Twelve

“I CAN HEAR YOU THINKING,” WESTHAVEN RUMBLED above her moments later.

“What you did,” Anna said, too closely wrapped for him to see her face. “Is that…?”

“Is it what?” he smiled, in charity with all of creation. “Legal? Yes, unlike some other intimate pleasures. Is it biblical, absolutely not. Is it what?”

“Is it something you did with your mistress?”

“Ye gods, Anna.” He levered up on his arms and frowned down at her. “What is this fascination you have with a woman you’ve never met?”

“Not with her.” Anna met his gaze, her face crimson. “With you. Is that something men like to do—or you like to do?” A slightly different and more acceptable question, he decided, snuggling back down.

“As a young man,” he said, brushing her hair off her forehead, “it’s something you want to experience, as it’s wicked and forbidden and said to delight those women willing to allow it. But no, I’ve not offered this to another. There is a whole invisible community of women whose job it is to educate university boys and I put them through their paces and they put me through mine, but not in this regard.”

“So you enjoyed it?”

“What I enjoyed,” he said, smiling at her, “was bringing you pleasure and learning your responses and feeling close to you when you let yourself go. Some women, Anna, go their whole lives without experiencing passion the way you do. You are lovely, and so, yes, I most assuredly enjoyed doing that with you.”

She was blessedly silent while Westhaven anticipated her next outrageous, blushing question.

“I enjoy it, too,” she said, “having you find your pleasure in my mouth. It is… intimate.”

“There is trust involved,” he replied, thinking about it for the first time in years. “On both sides.” She nodded under him and closed her eyes.

You do trust me, he wanted to point out. Maybe not completely, but you do. He wanted her to admit it, to him, if not to herself, but wasn’t willing to breach that intimacy she’d alluded to. Rather than start a lecture, Westhaven began kissing her, his mood still slow and relaxed.

“Would you like me to…?” she began. He stopped the question by covering her mouth with his then drew back.

“I’ll do the work, such as it is,” he said. “You relax. We don’t want to make you sore.”

He rocked against her, their bodies snugged tightly together. She was learning the way his body moved when it sought pleasure and subtly undulated with him. When she tilted her hips just a little, sealing them even more closely together, he buried his face against her neck.

In a very few moments, he felt his pleasure welling up, a thick, hot current radiating up his spine and out through his extremities. He didn’t fight it, didn’t hold back, but pulsed against her hard for a half-dozen thrusts, and then went still on a long, fraught sigh against her neck.

“God, Anna.” He lifted himself off of her. “You utterly undo me.” He walked naked across the room to his jacket, extracted a handkerchief, and used the water in the pitcher on the nightstand to wet it. He swabbed at himself thoroughly, rinsed the handkerchief in the basin, and wrung it out. He then sat at her hip, washed his seed off her body, and raised his gaze to hers.

“I am fond of you,” he said, “and maybe more than that. If you are in trouble, Anna, I wish you’d let me help you.”

“You can’t help,” she said, her expression unreadable.

He said nothing but climbed into bed beside her and lay back, his hands laced under his head. He should not have made that admission—fond of her, for God’s sake—what woman wants to hear that? He was fond of Elise, fond of Rose’s pony, George. It was as good as saying he did not love her, which he feared might not be true.

That is to say… He shied off that fence and turned his mind to Anna’s virtual admission she was in trouble. That was progress, he decided. From bearing confidences, to being in trouble. Dev had been right, and it meant Westhaven had to take a little more seriously Anna’s threats to leave him. What kind of trouble would a young, pretty, gently reared housekeeper have?

She had a brother, he recalled. It was a brother’s job to protect a sister, so where was that worthy soul now that Anna needed him? But even a brother had no rights where a husband was concerned.

“Please assure me,” he said, glancing over at her, “you have no living husband.”

“I have no living husband,” Anna recited. But this time, the earl was paying attention, and he raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“That is the truth,” Anna remonstrated. “We are merely fornicating, not committing adultery.”

He cracked a dry smile. “My dear, we are not even fornicating.”

“Not yet.” She offered him the same smile back.

“Are you a convicted felon?” he asked, puzzling over it.

“I am not charged with anything that I know of,” Anna said, “but you can cease the interrogation, Westhaven. I am fond of you, too.”

She sat up, hugging her knees, and Westhaven had the sense she was fighting back tears. Surely there was no more damning testament to a man’s seductions than that they left a woman in tears? He reached out and stroked his hand over her elegant spine.

“You are fond of me, but you are leaving me anyway.” She nodded once, her back to him, and he felt her heart breaking. With gentle force, he dragged her back into his arms and held her while she cried.

When the hamper had been repacked, Anna stood beside the earl in the stables, waiting for Pericles to be harnessed to the gig.

“Penny for them,” the earl said softly. He was standing just a hair too close to her, but there was nobody save the young stable hand to see, and much to Westhaven’s pleasure, Anna let herself drift back against him.

“It is lovely here,” Anna said. “You are to be commended for taking such care with a sister’s welfare.”

He heard the wistful, almost despairing note in her voice, and knew with absolute conviction Anna Seaton’s brother had somehow disappointed her or played her false. His mind turned back to those ideas, the ones he’d been formulating earlier about how to uncover Anna’s troubles and assist her with them.

“I love my sisters. As any brother should love a sister.”

“They don’t all—brothers, that is,” Anna said, stepping away from him. “Some of them love their gold more or their drink or their flashy Town habits. Being a sister is sometimes not much more of a bargain than being a wife.”

“You simply have to choose the right brother”— Westhaven smiled at her gently—“or the right husband. I have enjoyed our time here, Anna. I hope you did, as well.”

“Even when I cried,” she said, a world of resignation in her tone, “I was glad to be here with you, Westhaven. Believe that, if you believe nothing else of me.”

He handed her into the gig, puzzling over that comment. They were halfway back to Town, Anna tucked shamelessly close to him even in the heat, before his brain woke from its stupor.

What she had meant was: Even when I cried because I must leave you, I was glad to be here with you… Believe that if you believe nothing else of me when I find the courage to finally go.

The hot, lovely day suddenly became ominous, and where Anna wasn’t touching him, he was chilled.

Morgan stood beside Val when they’d left Viscount Fairly’s townhouse and listened. Fairly had worked a miracle, gently and thoroughly cleaning her ears, explaining that she had scar tissue complicating the natural process and her hearing would always be impaired. She thought he was daft, as she heard everything.

“It’s loud,” she said wonderingly. “But sweet, too. Like your music. The sounds all go together to say something.”

“Let’s walk home through the park,” Val suggested, offering his arm. “You can hear birds singing, hear the water in the Serpentine, hear the children playing… I never realized how happy the park sounds.”

“There’s so much…” Morgan took a deep breath and fell in step beside him. “I would never go anywhere I didn’t know well, because I could not stop to ask directions. I was confined to those places Anna would take me or that someone else would escort me to. I could not get lost; I could not need assistance.”

“That has changed. You may get lost several times a day, just to hear people give you directions. Are your ears hurting?”

“They are…” Morgan frowned. “Not hurting from the viscount’s treatment but throbbing, it feels like, with sounds. I’m pleased beyond telling to hear your voice, Lord Valentine.”

“Val,” he said easily. “I’d like to hear you say my name.”

“Valentine Windham.” Morgan smiled at him. “Musician and friend to hard-of-hearing chambermaids.”

“Did you ask Fairly if the cure is temporary?”

“It is. If I don’t look after my ears, they can get into the same state, particularly if I let quacks poke at me and bring me more infections and bleeding and scarring. He gave me an ear syringe and his card, should I have questions. However did you meet such a man?”

“Mutual friends,” Val said. “The circumstances were not particularly sanguine.”

“This involves your papa’s meddling?”

“Nanny Fran’s been talking again.” Val rolled his eyes. “She talks all the time. I got much faster at figuring out what is spoken by watching the speaker’s lips around her, and when people don’t think you can hear, they often say things you ought not to overhear.”

“What sorts of things?” Val asked, noticing Morgan’s voice was already increasing in range of pitch, taking on the intonations and inflections of a woman who could hear.

“Footmen are a bawdy lot,” Morgan said. “Nanny Fran and Cook are just as bad.”

“Has anyone been talking out of turn to His Grace?”

“Not that I know of.” Morgan frowned. “Mostly, the staff are very loyal to the earl, as he provided employment when His Grace was letting junior staff go, to hear them tell it. And I can.” Morgan sighed and hung a little on his arm. “I can hear them tell it. I will be on my knees for a long time tonight and every night. I wonder if I will sing again someday?”

“You like to sing?”

“Love to.” Morgan beamed at him. “I used to sing with my mother, and sometimes Anna would join us, but she was an adolescent just as my voice was becoming reliable, and singing was not her greatest talent.”

“So you are related to her?” Val asked, but Morgan’s hand dropped from his arm. “Morgan,” he chided, “Anna brought you into the household with her, she has admitted to Westhaven she knew you when you could hear, and Dev has seen the two of you tête-à-tête over something serious.”

Too late, Morgan realized the trap speaking had sprung on her. Deaf and mute, she could not be questioned; she could not be held accountable for any particular knowledge or intelligence.

Val peered down at her as they approached the park. “Dev says Anna has secrets, and I fear he is right. They are your secrets, too, aren’t they?”

“It’s complicated and not entirely my business to tell,” she said, speaking slowly. “This is part of the reason you must not tell anyone I can hear.”

“I do not like lying, Morgan. Particularly not to my brother, regarding people in his employ.”

“The earl hired me knowing I could not hear or speak,” Morgan pointed out. “He is not cheated when you keep this confidence for me. And if it comforts you to know it, I am not even going to tell Anna I can hear.”

“You think she would begrudge you your hearing?”

“No.” Morgan shook her head then grinned. “I can hear that, when I shake my head.” She did it again then her smile faded. “Back to Anna and me… For the past two years, Anna is all that connected me with a world I had long since stopped hearing. I owe her more than you know, and yet, having me to look after has also meant she’s had to look after herself. Were I not in such great need, Anna might have given up. She might have taken some options for herself that were not at all desirable. In any case, I do not want to disclose I can hear, not until I know it’s going to last.”

“That much I can understand,” Val said. “How long do you think it will take to convince yourself you are back among the hearing?”

“Oh, listen !” Morgan stopped, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s geese, and they are honking. What a wonderful, silly, undignified sound. And there are children, and they are screaming with glee. Oh, Valentine…”

The way she’d said his name, with wonder, and joy and gratitude, it lit the places inside him that had been going dark since his closest brother had died. The music rumbling through him when he watched her hearing the sound of childish laughter was not polite, graceful, or ornamental. It was great, bounding swoops and leaps of joy, and unstoppable, unending gratitude.

Brothers slowly wasted of terrible diseases; they died in asinine duels in provincial taverns; and sometimes, a gifted pianist’s hand hurt unbearably, but Morgan could also hear when the children laughed.

He sat beside her for a long time in the sunshine and fresh air, just listening to the park and the city and to life.

“Gentlemen.” Westhaven addressed his brothers as they ambled back from a morning ride. “I need your help.”

Val and Dev exchanged a look of quiet surprise.

“You have it,” Dev said.

“Anything you need,” Val added. “Anything. Anywhere, anytime.”

Westhaven busied himself fiddling with the reins of the rangy chestnut gelding Dev had put him on. He might have expected ribbing from his brothers or teasing or idle curiosity, but their unconditional response caught him off guard.

Dev smiled at him, a smile more tender than humorous. “We love you, and we know you are all that stands between us and His Grace. Say on.”

“Good to know one’s sentiments are reciprocated,” Westhaven said, eyeing the sky casually.

“I suspect whatever you need help with,” Val chimed in, “we are discussing it here because you do not want to be overheard at home?”

“Perceptive of you,” Westhaven said. “The matter at hand is Mrs. Seaton. She is not, as Dev has suggested, exactly what she appears to be. She tells me there is no spouse trying to hunt her down, nor is she wanted on criminal charges, but she is carrying some burden and will not enlighten me as to its nature. She claims the matter is confidential, and it necessitates her departure from my employ in the near future.”

Dev quirked an eyebrow. “We are to find out for you what plagues her and make it go away.”

“Not so fast.” Westhaven smiled at his darkest brother, the one most likely to solve a problem with his fists or his knife. “Before we go eavesdropping in doorways, I thought we might first combine our knowledge of the situation.”

When the brothers returned to the townhouse, they took their lemonade—cold tea for Val—into the library, and closed and locked the door. After about an hour’s discussion, they boiled down their objective knowledge to a few facts, most of those gleaned from the agency that had recommended her:

Anna Seaton had come down from the North about two years ago and was on her third post has housekeeper. She’d worked first for an old Hebrew, then briefly for a wealthy merchant before joining the earl’s household almost six months ago. At each location, Morgan became part of the household staff, as well. Anna admitted to having a brother and a sister, but being orphaned, had been raised by her grandfather, the florist.

“He had to be one hell of a successful florist,” Dev observed. “Didn’t you say Anna could speak several languages? Tutors, particularly for females, cost money.”

“She plays the piano, too,” Westhaven recalled. “That means more money, both to own the instrument and to afford the instruction.”

“I wonder,” Val said slowly, “if Morgan is not this sister Anna has mentioned to you.”

“I suppose she could be.” Westhaven frowned. “They do not look particularly alike, but then neither do many sisters.”

“They have the same laugh,” Val said, surprising his brothers. “What? Morgan can laugh—she isn’t simple.”

“We know, but it’s an odd thing to notice,” Westhaven said, noting his youngest brother was more than a little defensive of the chambermaid. “You’re reminding me, though, Anna said her parents were killed when their buggy overturned and slid down an embankment. They were on an errand to look at a pony for her younger sister. Then you tell me Morgan lost her hearing after a buggy accident left her pinned in cold water. I think you’ve put the puzzle pieces together correctly, Val.”

Dev drew a finger around the rim of his glass. “We need to send someone north who can find us a very wealthy elderly florist, perhaps two years deceased, perhaps still extant, with three grandchildren, whose son died in a buggy accident that cost one grandchild her hearing. How many of those can there be?”

“Don’t rule out a title,” Val said quietly.

“A title?” Westhaven winced, hating to think he might have been cavorting with some duke’s daughter. That hit a little too close to home.

“Anna once teased me about my… public mannerism,” Val said.

“You mean”—Dev grinned—“your mincing and lisping?”

“And so on.” Val nodded and waved a hand. “She said something like: You are no more a mincing fop than I am an earl’s granddaughter. I remembered it, because Her Grace is an earl’s granddaughter.”

“We can keep it in mind,” Westhaven said, “intuition being at least half of what we have to go on. Anything else?”

“Yes.” Dev rose from the sofa and stretched. “Suppose we find out who our housekeeper really is, find she’s suspected of some wrongdoing, put the accusations to rest, and so forth. Are we going to all this effort just to keep you in marzipan for the foreseeable future? There are easier ways to do that.”

Westhaven pushed away from his desk. “We are doing this because the duke will soon be asking the same questions, and his methods will not be discreet nor careful nor at all delicate.”

“And ours will be?” Val asked, coming to his feet, as well.

“Utterly. We must be, or there’s no point to the effort. If anybody finds out we are poking around in Anna Seaton’s past, then they could easily insinuate themselves into her present, and that I cannot allow.”

“Very well.” Dev scratched his ribs and nodded. “We find the elderly florist, et cetera, and do it without making a sound.”

“Not a peep,” Val agreed just as his stomach rumbled thunderously. “Not a peep once I get some breakfast.”

“We can all use breakfast.” Westhaven smiled. “We’ll talk more about this later, but only when our privacy is assured.” He unlocked the door and departed for the breakfast parlor, leaving his two brothers to exchange a look of consternation.

“So.” Val looked to his elder sibling hopefully. “We’re going about this stealthy investigation of a housekeeper’s personal business, why?”

“Noticed he dodged that one, didn’t you?” Dev rubbed his chin. “Smart lad. I would hazard a guess, though, we are abetting our brother’s ride to the rescue of the fair damsel because for once, he’s delegating the tedious work to someone else and keeping the fun part for himself.”

“He picked an odd time to turn up human.”

“I didn’t think the housekeeper was to your taste.” Dev grinned and slung an arm around Val’s shoulders. “Thought you were more enamored of the quiet housemaid who—though is she deaf—sits in the music room by the hour—watching you play?”

“Let’s get some breakfast,” Val groused, digging an elbow into his brother’s ribs to shove him away. Smart lad, indeed. Bad enough to have to dodge the duke’s spies among the help, but he’d have to warn Morgan that Dev wasn’t going to miss a trick either.

Since their trip out to Willow Bend more than a week ago, Anna had felt the earl watching her the way one man might size up another in preparation for a duel or a high-stakes card game. He studied her but made no more mention of trips to the country or marriage. He kept his hands to himself, but his eyes were on her if they were in the same room.

She tried to tell herself it was better this way, with Westhaven keeping his distance and the household rolling along in its pleasant routine. The three brothers usually went out for an early ride then breakfasted together. Thereafter, the earl would closet himself with Tolliver for most of the morning, while Val repaired to his piano and Dev spent time in the stables or at the auctions. Occasionally, all three would be home for lunch, but more often, it was dinner before they joined each other again.

And occasionally, Anna had noticed, they would join in the library for a brandy before dinner, some three-handed cribbage after dinner, or just to talk. And when they did, the door was both closed and locked.

Since the earl hadn’t even thought to lock the door when he was naked with her, Anna wondered what could be holding their interest that demanded such privacy. Something they did not want the duke to learn of, no doubt.

Still, it hurt, a little, not be in Westhaven’s confidence—not to be in his arms.

But life went on. The agency from Manchester had written they did not place candidates from London unless or until said candidates were removing to the local environs. Bath had at least two openings, but they were for the households of older single gentlemen who enjoyed “lively” social calendars. Anna knew one by reputation to be a lecherous roué and assumed the other was just as objectionable. She waited in the daily hope of more encouraging news from the remaining possibilities and was thus pleased when John Footman brought her a letter.

One glance at the envelope, however, told her the news was not good. Another epistle from rural Yorkshire could not bode well.

I am most concerned for you. A man has been about asking pointed questions, and I am sure he was followed when he returned south. Use greatest caution.

A man asking questions… Dear God, she had caused this. With her reticence and mention of confidences and unwillingness to yield details to his bloody lordship, the Earl of Westhaven. He was resorting to his father’s tactics and causing more trouble—more peril—than he could possibly imagine. The fear Anna lived with day and night boiled over into rage and indignation at his high-handedness. She barreled out of her sitting room, the letter still in her hand, and almost ran into Devlin St. Just.

“Where is he?” she hissed.

“Westhaven?” St. Just took a step back but kept his hands on her upper arms. “Is there something I can help you with?” His gaze traveled over her warily, no doubt taking in the absence of a cap and the utter determination in her eyes.

“You?” Anna loaded the word with incredulity and scorn. “With your strutting and sneering and threats? You’ve helped more than enough. Where is he? ”

“The library.” He dropped his hands, and stepped back as Anna stormed away.

“She upset with you?” Val asked as he sauntered out of the kitchen, cookies in hand.

“I did not get off on the proper foot with her, which is my fault,” Dev said, “but it’s Westhaven who had better start praying.”

“Front-row seats, eh?” Val handed him a cookie, and they stole up the stairs in Anna’s wake.

“A moment of your time, my lord.” Anna kept her voice steady, but her eyes were a different matter. One glance, and the earl knew a storm was brewing.

He rose from his desk. “Tolliver, if you would excuse us?” Taking in Anna’s appearance, Tolliver departed with only a brief sympathetic glance at the earl.

“Won’t you have a seat?” the earl offered, his tones cordial as he went to close and lock the door.

“I most assuredly will not have a seat,” Anna spat back, “and you can unlock that door, Gayle Tristan Montmorency Windham.”

An odd thrill went through him at the sound of his name on her lips, one that made it difficult to appropriately marshal his negotiating face. He had the presence of mind to keep the door locked, however, and instead turned to assess her.

She was toweringly, beautifully, stunningly angry. Enraged, and with him.

“What have I done to offend?”

“You…” Anna advanced on him, a piece of paper fisted in her hand. “You are having me investigated. And thanks to you, my lord, what might have been a well-planned move to a comparable position will now be a headlong and poorly thought out flight. I cannot believe you would do this to me, behind my back, without saying a word to me.”

“What does your letter say?” the earl asked, puzzled. Yes, he wanted to have her investigated but had yet to identify a sufficiently discreet means of doing so.

“It says there is a man asking questions about me back home.” Anna waved the letter, keeping her voice low. “And he was followed south when he returned to Town.”

“He was not employed by me,” the earl said simply, still frowning in thought. “Though I am fairly certain I know who did retain him.”

“You did not do this?” Anna asked, spine stiff.

“I am in the process of trying to identify means appropriate to assist you. I am aware, however, your circumstances involve confidences and have thus been unwilling to proceed until utmost discretion can be assured.”

He watched the emotions storm through her eyes: Rage that he would admit to wanting to investigate her, shock that he would be honest, and finally, relief, that his better sense had prevailed.

“His Grace,” Anna said, the fight going out of her suddenly. “Your thrice damned, interfering ass of a father, abetted by the toad.”

“I will dismiss Stenson before sunset,” Westhaven assured her. “I will confront my father, as well. Just one request, Anna.”

She met his gaze squarely, still upset but apparently willing to shift the focus of her rage.

“Be here when I return,” he said, holding her gaze. She huffed out a breath, nodded once, and dropped her eyes.

“Be here.” He walked up to her and put his arms around her. She went willingly, to his relief, and held on to him tightly. “Do not pack, do not warn Morgan, do not pawn the silver, do not panic. Be here and try, just try, to find some ability to trust me.”

When he was sure she’d calmed down, Westhaven whipped open the library door to find both his brothers lounging against the wall, munching cookies.

“You lot, look after Anna and Morgan. Don’t hold the meals for me.” He stalked off, bellowing for Pericles, leaving Anna standing shakily between Dev and Val.

“You are no fun,” Dev said, passing Anna a cookie. “We couldn’t hear a thing, and we were sure you were going to tear a strip off the earl. Nobody tears a strip off Westhaven, not Her Grace, not His Grace, not even Pericles.”

“Rose could,” Val speculated, handing his drink to Anna. “Come along.” He put an arm around Anna’s shoulders. “We’ll teach you how to cheat at cribbage, and you can tell us what we missed.”

“I already know how to cheat at cribbage,” Anna said dumbly, staring at the drink and cookie in her hands.

“Teach that in housekeeper school now, do they?” Dev closed the library door behind them. “Well, then we’ll teach you some naughty rugby songs instead. She’s going to cry, Val. Best get your hankie at the ready.”

“I am not going to cry,” Anna said, shoulders stiff. But then she took a funny gulpy breath and two monogrammed handkerchiefs were thrust in her direction. She turned her face into Val’s muscular shoulder and bawled while Dev rescued the drink and cookies.

“Mother.” Westhaven bowed over Her Grace’s hand. “I should have listened to you more closely.”

“A mother delights in hearing those sentiments from her children, regardless of the provocation,” Her Grace responded, “though I am at a loss to divine your reference.”

“You tried to tell me at breakfast the other week.” Westhaven ran a hand through his hair. “His Grace is off on another wild start, isn’t he?”

“Frequently,” the duchess said. “But I wasn’t warning you of anything in particular, just the need to exercise discretion with your staff and your personal activities.”

“My housekeeper, you mean.” Westhaven arched an eyebrow at her. “Somehow, the old bastard got wind of Anna Seaton and set his dogs on her.”

“Westhaven.” The duchess’s regard turned chilly. “You will not refer to your father in such terms.”

“Right.” Westhaven shuttered his expression. “That would insult my half brother, who is an honorable man.”

“Westhaven!” The duchess’s expression grew alarmed rather than insulted.

“Forgive me, Mother.” He bowed. “My argument is with my father.”

“Well,” the duke announced himself and paused for dramatic effect in the doorway of the private parlor. “No need to look further. You can have at me now.”

“You are having Anna Seaton investigated,” the earl said, “and it could well cost her her safety.”

“Then marry her,” the duke shot back. “A husband can protect a wife, particularly if he’s wealthy, titled, smart, and well connected. Your mother has assured me she does not object to the match.”

“You don’t deny this? Do you have any idea the damage you do with your dirty tricks, sly maneuvers, and stupid manipulations? That woman is terrified, nigh paralyzed with fear for herself and her younger relation, and you go stomping about in her life as if you are God Almighty come to earth for the purpose of directing everybody else’s personal life.”

The duke paced into the room, color rising in his face.

“That is mighty brave talk for a man who can’t see fit to take a damned wife after almost ten years of looking. What in God’s name is wrong with you, Westhaven? I know you cater to women, and I know you are carrying on with this Seaton woman. She’s comely, convenient, and of child-bearing age. I should have thought to have her investigated, I tell you, so I might find some way to coerce her to the altar.”

“You already tried coercion,” Westhaven shot back, “and it’s only because Gwen Allen is a decent human being her relations haven’t ruined us completely in retaliation for your failed schemes. I am ashamed to be your son and worse than ashamed to be your heir. You embarrass me, and I wish to hell I could disinherit you, because if I don’t find you a damned broodmare, I’ve every expectation you will disinherit me.”

“Gayle!” His mother was on her feet, her expression horror-stricken. “Please, for the love of God, apologize. His Grace did not have Mrs. Seaton investigated.”

“Esther…” His Grace tried to get words out, but his wife had eyes only for her enraged son.

“He most certainly did,” Westhaven bit out. “Up to his old tricks, just as he was with Gwen and with Elise and with God knows how many hapless debutantes and scheming widows. I am sick to death of it, Mother, and this is the last straw.”

“Esther,” His Grace tried again.

“Hush, Percy,” the duchess said miserably, still staring at her son. “His Grace did not have your Mrs. Seaton investigated.” She paused and dropped Westhaven’s gaze. “I did.”

“Esther,” the duke gasped as he dropped like a stone onto a sofa. “For the love of God, help me.”

“He was working for some London toff,” Eustace Cheevers informed his employer. “His name was Benjamin Hazlit, and he does a lot of quiet work for the Quality down in Town. He never discloses his employers by name, but it’s somebody high up.”

“Titled?” the Earl of Helmsley asked, mouth tight.

“Most like.” Cheevers nodded. “Folk down south distinguish between themselves more. A fellow who works for the titles wouldn’t want work from the cits or the squires or the nabobs. Hazlit’s offices are top of the trees, his cattle prime, and his tailor only the best. I’d say a title, yes.”

“That pretty much narrows it to Mayfair, doesn’t it?” The earl’s tone was condescending, as if any damned fool might reach such a conclusion.

“Not necessarily,” Cheevers said. “There’s a regular infestation of money and titles in Mayfair itself, but the surrounds are not so shabby, and there are other decent neighborhoods with quieter money.”

An earl worthy of the title would have spent some time in Town, Cheevers thought, keeping his expression completely deferential. But this young sprig—well, this not quite middle-aged sprig—had obviously never acquired his Town bronze. Pockets to let, Cheevers thought with an inward sigh. The word around York was to get paid in advance if Helmsley offered you his custom.

It hadn’t been like that when the old earl was alive. The estate had been radiant with flowers, the women happy, and the bills always paid. Now, most of the gardeners had been let go, and the walls had bleached spots where valuable paintings had once hung. The drive was unkempt, the fences sagging, the fountains dry, and nobody had seen the dowager countess going about since she’d suffered an apoplexy more than two years ago. Where the granddaughters had got off to was anybody’s guess.

“So that’s the extent of what you’ve learned?” Helmsley rose, his tone disdainful. “You can tell me the man’s name and that he’s a professional investigator with wealthy clients? Nothing more.”

“It’s in the file.” Cheevers stood. “You will have his address, the names of those with whom he spoke, what they told him, and so forth. I don’t gather he learned much of significance, as people tend to be leery of Town fribbles up here.”

“That they do.” Helmsley nodded, his expression turning crafty. Cheevers considered the earl and wondered what the man was plotting, as it boded ill for someone. Helmsley had the look of man who could have been handsome. He had height, patrician features, and thick dark hair showing only the barest hint of gray. Cheevers, expert at summing people up, put Helmsley in his early thirties. The man looked older, however, as the signs of excessive fondness for both the grape and rich foods were beginning to show.

Helmsley’s nose was becoming bulbous and striated with spider veins. His middle was soft, his reactions slow. Most telling of all, Cheevers, thought, there was a mean, haunted look in the man’s gray eyes that labeled him as a cheat and a bully.

Good riddance, Cheevers concluded as he showed himself out. There were some accounts that even the thriftiest Yorkshireman’s son was happy to close.