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“Why?” Rush’s frown turned black. The Smith men were fiercely protective of their family.
Ethan sighed. It was a long story and he was damned tired. “Nothing so pressing that it can’t wait an hour. Can I eat before I tell you all of it?”
Rush’s brows drew together and his frowning gaze swept down Ethan. “You’re not coming into my house like that.”
He gave himself another sniff. “You’re not going to make me bathe in the river, are you? It’s too bloody cold for that.”
Rush waved him forward, calling to a footman, “Bring his trunk to the stables.”
“The stables?”
“The stables. Even my horses smell better than you.”
A quarter hour later, he’d been stripped to the waist, buckets of partially heated though still frigid water pouring over his head.
His body came alive, more of the hangover clearing as Rush handed him soap. “I’ve got another bucket warming for you to rinse with.”
“You Smiths sure know how to show a man a good time,” Ethan answered, dutifully scrubbing his skin and hair. Rush and his brothers were pivotal to Ethan’s plan and so he’d bathe in the stable if he had to. Hell, he’d likely have jumped in the river, despite the near-freezing January temperatures.
“A good time. Is that what you’re here for?” Rush asked, grabbing the brush they used to wash the horses and dipping it into the bucket of warming water, his gaze menacing.
“You’re not going to wash me down like your gelding, are you?”
“Perhaps,” Rush answered, lifting the soaking brush. “You still stink.”
He grunted, wondering what Red thought of him. It didn’t matter, he knew it didn’t, but still…some part of him balked to know that she likely found him repulsive. “I met your neighbors. The viscount and viscountess. They had with them the most adorable auburn-haired—”
The brush slammed into his chest with a force that nearly knocked him over. “Don’t,” Rush gritted out as he thumped him with the brush again.
He yanked the brush from Rush’s hand, tossing it to the ground. This was not the first time that a man close to him had forbidden him to date his sister, friend, or neighbor. In fact, it happened with striking regularity.
He ought to point out that her uncle had been salivating for Ethan to attend dinner, but he knew that had nothing to do with him. That was the title. The people who truly knew him—his friends, his business partners—they did not want him anywhere near women they cared about. Hell, his best friend in the world, Baron Boxby, had forbidden Ethan from going anywhere near his sister, and that had hurt. “The viscount invited me to dinner.”
“Don’t go.” Rush stepped up to him, his chest expanding. His fierce eyes held Ethan’s in a way that might intimidate a lesser man.
“I have only good intentions at heart,” he lied. Partially. “I plan to marry.” He hated himself a bit more for those words. But they were necessary. He’d leave Red better than he’d found her, in any regard.
Rush gave him a long, suspicious glare before he turned back, grabbed the second bucket, and dumped it over Ethan’s head.
And then he tossed him a blanket to dry with.
“That is surprising. You with good intentions. Tell me why Gris sent you and then maybe I’ll believe you.”
Ethan sighed. He supposed it was too much to ask to eat first. “The short version: You know a baby landed on Gris’s doorstep. And that he hired a nanny with Triston’s help.”
“I didn’t know the second part,” Rush said with a grunt.
“Oh. Well. He did. Lovely lady, the nanny. He’s marrying her and keeping the baby. But amidst the courtship, the man who has been attacking our clubs, Gyla, attacked your childhood home—”
“What!” Rush roared.
Ethan shook his head. None of the Smiths had much in the way of tact or patience.
“Your brother thinks he shot Gyla, so there is that. But Upton is keeping Gris safe while watching the clubs and I was sent out here to help you.”
“You?” Rush looked him up and down.
He didn’t need to sound so insulting. “Yes. Me.” Why did no one trust him?
