllic late summer day…save for the brewing tension.

Ethan took the bull by its horns. "I haven't yet thanked you," he said.

Owen shot him a surprised glance. "For what?"

"For tracking me to Lady Jo's hideaway."

"It was nothing. Following someone is hardly heroic. It was not as if I took her and her men on single-handedly—" At his unfortunate choice of words, Owen paled, cutting himself off abruptly.

Ethan waited for the bitter anger to surface; when it didn't, he felt a sense of relief. Xenia was right. The more time he spent with Owen, the more normal it felt. Avoiding their conflict had only made things worse…at least for him. Seeing the guilt and self-revulsion on Owen's face, he had to say something.

"You acted wisely," he corrected. "You rescued me and helped defeat the villains who threatened Xenia. I am in your debt."

"You owe me nothing." Owen's gaze was locked on the path, his jaw clenched. "There is nothing I can do to make up for what I did to you, Ethan. You and I both know that. The others may try to gloss over the past, but the truth is I took everything away from you. I am responsible for ending your career as a virtuoso. I robbed you of your destiny and your future. There is no bloody going back."

Ethan's chest pounded at the truth laid bare. What Owen said was fact. Ethan had brooded over the exact same things—had used them to fuel his rage against his brother. Yet what had that accomplished? His fixation on the wrongs done to him hadn't helped him to heal. It had only made him angry and resentful, and he'd alternated between lashing out at the world and wanting to hide from it.

What had turned things around for him was finding love. Finding Xenia.

Awareness prickled through him as he recognized the truth. Xenia had freed herself by facing her demons. And he could do the same.

"You're right," he said. "There is no going back."

Owen's features tightened. "Mama and Papa wanted me to stay for the wedding, but if you want me to leave, I will."

Pretend until it's true. Follow your instincts.

"I forgive you."

The instant the words left him, Ethan didn't know why he'd held onto them so long. Letting them go, letting go of the resentment and rage, felt like a miracle. Like Atlas shedding the weight of the world. Lightness filled him, and now he knew what Xenia had meant when she said, "Now that I am free, all that I am is yours—my heart, body, and soul."

He felt the same way. Filled with love. With possibility.

"Don't."

He turned his attention to Owen, who looked agonized.

"Don't forgive me," Owen said hoarsely. "I don't deserve it. Not after everything I've done."

Ethan saw his brother's suffering with opened eyes, and his throat clogged. He reached out a hand, intending to clap his brother on the shoulder, but when he saw Owen trembling, he pulled him into a one-armed hug instead.

"It's all right, Owen." He spoke in the tones of the big brother he remembered he was. "Everything is water under the bridge."

Owen drew a shuddering breath. Then he wrenched away. "I'm sorry, Ethan." His eyes were bright and determined. "Sorrier than you'll ever know. And while you may forgive me, I will never forgive myself."

He strode off, and there was nothing Ethan could do to stop him.