Sixteen

“I HAVE COME TO SEEK ASSISTANCE,” WESTHAVEN SAID, meeting his father’s gaze squarely. The duke was enjoying his early afternoon tea on the back terrace of the mansion, and looking to his son like a man in a great good health.

“Seems to be the season for it,” the duke groused. “Your dear mother will hardly let me chew my meat without assistance. You’d best have a seat, man, lest she catch me craning my neck to see you.”

“She means well,” the earl said, his father’s response bringing a slight smile to his lips.

The duke rolled his eyes. “And how many times, Westhaven, has she attempted to placate your irritation with me, using that same phrase? Tea?”

“More than a few,” the earl allowed. “She doesn’t want to lose you, though, and so you must be patient with her. And yes, a spot of tea wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Patient!” the duke said with a snort. He poured his son a cup and added a helping of sugar. “That woman knows just how far she can push me, with her Percy this and dear heart that. But you didn’t come here to listen to me resent your mother’s best intentions. What sort of assistance do you need?”

“I’m not sure,” Westhaven said, accepting the cup of tea, “but it involves a woman, or two women.”

“Well, thank the lord for small favors.” The duke smiled. “Say on, lad. It’s never as bad as you think it is, and there are very few contretemps you could get into I haven’t been in myself.”

At his father’s words, a constriction weighting Westhaven’s chest lifted, leaving him able to breathe and strangely willing to enlist his father’s support. He briefly outlined the situation with Anna and Morgan, and his desire to keep Morgan’s whereabouts unknown.

“Of course she’s welcome.” The duke frowned. “Helmsley’s granddaughter? I think he was married to that… oh, Bellefonte’s sister or aunt or cousin. Your mother will know. Bring her over; the girls will flutter and carry on and have a grand time.”

“She can’t leave the property,” Westhaven cautioned. “Unless it’s to go out to Morelands in a closed carriage.”

“I am not to leave Town until your quacks allow it,” the duke reported. “There’s to be no removing to the country just yet for these old bones, thank you very much.”

“How are you feeling?” the earl asked, the question somehow different from all the other times he’d asked it.

“Mortality,” the duke said, “is a daunting business, at first. You think it will be awful to die, to miss all the future holds for your loved ones, for your little parliamentary schemes. I see now, however, that there will come a time when death will be a relief, and it must have been so for your brother Victor. At some point, it isn’t just death; it’s peace.”

Shocked at both the honesty and the depth of his father’s response, Westhaven listened as he hadn’t listened to his father in years.

“My strength is returning,” the duke said, “and I will live to pester you yet a while longer, I hope, but when I was so weak and certain my days were over, I realized there are worse things than dying. Worse things than not securing the bloody succession, worse things than not getting the Lords to pass every damned bill I want to see enacted.”

“What manner of worse things?”

“I could never have known your mother,” the duke said simply. “I could linger as an invalid for years, as Victor did. I could have sent us all to the poor house and left you an even bigger mess to clean up. I guess”—the duke smiled slightly—“I am realizing what I have to be grateful for. Don’t worry…” The smile became a grin. “This humble attitude won’t last, and you needn’t look like I’ve had a personal discussion with St. Peter. But when one is forbidden to do more than simply lie in bed, one gets to thinking.”

“I suppose one does.” The earl sat back, almost wishing his father had suffered a heart seizure earlier in life.

“Now, about your Mrs. Seaton,” the duke went on. “You are right; the betrothal contracts are critical but so are the terms of the guardianship provisions in the old man’s will. In the alternative, there could be a separate guardianship document, one that includes the trusteeship of the girl’s money, and you have to get your hands on that, as well.”

“Not likely,” the earl pointed out. “It was probably drawn up in York and remains in Helmsley’s hands.”

“But he will have to bring at least the guardianship papers with him if he’s to retrieve his sisters. You say they are both over the age of eighteen, but the trust document might give him control of their money until they marry, turn five and twenty, or even thirty.”

“I can ask Anna about that, but I have to ask you about something else.”

The duke waited, stirring his tea while Westhaven considered how to put his question. “Hazlit has pointed out I could protect Anna by simply marrying her. Would you and Her Grace receive her?”

In a display of tact that would have made the duchess proud and quite honestly impressed Westhaven, the duke leaned over and topped off both tea cups.

“I put this question to your mother,” the duke admitted, “as my own judgment, according to my sons, is not necessarily to be trusted. I will tell you what Her Grace said, because I think it is the best answer: We trust you to choose wisely, and if Anna Seaton is your choice, we will be delighted to welcome her into the family. Your mother, after all, was not my father’s choice and no more highly born than your Anna.”

“So you would accept her.”

“We would, but Gayle?”

His father had not referred to him by name since Bart’s death, and Westhaven found he had to look away.

“You are a decent fellow,” the duke went on, “too decent, I sometimes think. I know, I know.” He waved a hand. “I am all too willing to cut corners, to take a dodgy course, to use my consequence at any turn, but you are the opposite. You would not shirk a responsibility if God Almighty gave you leave to do so. I am telling you, in the absence of the Almighty’s availability: Do not marry her out of pity or duty or a misguided sense you want a woman in debt to you before you marry her. Marry her because you can’t see the rest of your life without her and you know she feels the same way.”

“You are telling me to marry for love,” Westhaven concluded, bemused and touched.

“I am, and you will please tell your mother I said so, for I am much in need of her good graces these days, and this will qualify as perhaps the only good advice I’ve ever given you.”

“The only good advice?” Westhaven countered. “Wasn’t it you who told me to let Dev pick out my horses for me? You who said Val shouldn’t be allowed to join up to keep an eye on Bart? You who suggested the canal project?”

“Even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then,” the duke quipped. “Or so my brother Tony reminds me.”

“I will get my hands on those contracts.” The earl rose. “And the guardianship and trust documents, as well, if you’ll keep Morgan safe.”

“Consider it done.” The duke said, rising. “Look in on your mama before you go.”

“I will,” Westhaven said, stepping closer and hugging his father briefly. To his surprise, the duke hugged him right back.

“My regards to St. Just.” The duke smiled winsomely. “Tell him not to be a stranger.”

“He’ll come over with Val this evening,” Westhaven said, “but I will pass along your felicitations.”

The duke watched his heir disappear into the house, not surprised when a few minutes later the duchess came out to join him.

“You should be napping,” his wife chided. “Westhaven was behaving peculiarly.”

“Oh?” The duke slipped an arm around his wife’s waist. “How so?”

“He walked in, kissed my cheek, and said, ‘His Grace has advised me to marry for love,’ then left. Not like him at all.” The duchess frowned. “Are you feeling well, Percy?”

“Keeps his word, that boy.” The duke smiled. “I am feeling better, Esther, and we did a good job with Westhaven. Knows his duty, he does, and will make a fine duke.”

Her Grace kissed his cheek. “More to the point, he makes a fine son, and he will make an even better papa.”

“From this point on,” the earl said, “you are my guest, the granddaughter and sister of an earl, and every inch a lady.”

“A lady would not be staying under your roof unchaperoned.”

“Of course not, but your circumstances require allowances to be made. Morgan is safe at the mansion, and you will be safe with me.”

Anna rose from the library sofa. “And what if you cannot keep me safe? What if the betrothal contract is genuine? What if when I break that contract, the damned baron has the right to marry Morgan?”

“I can tell you straight out Morgan’s contract is not valid,” the earl replied. “She signed it herself, and as a minor, she cannot make binding contracts except for necessaries. Even if a spouse is considered a necessary, she can legally repudiate the contract upon her majority. The family solicitors are busily drafting just such a repudiation, though it would be helpful to see the contract she signed.”

“You are absolutely sure of this?”

“I am absolutely sure of this,” the earl rejoined. “I spend hours each day up to my elbows in the small print of all manner of contracts, Anna, and I read law at university, since that is one profession open to younger sons. Morgan cannot be forced to marry Stull.”

“Thank you.” Anna sat back down, the fight going out of her. “Thank you so much for that.”

“You are welcome.”

At least, Anna thought, he wasn’t telling her he wanted to paddle her black and blue, and he wasn’t tossing her out on her ear—not yet. But he’d learned what manner of woman she was, one who would sign a contract she didn’t mean to fulfill; one who would flee familial duty; one who would lie, hide, and flee again to avoid security and respectability for both herself and her sister.

The earl took up the rocker opposite the sofa. “There is yet more we need to discuss.”

Their talk, Anna recalled. He’d warned her they would be having a lengthy discussion; there was no time like the present.

“I am listening.”

“This is going to come out wrong,” the earl sighed, “but I think it’s time you gave up and married me.”

“Gave up and married you?” Anna repeated in a choked whisper. This was one outcome she had not foreseen, and in its way, it was worse than any of the others. “Whatever do you mean?”

“If I marry you,” the earl went on in reasonable tones, “then the worst Stull can do is sue for breach of promise. As he was willing to pay for the privilege of marrying you, I am not sure there are even damages for him to claim. It is the only way, however, to prevent him or some successor in your brother’s schemes from marrying you in another trumped-up circumstance.”

“And if he sues, it ensures you are embroiled in scandal.”

“The Windham family is of sufficient consequence Stull’s paltry accusations won’t be but a nine days’ wonder. Marry me, Anna, and your troubles will be over.”

Anna chewed her fingernail and regarded the man rocking so contentedly opposite her. Marry him, and her troubles would be over…

Marry him, she thought bitterly, and her troubles would just be starting. He’d never said he loved her, never asked for her brother and his nasty friend to descend like this. She wasn’t raised to be a duchess, and polite society would never let him forget he’d married, quite, quite down.

“I am flattered,” Anna said, staring at her hands in her lap, “but can we not wait to see how matters resolve themselves?”

“You are turning me down,” Westhaven said. “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.” He rose and smiled down at her. “But then, if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d be married to Stull by now, and that isn’t an eventuality to be considered even in theory. I’ve put you in the largest guest room, and you are dead on your feet. Let me light you up to your bed, Anna.”

She hadn’t realized he’d had her things moved, and so accepted his arm in a daze. She was tired—bone weary and emotionally wrung out. The day had been too eventful, bringing with it both joy, relief, and loss.

“You are my guest,” the earl said when he’d lit the candles in her bedroom. “I will wish you sweet dreams and promise you again to see this entire matter sorted out. You will consider my proposal and perhaps have an answer for me in the morning.”

He bowed—bowed!—and withdrew, leaving Anna to sit on the bed, staring unseeing at the hearth.

Since he’d learned she was betrothed to another, the earl had not touched her, not as a lover. He’d offered his arm, his hospitality, and his name in marriage, but he had not been able to touch her as a lover.

It spoke volumes, Anna thought as she drifted off. He was a dutiful man and he needed an heir and he was sexually attracted enough to her, despite her deceit, that he could get a child or two on her. She owed him more than that, though, and so her last thoughts as she found sleep were of how she could spare him the very thing he dreaded most: A wife chosen out of duty.

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.”

“And she would have to be a cow,” the earl muttered, grimacing. “I hate just sitting here, waiting for those idiots to make the next move.”

“And they hate just sitting there”—Hazlit reached for a piece of marzipan—“doing nothing. You should probably prepare yourself for some kind of legal maneuvering.”

“What kind of maneuvering?”

“Charges of kidnapping or alienation of affections, breach of promise against Anna, demands of marriage from Helmsley.”

“Demands that I marry her?” The earl scowled thunderously. “In God’s name why?”

“If Helmsley sees you are a fatter pigeon than Stull, he’ll rattle that sword.”

“Christ.” The earl got up and paced to the window. Anna and Dev were on the terrace, and she was smiling at something he’d said. Dev’s smile was flirtatious and a little wistful—charmingly so, damn the scoundrel.

“We can hope it’s a moot question,” Hazlit said, rising to his feet. “If Stull attempts to remove her from your property, then you bring the kidnapping charges, and that will be the end of it. Unless she’s married to the man, she can testify against him in any court in the land.”

“What was the extent of the old earl’s estate?” the earl asked, staring out the windows. Hazlit named a figure, a very large and impressive figure.

The earl continued to watch as Dev and Anna laughed their way through lunch. “If Helmsley has gambled that away, then he is guilty of misfeasance?”

“He most assuredly is,” Hazlit replied, coming to stand where he, too, could look out at the back terrace.

“So I need to prove Helmsley guilty of misfeasance,” the earl said, “and foil the baron’s attempts at kidnapping, and then Anna should be safe but penniless.”

“Not penniless. There is a trust fund that simply cannot be raided, not by God Almighty or the archangel Gabriel, as it is set aside for Anna’s exclusive use. Her grandmother has seen to it the money was wisely invested.”

“That is some good news.” The earl turned finally, as Dev was escorting Anna back into the house. “Do you know how much she has left?” Hazlit named another figure, one that would keep even a genteel lady comfortably for a very long time.

The earl turned, watching as Hazlit gathered up his effects. “If nothing else, I appreciate my family more, my siblings and my parents, for this glimpse into Anna’s circumstances.”

“You are a fortunate man,” Hazlit said. “In your family, in any case. I’m off to loiter away the afternoon at the Pig. I’ll report when something warrants your attention.”

“I will await your communication,” the earl said, seeing his guest to the door. “But patience is not my greatest strength.”

The earl had no sooner returned to the library than Dev appeared, Anna in tow.

“So who was that?” Dev asked.

“Who was who?”

“That handsome devil who eyed us out the window, the one who stood right beside you,” Dev shot back.

“Benjamin Hazlit. Our private investigator.” The earl turned his gaze to Anna. “He thinks you should marry me.”

“Let him marry you. I think I should join a convent.”

“Now that,” Dev said, “would be an inexcusable waste.”

“I quite agree.” The earl smiled thinly. “Hazlit says we wait now and expect either the baron to try to abduct you again or your brother to bring kidnapping charges.”

Anna sat down in a heap. “As a man cannot kidnap his wife, we have another brilliant reason to marry me to you.”

“Sound reasoning,” the earl said. “I gather you are not impressed.”

“I am not impressed.” Anna rose abruptly. “And what do you mean, Westhaven, by summoning a dressmaker here?”

“I meant you to have some dresses,” the earl said. “Dresses that are not gray or brown or brownish gray or grayish brown. I meant for you to enjoy, at least, the fashions available to you here in London and to spend some time in a pursuit common to ladies of good breeding. I meant to offer you diversion. What did you think I meant?”

“Oh.” Anna sat back down.

“I believe I will check on my horses and maybe take one out for a hack,” Dev said and headed for the door.

“In this heat?” the earl asked, incredulous. Dev was nothing if not solicitous of his horses.

“A very short hack,” Dev conceded over his shoulder, leaving Anna and the earl alone in the library.

Why are you ignoring me? Anna silently wailed. But she knew why: Westhaven was treating her as a guest, and not as a guest with whom he was in love.

In all her dealings with him, Anna realized, she had worried for him. Worried he would suffer disappointment in her, worried his consequence would suffer for associating with her, worried she wasn’t at all what he needed in a duchess. In hindsight, she saw she should have saved a little worry for herself—worry that her heart would break and she would be left to pick up the pieces without any clue as to how to go about it.

Westhaven was frowning at her. “Anna, are you perhaps in need of a nap?”

“Like a cranky child? Yes, I suppose I am. Are you?”

He smiled at that, a slow, wicked, tempting grin that heartened Anna immeasurably.

I missed you last night, but she didn’t say it. Couldn’t say it, with his frown replacing that grin.

“Did you know,” the earl said, “you’re a wealthy woman?”

“I am what ?” Anna shot back to her feet. “Your jest is in poor taste, Westhaven.”

“You are tired.” The earl shifted to sit in his rocker. “Sit down, Anna, and let us discuss your situation.”

“My situation?” Anna sat as bid, not liking the serious light in his eye.

“You are wealthy,” the earl repeated. He described her trust fund and her grandmother’s stewardship of it. “You can do any damned thing you please, Anna James, and in terms of your finances, you needn’t marry anybody.”

“But why wasn’t I allowed to use my own money?” Anna wailed. “For two years, I’ve not had more than pin money to spare, and you tell me there are thousands of pounds with my name on them?”

“There are, just waiting for you to claim them.”

“Why wouldn’t my grandmother have told me of this?”

“She might not have known at the time of your departure exactly what funds were available for what purpose,” the earl suggested gently. “She was unwell when you came south, and solicitors can be notoriously closemouthed. Or she might not have wanted to risk Helmsley getting wind if she tried to communicate with you. You must ask her.”

“I knew we had dowries,” Anna said, shaking her head. “Of course my brother would not tell me I had my own money. Damn him.”

“Yes,” Westhaven agreed, pulling her to her feet. “Damn him to the coldest circle of hell, and Baron Lardbucket with him. You still look like you need a nap.”

“I do need a nap,” Anna sighed and looked down at his hand linked with hers. There was something she needed much more than a nap, but the earl was apparently not of like mind. Well, damn him, too.

“I’ll leave you, then,” Anna said, chin up, tears threatening.

“You will see me at dinner,” the earl warned her. “And Dev and Val, as well.”

She nodded, and he let her go.

Now what in blazes, the earl wondered, could make a sane woman cry upon learning she was financially very well off indeed?

For his part, the knowledge was more than justification for tears. When Anna thought herself penniless and facing lawsuits, she hadn’t accepted his offer of marriage. How much more hopeless would his situation be when she had the coin to manage without him entirely?

Anna presented herself freshly scrubbed for dinner, but she’d slept most of the afternoon away first. She had not joined all three brothers for a meal previously and found them to be formidably charming, the earl less overtly so than Val and Dev.

“So what will you do with your wealth?” Dev asked. “The only suitable answer is: Buy a horse.”

“She could buy your stud farm,” Val remarked, “and then some.”

“I will look after my grandmother and my sister,” Anna said. “Nothing else much matters, but I would like to live somewhere we can grow some flowers.”

“Will you move back north?” Val asked, his smile faltering.

“I don’t know. All of my grandmother’s friends are there; my best memories are there.”

“But some difficult memories, too,” the earl suggested, topping up her wine glass.

“Some very difficult memories. I’ve always thought it made more sense to grow flowers in a more hospitable climate, but the need for them is perhaps greater in the North.”

“Will you grow them commercially?” Dev asked.

“I simply don’t know,” Anna said, her gaze meeting the earl’s. “Until things are resolved, and until I have a chance to sort matters through with Grandmama and Morgan, there is little point in speculating. Shall I leave you gentleman to your port and cigars?”

“I never learned the habit of smoking,” the earl said, his brothers concurring. “Would you perhaps rather join us in a nightcap, Anna?”

“Thank you, no.” Anna stood, bringing all three men to their feet. “While your company is lovely, my eyes are heavy.”

“I’ll light you up,” the earl offered, crooking his arm at her. Anna accepted it, taking guilty pleasure in even that small touch. When they were safely out of earshot, the earl paused and frowned at her. “You aren’t coming down with something, are you?”

“I am just tired.”

“You have every right to be.” He patted her hand, and Anna wanted to scream. She held her tongue though, until they’d gained her bedroom.

“Is this how it’s to be, Westhaven?” She crossed her arms and regarded him as he lit her candles.

“I beg your pardon?” He went on, carefully lighting a candelabra on her mantle.

“I am suddenly a sister to you?” Anna began to pace. “Or a stranger? A houseguest to whom you are merely polite?”

“You are not a sister to me.” The earl turned to face her, the planes of his face harsh in the muted light. “But you are under my protection, Anna, as a guest. You are also a woman who has repeatedly told me my honorable intentions are not welcome. I will not offer you dishonorable intentions.”

“Why not?” she shot back, wishing her dignity was equal to the task of keeping her mouth shut. “You certainly were willing to before.”

“I was courting you,” he said, “and there were lapses, I admit. But our circumstances are not the same now.”

“Because my grandfather was an earl?”

“It makes a difference, Anna.” Westhaven eyed her levelly. “Or it should. More to the point, you are likely to be the victim of another attempted kidnapping in the near future, and your brother is guilty of misfeasance, at the very least.”

“You can’t prove that,” Anna said. But more than fatigue, what she felt was the weight of the earl’s withdrawal.

He walked over to her, hesitated then reached up to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear. “You are tired, your life is in turmoil, and while I could importune you now, it would hardly be gentlemanly. I have trespassed against you badly enough as it is and would not compound my errors now.”

“And would it be ungentlemanly,” Anna said, turning her back to him, “to simply hold me?”

He walked around to the front of her, his eyes unreadable.

“Get into your nightclothes,” he said. “I’m going to fetch you some chamomile tea, and then we’ll get you settled.”

Anna just stood in the middle of her room for long minutes after he’d left, her heart breaking with the certain knowledge she was being humored by a man who no longer desired her. She desired him, to be sure, but desire and willingness to destroy a good man’s future were two different things.

Still, it hurt terribly that while she missed him, missed him with a throbbing, bodily ache, he was not similarly afflicted. She had disappointed him then refused his very gentlemanly offers and now he was done with her, all but the wrapping up and slaying her dragons part.

“You are ready for bed,” the earl said, carrying a tray with him when he rejoined her. “Your hair is still up. Shall I braid it for you?”

She let him, let him soothe her with his kindness and his familiar touch and his beautiful, mellow baritone describing his conversation with his father and the various details of his day. He lay down beside her on the bed, rubbing her back as she lay on her side. She drifted off to sleep, the feel of his hand on her back and his breath on her neck reassuring her in ways she could not name.

When she woke the next morning, it was later than she’d ever slept before, and there was no trace of the earl’s late-night visit.

Anna slept a great deal in the days that followed. Her appetite was off, and she cried easily, something that put three grown men on particularly good behavior. She cried at Val’s music, at notes Morgan sent her, at the way the odd-colored cat would sit in the window of the music room and listen to Beethoven. She cried when her flower arrangements wouldn’t work out, and she cried when Westhaven held her at night.

She cried so much Westhaven remarked upon it to his father.

“Probably breeding.” The duke shrugged. “If she wasn’t one to cry before but she’s crying buckets now, best beware. Does she toss up her accounts?”

“She doesn’t,” the earl said, “but she doesn’t eat much, at least not at meals.”

“Is she sore to the touch?” The duke waved a hand at his chest. “Using the chamber pot every five minutes?”

“I wouldn’t know.” The earl felt himself blushing, but he could easily find out.

“Your dear mother was a crier. Not a particularly sentimental woman, for all her softheartedness, but I knew we were in anticipation of another happy event when she took to napping and crying.”

“I see.” The earl smiled. There were depths to his parents’ intimacy he’d not yet glimpsed, he realized. Sweet depths, rich in caring and humor.

“Mayhap you do.” The duke’s answering smile faded. “And your mother was most affectionate when breeding, as well, not that she isn’t always, but she was particularly in need of cuddling and cosseting, much to my delight. If this woman is carrying your child, Westhaven, it puts matters in a different light.”

“It does.”

“I’m not proud to have sired two bastards”—the duke frowned—“though in my day, these things were considered part of the ordinary course. Times aren’t so tolerant now.”

“They aren’t,” Westhaven agreed, sitting down as the weight of possible fatherhood began to sink in. “I would not wish bastardy on any child of mine.”

“Good of you.” The duke smiled thinly. “The child’s mother is the one you’ll have to convince. Best not fret about it now, though. Things sometimes work themselves out despite our efforts.”

The earl barely heard him, so taken was he with the idea of creating a child with Anna. It felt right: in his bones it felt right and good. She would be a wonderful mother, and she would make him an at least tolerable father.

Papa.

The word took on rich significance, and the earl turned to regard his own sire.

“Weren’t you ever afraid?” he asked. “Ten children, three different women, and you a duke?”

“I wasn’t much of a duke.” The old man snorted. “Not at first. But children have a way of putting a fellow on the right path rather sooner than he’d find it himself. Children and their mothers. But to answer your question, I was fairly oblivious, at first, but then Devlin was born, and Maggie, and I began to sense my own childhood was coming to a close. I was not sanguine at this prospect, Westhaven. Many of our class regard perpetual childhood as our God-given right. Fortunately, I met your mother, and she showed me just how much I had to be fearful of.”

“But you kept having children. Fatherhood couldn’t have been all that daunting if you embraced it so frequently.”

“Silly boy.” The duke beamed. “It was your mother I was embracing. Still do, though it probably horrifies you to hear of it.”

“No.” Westhaven smiled. “It rather doesn’t.”

The duke’s smile faded. “More to the point, you don’t have a choice with children, Westhaven. You bring them into this world, and you are honor bound to do the best you can. If you are fortunate, they have another parent on hand to help out when you are inclined to be an ass, but if not, you muddle on anyway. Look at Gwen Hollister—or Allen, I suppose. She muddled on, and Rose is a wonderful child.”

“She is. Very. You might consider telling her mother that sometime.”

He shifted the conversation, to regale his father with an account of his time spent with Rose. It seemed like ages ago that His Grace had come thundering into the sick room at Welbourne, but listening to his father recount more stories of Victor and his brothers, Westhaven had the strong sense the duke was healing from more than just his heart seizure.

Westhaven took his leave of his father, so lost in thought he had little recollection of his journey home. Pericles knew the way, of course, but ambling along in the heat, the earl was preoccupied with the prospect of fatherhood. When he gained his library, he sat down with a calendar and began counting days.

He’d retrieved Nanny Fran from the duke’s household, and he wasn’t above putting the old woman up to some discreet monitoring of Anna’s health. By his calculations, he had not been intimate with Anna when she should have been fertile, but women were mysterious, and he’d taken no precautions to prevent conception.

It hit him like a freight wagon that in that single act, he’d probably taken away as many of Anna’s options as her brother and Stull combined, and he’d never once considered behaving any differently. He sat alone in his library for a long time, thinking about Anna and what it meant to love her were she carrying his child.

At the same time, Anna was sitting on the little bed in the room she’d used when she held the title housekeeper, thinking what an odd loss it was to not be even that anymore to the earl. She had found it heartening that she could earn her own keep. Looking after the earl and his brothers had been particularly pleasurable, as they took well to being tended to.

She, however, did not take well to being tended to. Not lately. For the past several nights, the earl had served as her lady’s maid, taking down her hair, bringing her a cup of tea, and spending the end of the day in quiet conversation with her. All the while, even on those nights when he rubbed her back and cuddled her close on the bed, she felt him withdrawing to a greater and greater emotional distance.

He wasn’t physically skittish with her, but rather very careful. Anna wanted to think he was almost cherishing, but there was no evidence of desire in his touch. And she bundled into him closely enough the evidence would have been impossible to hide. She clung to him for those times when he offered her comfort but felt all too keenly the comfort he was no longer interested in offering, as well.

She was losing him, which proved to her once and for all that her decision to leave—her many, many decisions to leave—were the better course for them both.

Better, perhaps, but by no means easier.

“I am being followed,” Helmsley said, taking a long swallow of ale. Ale, for God’s sake, the peasant drink.

“You are a well-dressed gentleman on the streets when few are about,” Stull said. “No doubt you attract attention, as I do myself. I want to know why you’re back in dear old London town, where you don’t fit in and you do depend on my coin.”

Helmsley rolled his eyes. “Because I am being followed. Big, dark chap, rough-looking, like a drover returning north without his flock.”

“And what would a drover be doing staying at the better inns, when they have their own establishments for that purpose?” Stull replied, draining his own tankard.

“You take my point.” Helmsley nodded, glad he didn’t have to explain everything. “I thought you should know.”

“You thought I should know.” Stull frowned. “But you’ve been gone nigh a week, which means you probably made it halfway to York before turning about and deciding to tell me.”

Helmsley studied his ale. “I had a delay on the way out of Town. Horse tossed a shoe, then it was too late to travel. He came up lame the next day, and rather than buy another horse, I had to wait for him to come right.”

“And you waited for how long before realizing you had company?”

“A few days,” the earl improvised. “I was traveling slowly to spare the horse.”

“Of course you were.” Stull scowled. “You’re up to something, Helmsley, and you’d best not be up to crossing me.”

“I am up to nothing.” Helmsley sighed dramatically. “Except imposing further on your hospitality. Now, why haven’t we collected my sisters yet?”

Stull banged his empty tankard in a demand for more ale and launched into a convoluted tale of arrests, accusations, and indignities. From his ramblings, the earl concluded Stull had yet to locate Morgan but tried at least once to abduct Anna almost literally from the Earl of Westhaven’s arms.

“So where does this leave us?” Helmsley asked.

He had been followed, but he’d also been struck with an idea: Dead, Anna was worth more to him than alive. The difficulty was, she had to die—or at least appear to die—before she wed Stull, or all her lovely money would fall into the hands of the baron. The thought that the baron might procure a special license and start his connubial bliss with Anna before Helmsley even saw her again had sent Helmsley right back down the road.

Of course, he should offer Anna the option of faking her own death and disappearing with a tidy sum, but working in concert with Stull for the past two years had left a bad taste in Helmsley’s mouth. Partners in crime were tedious and a liability.

Once Anna had been dealt with, Morgan could be used to appease Stull. It would then be easy to arrange an accident for Stull—ingested poison seemed the appropriate remedy—and then as Stull’s widow, Morgan would inherit a goodly portion of the baron’s wealth, as well.

A tidy, altogether pleasing plan, Helmsley congratulated himself, but one that would require his presence in London, where the gaming was better, criminals for hire abounded, and Stull could be closely monitored.

“So how do you propose we retrieve dear Anna?” Helmsley asked. “I gather snatching her from the market did not go as planned.”

“Hah,” Stull snorted then paused for a moment to leer at the young serving maid. “That damned Westhaven got to throwing his weight around and had me arrested for arson. The charges will be dropped, of course, and it gives me the perfect excuse to malinger in Town. The plan remains simply to snatch the girl. She’s helpless when it comes to her flowers, and I have it on good authority she’s out in the back gardens several times a day. We’ll just seize our moment and seize your sister.”

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that.” The baron nodded. “Trying to nab her in the market, I admit, was poorly thought out. Too many people around. This time, however, I’m prepared.”

“What does that mean?” Helmsley made his tone casual.

“If that damned earl makes a ruckus”—Stull wiped his lips on his handkerchief—“I’ll wave the betrothal contract at him. And for good measure, I’ll wave your guardianship papers, as well.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” Helmsley said slowly, though of course he had. “Why not simply send a solicitor ’round to the earl with the documents? If he’s a gentleman, as you say, he should send Anna along smartly, and Morgan with her, assuming she’s nearby?”

“You don’t understand your peers, Helmsley.” Stull leaned forward. “I’ll wave that document around, but I’m not turning the earl’s solicitors loose on it. The Quality don’t engage in trade, and anything that smacks of business befuddles ’em to the point where they must bring in the lawyers. That will take weeks, at least, and I am damned tired of waiting for my bride.”

“I’m sure you are,” Helmsley said, as he was damned tired of waiting for Stull to pay off his debts. He also silently allowed as how any solicitor of suitable talent to serve a future duke would likely find holes the size of bull elephants in the contracts. “Your plan sounds worthy to me, so what are we waiting for?”

The baron smiled, an ugly grimace of an expression. “We are waiting for Anna to go pick her bedamned flowers.”