The Heir (36 page)

Several doors down the hall, the earl lay naked on his bed, cursing his solitude, his houseguest, and his own lack of charm.
Give up and marry me?
What manner of proposal was that? He was tempted to get up, stomp down the hall, and drag her back to his bed, but desire on his part was not the same thing as capitulation on hers.

“Well, Papa,” he muttered into the night, “I cannot see the rest of my life without her, but alas, I am certain the sentiment is not reciprocated.”

A soft knock on his door had his heart leaping in hopes Anna was seeking him out. He tossed on his dressing gown and opened the door to find Dev standing there, smiling slightly.

“Saw the light under your door and thought you might want to know Stull is again at liberty.”

“I thought we had at least a few days to catch our breath.”

“The magistrate had to leave Town and moved up his hearings,” Dev reported. “Somebody came along and made bail for the dear baron.”

“Come in.” The earl stepped back and busied himself lighting a few more candles. “Do we know who might have bailed him out?”

“One Riley Whitford,” Dev said. “Better known as old Whit, late of Seven Dials and any other stew or slum where vice runs tame.”

“You know the man?” the earl asked, settling on the sofa in his sitting room.

“He was involved in a race-fixing scheme just about the time I left for the Peninsula.” Dev ambled into the room as he spoke. “Clever man, always knows how
to put somebody between him and the consequences of his actions.”

“He was the one managing the surveillance of my house.” The earl scowled. “Stop pacing, if you please, and sit quietly like the gentleman Her Grace believes you to be.”

“How she can be so deluded?” Dev rolled his eyes, looking very much like a dark version of His Grace. But he sat in a wing chair and angled it to face his brother. “What will you do with Anna?”

“I’ve proposed and proposed and proposed.” The earl sighed, surprising himself and apparently his brother with his candor. “She’ll have none of that, though the last time, she put me off rather than turn me down flat.”

“Things are a little unsettled,” Dev pointed out dryly.

“And marriage would settle them,” the earl shot back. “Married to me, there wouldn’t be any more nonsense from her brother, not for her or Morgan. Her grandmother would be safe, and Stull would be nothing but a bad, greasy memory.”

“He is enough to give any female the shudders, though maybe Anna has the right of it.”

“What can you possibly mean?” The earl stood up and paced to the French doors.

“You and she are in unusual circumstances,” Dev began. “You are protective of her and probably not thinking very clearly about her. She is not a duke’s daughter, as you might be expected to marry, not even a marquis’s sister. She’s beneath you socially and likely undowered and not even as young as a proper mate to you should be.”

“Young?” the earl expostulated. “You mean I can get her to drop only five foals instead of ten?”

“You have a duty to the succession,” Dev said, his words having more impact for being quietly spoken. “Anna understands this.”

“Rot the fucking succession,” Westhaven retorted. “I have His Grace’s permission to marry for love, indeed, his exhortation to marry only for love.”

“Are you saying you love her?” Dev asked, his voice still quiet.

“
Of course I love her
,” the earl all but roared. “Why else would I be taking such pains for her safety? Why else would I be offering her marriage more times than I can count? Why else would I have gone to His Grace for help? Why else would I be arguing with you at an hour when most people are either asleep or enjoying other bedtime activities?”

Dev rose and offered his brother a look of sympathy. “If you love her, then your course is very easy to establish.”

“Oh it is, is it?” The earl glared at his brother.

“If you love her,” Dev said, “you give her what she wants of you, no matter how difficult or irrational it may seem to you. You do not behave as His Grace has, thinking that love entitles him to know better than his grown children what will make them happy or what will be in their best interests.”

Westhaven sat down abruptly, the wind gone from his sails between one heartbeat and the next.

“You are implying I could bully her.”

“You know you could, Gayle. She is grateful to you, lonely, not a little enamored of you, and without support.”

“You are a mean man, Devlin St. Just.” The earl sighed. “Cruel, in fact.”

“I would not see you make a match you or Anna regret. And you deserve the truth.”

“That’s what Anna has said. You give me much to think about, and none of it very cheering.”

“Well, think of it this way.” Dev smiled as he turned for the door. “If you marry her now, you can regret it at great leisure. If you don’t marry her now, then you can regret that as long as you can stand it then marry her later.”

“Point taken. Good night, St. Just. You will ride in the morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Dev smiled and withdrew, leaving his brother frowning at the door.

Dev was right, damn him to hell and back. In Westhaven’s shoes, His Grace would have married Anna, worn her down, argued, seduced, and argued some more until the woman bowed to his wishes. It was tempting to do just that—to swive Anna silly, maybe even get her pregnant, lavish her with care and attention, and send Stull packing.

But her brother had tried to take her choices from her, and His Grace had made many efforts to take the earl’s choices from him. It was not a respectful way to treat a loved one.

So… He’d solve her problems, provide her sanctuary, and let her go, if that was what she wanted.

But he’d resent like hell that honor—honor and love—required it of him.

“I trust you slept well?” the earl inquired politely over breakfast.

“I did.” Anna lied with equal good manners. “And you?”

“I did not,” the earl said, patting his lips with his napkin. “Though riding this morning has put me more to rights. I regret you will not be able to leave the house today.”

“I won’t?” Anna blinked at him over her teacup. He was very much the earl this morning, no trace of humor or affection in his eyes or his voice.

“Stull has made bail,” Westhaven explained. “I do not put it past him to make another attempt to abduct you.”

“I see.” Anna put down her tea cup, her toast and jam threatening to make an untimely reappearance.

The earl laid a hand on her arm, and she closed her eyes, savoring the comfort of that simple touch. “You are safe here, and he can’t force you to do anything, in any case. You won’t go beyond the back gardens, though, will you?”

“I will not,” Anna said. “But what happens next? I can’t simply wait here in this house until he gives up. He won’t—not ever. It’s been two years, and he’s spent considerable coin tracking me down.”

“I’ve had him arrested on charges of arson,” the earl reminded her. “He is likely not permitted to leave London itself, or he will violate the terms of his bond, baron or no baron. You can have him arrested for assault, though if he does have a betrothal contract, that likely won’t fly very far.”

“He has one,” Anna rejoined. “I was trying to recall
its particulars last night as I fell asleep, but it was more than two years ago that I signed it, and my brother did not want me to read the document itself.”

“I cannot wait to meet this brother of yours. My sisters and my mother know better than to sign anything—anything—without reading each word.”

“You are a good brother. And they are good sisters.”

The earl looked up from buttering his toast. “You would have been a good sister to Morgan by allowing Stull to marry her?”

“No”—Anna shook her head—“but I am hardly a good sister to Helmsley for having refused to marry the man myself.”

The earl put down his toast and knife. “You had two choices, as I see it, Anna: You could have married Stull, in which case he was essentially free to take his pleasure of you or Morgan, or to use Morgan to control you. In the alternative, you could have married Stull and left Morgan in your brother’s care, in which case he’d just be auctioning her off behind Stull’s back. Those options are unthinkable.”

He went back to buttering his toast, his voice cool and controlled. “You created a third option, and it was the best you could do under the circumstances.”

“It was,” Anna said, grateful for his summary. But then, why did he still appear so remote?

“Until you met me,” the earl went on. “You had a fourth option, then.”

“I could have broken my word to my grandmother.” Anna rose. “And taken a chance you would not laugh at me and return me to Stull’s loving embrace, errant, contractually bound fiancées not
something your average earl is willing to champion at the drop of a hat.”

He remained sitting. “I deserve better than that.”

“Yes,” she said, near tears, “you most assuredly do, and if we marry…”

She whirled and left the room, her sentence unfinished and her host unable to extrapolate her meaning. If they married… what?

“I see we’re starting our day in a fine temper.” Dev sauntered in.

“Shut up.” The earl passed him the teapot. “And do not attempt any more advice so early in the day, Dev. I do not like to see Anna upset.”

“Neither do I.” St. Just poured himself a cup of tea and frowned at the earl. “I don’t like to see you upset either. What is the plan for the day?”

“I have to meet with Tolliver, of course, and I asked Hazlit to stop by, as well. I’ve sent for a dressmaker to see to Anna, and expect that will keep us out of each other’s way for the day. What of you?”

“I am going to visit with some old army friends,” Dev said, getting to work on a mountain of scrambled eggs. “I should be back by midday and will make it a point to join Anna for lunch.”

“My thanks.” The earl rose, feeling none too pleased with the day before him. “Tell her…”

Dev shook his head. “Tell her yourself.”

The morning was interminable, with no Anna tapping softly at the door with a little lemonade or marzipan for him, no water for his bouquets, no anything but
work and more work. He sent Tolliver off well before luncheon but was pleased to find Benjamin Hazlit had chosen that hour to call.

“Join me for luncheon,” the earl suggested. “My kitchen is not fancy, particularly in this heat, but we know how to keep starvation at bay.”

“I will accept that generous offer,” Hazlit said. “My breakfast was ages ago and not very substantial.” The earl rang for luncheon on a tray, sending up a small prayer of thanks he’d have a valid excuse for not joining Anna and Dev on the back terrace. When lunch came, it showed that Anna was not behaving herself exclusively as a guest: There was a single daisy in a bud vase on each tray, and the marzipan was wrapped in linen, a little bouquet of violets serving as the bow.

“Your kitchen isn’t fancy,” Hazlit remarked, “but somebody dotes on their earl.”

“Or on their lunch trays,” the earl said. He quickly brought Hazlit up to date regarding Baron Stull’s allegations of a betrothal, and the need to secret Morgan with Their Graces.

“Good move,” Hazlit said. “Divide and conquer, so to speak. When I got your note, I did some poking around regarding Stull.”

“Oh?” The earl paused in the demolition of his chicken sandwich.

“He’s a bad actor,” Hazlit said. “Been making a nuisance of himself in the lower-class brothels, trying to procure young girls, and using thugs to spy on your house.”

My poor Anna.

Hazlit went on to advise the earl Stull had been identified as the purchaser of a large quantity of lamp oil, “right down to the grease stains on his cravat.” The tallish gentleman with him, however, had remained in the shadows. Hazlit further suggested there would be another attempt to kidnap Anna.

“Why won’t the baron just take his lumps and go home?”

Hazlit’s gaze turned thoughtful. “So far, the evidence for arson is all circumstantial. The charges won’t stick. He has a betrothal contract he thinks is valid, and he has Helmsley over a barrel, so to speak, financially. He wants Anna, and he wants her badly. You haven’t described him as a man who is bright enough to cut his losses and find some silly cow who will bear him children and indulge his peccadilloes.”