“Right. So the maid who came running out of my drawing room, sobbing hysterically, had nothing to do with you?”
“Nothing.” Ethan crossed his arms.
One of the tavern wenches giggled loudly, but Alex continued to stare at him. “You didn’t say a word to her?”
“No.”
Alex’s chair thumped on the floor, and he leaned forward with a dubious look. “Are you sure?”
Ethan shrugged. “All I did was ask her not to make so much noise.”
“What was she doing?”
Ethan reached for his glass, turning it in a half-circle. “Dusting,” he muttered.
“Dusting?” Alex’s palm came down on the wobbly table with a crash, and nearby tavern patrons glanced their way. “With what? A hammer?”
“No, one of those feathery things.” Ethan sat up defensively. “It rustled too much.”
“It rustled—” Alex shook his head, running a rough hand through his much-abused hair. “And what about my cook? I suppose that had nothing to do with you either?”
Ethan spread his hands. “I can’t help it if the woman wants to resign.”
“She’d never mentioned leaving before. I practically had to drag her valise from her hands.”
“So she found another position.”
“She told me you came into the kitchen and demanded chocolate tarts.” Alex pointed an accusatory finger.
“I was hungry.”
Alex pointed a finger accusingly. “Since when do you like chocolate tarts?”
“What’s your point?” Ethan spun his gin glass. “She didn’t quit.”
“Only because I offered her a fortune to stay.” Alex shook his finger. “I’m billing you for half her new salary.”
“Fine.”
“And—”
“What the hell is wrong with everyone today?” Ethan shoved back from the table, unsettling his gin. The clear liquid sloshed over the rim of his glass and onto the scarred wood.
The men nearby turned to glance at them, but, apparently seeing no prospects for violence, went sullenly back to their drinks. It would take more than a verbal outburst to interest the clientele of The Golden Goose, though the underlying tension in the tavern was almost palpable. It mirrored Ethan’s own edgy nerves.
His expression bland, Alex lifted his hastily rescued gin from the trembling table and sipped. “Are you sure it’s everyoneelse?”
“What the devil does that mean?”
Alex held his hands up in mock defense. Ethan opened his mouth, a retort ready, then abruptly closed it again. A man shouldered past him, and Ethan moved out of the way, slumping into his chair.
Who was he deceiving? Not Alex, and certainly not himself.
She’d gotten to him. He was supposed to forget her, but somehow she’d gotten to him, and he couldn’t rid his mind of her. Even the choking smoke and the raucous laughter of the tavern didn’t divert him.
The goddamn chocolate tarts. If that wasn’t a sign he’d lost it, he didn’t know what was. He’d seen how Francesca’s eyes lit when the footman brought the tray and how they strayed back to the untouched sweets again and again. And he’d found himself unreasonably annoyed that she wasn’t allowed a chocolate tart. The girl was probably famished, and she obviously liked tarts. Why shouldn’t she have one if she wanted? Why shouldn’t she have everything she wanted?
Ethan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. It was thoughts like those that were the problem. When he opened his eyes, Alex was leaning back in his chair again, an arrogant smirk on his face.
