The Heir

“You don’t sound sorry,” she muttered, still against his chest.

“A besetting sin of my gender,” and Anna could tell he was teasing—mostly.

“You aren’t truly sorry.” She found the strength to shove away from him but turned out to regard the night rather than face him. “But you have regret over this.”

“I regret,” he said directly above and behind her ear, “that I may have offended you. I regret just as much that we are not now tossing back my lavender-scented sheets in preparation for that passion between consenting adults I mentioned earlier.”

“There will be no more of that,” Anna said, inhaling sharply. “No more mentioning, no more kissing, no more talk of sheets and whatnot.”

“As you wish,” he said, still standing far too close behind her. He was careful not to touch her, but Anna could tell he was inhaling her scent, because she was doing the same with his.

“What I wish is of no moment,” she said, “like the happiness of a future duke. No moment whatsoever.”

He did step back at that, to her relief. Mostly, her relief.

“You have accepted my apology?” he asked, his voice cooling.

“I have.”

“And you won’t be resigning or disappearing without notice?”

“I will not.”

“Your word, Anna?” he pressed, reverting to tones of authority.

“My word, your lordship.”

He flinched at that, which was a minor gratification.

A silence, unhappy for her, God knew what for him, stretched between them.

“Were you to disappear, I would worry about you, you know,” he said softly. He trailed his fingers down over her wrist to lace with hers and squeeze briefly.

She nodded, as there was nothing to say to such folly. Not one thing.

In the moonlight, he saw her face in profile, eyes closed, head back. His last comment seemed to strike her with the same brutal intensity as her use of his title had hit him, for she stiffened as if she’d taken an arrow in the back before dropping his hand and fleeing.

When he was sure she’d left his rooms, the earl went inside and locked his bedroom door then returned to the darkness of the balcony. He shucked his trousers, unfolded the napkin from the dinner tray, and lay back on the chaise. As his eyes fell closed, his dressing gown fell open, and he let memories of Anna Seaton fill his imagination.

In the soft, sweet darkness, he drew out his own pleasure, recalling each instant of that kiss, each pleasure. The clean, brisk scent of her, the softness of her lips, the way she startled minutely when his hands had settled on her shoulders. When he finally did allow himself satisfaction, the sensations were more gratifying and intense than anything he’d experienced with Elise.

It was enough, he assured himself. He was content for one night to have kissed her and pleasured himself resoundingly. If she truly insisted he keep his distance, he would respect that, but he would make damned sure her decision was based on as much persuasive information as he could put before her.

As the night settled peacefully into his bones, he closed his eyes and started making a list.

Anna was up early enough the next morning to see to her errand, one she executed faithfully on the first of each month—rain, shine, snow, or heat. She sat down with pen, plain paper, and ink, and printed, in the most nondescript hand she could muster, the same three words she had been writing each month for almost two years: All is well. She sanded that page and let it dry while she wrote the address of an obscure Yorkshire posting inn on an envelope. Just as she was tucking her missive into its envelope, booted footsteps warned her she would soon not have the kitchen to herself.

“Up early, aren’t you, Mrs. Seaton?” the earl greeted her.

“As are you, my lord,” she replied casually, sliding the letter into her reticule.

“I am off to let Pericles stretch his legs, but I find myself in need of sustenance.”

“Would you like a muffin, my lord? I can fix you something more substantial, or you can take the muffin with you.”

“A muffin will do nicely, or perhaps two.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You aren’t going to be shy with me, are you, Mrs. Seaton?”

“Shy?” And just like that, she blushed, damn him. “Why ever would I…? Oh, shy. Of course not. A small, insignificant, forgivable indiscretion on the part of one’s employer is hardly cause to become discomposed.”

“Glad you aren’t the type to take on, but I would not accost you where someone might come upon us,” the earl said, pouring himself a measure of lemonade.

“My lord,” she shot back, “you will not accost me anywhere.”

“If you insist. Some lemonade before you go out?”

“You are attempting to be charming,” Anna accused. “Part of your remorse over your misbehavior last evening.”

“That must be it.” He nodded. “Have some lemonade anyway. You will go marching about in the heat and find yourself parched in no time.”

“It isn’t that hot yet,” Anna countered, accepting a glass of lemonade, “And a lady doesn’t march.”

“Here’s to ladies who don’t march.” The earl saluted with his drink. “Now, about those muffins? Pericles is waiting.”

“Mustn’t inconvenience dear Pericles,” Anna muttered loudly enough for the earl to hear her, but his high- handedness did not inspire blushes, so it was an improvement of sorts. She opened the bread box—where anybody would have known to look for the muffins—and selected the two largest. The earl was sitting on the wooden table and let Anna walk up to him to hand over the goodies.

“There’s my girl.” He smiled at her. “See? I don’t bite, though I’ve been known to nibble. So what is in this batch?”

“Cinnamon and a little nutmeg, with a caramel sort of glaze throughout,” Anna said. “You must have slept fairly well.”

Now that she was close enough to scrutinize him, Anna saw that the earl’s energy seemed to have been restored to him. He was in much better shape than he had been the previous evening, and—oh dear—the man was actually smiling, and at her.

“I did sleep well.” The earl bit into a muffin. “And he is dear, you know. Pericles, that is. And this”—he looked her right in the eye—“is a superb muffin.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She couldn’t help but smile at him when he was making such a concerted effort not to annoy her.

“Perhaps you’d like a bite?” He tore off a piece and held it out to her, and abruptly, he was being very annoying indeed.

“I’ll just have one of my own.”

“They are that good, aren’t they?” the earl said, popping the bite into his maw. “Where do you go this early in the morning, Mrs. Seaton?”

“I have some errands,” she said, pulling a crocheted summer glove over her left hand.

“Ah.” The earl nodded sagely. “I have a mother and five sisters, plus scads of female cousins. I have heard of these errands. They are the province of women and seem to involve getting a dizzying amount done in a short time or spending hours on one simple task.”

“They can,” she allowed, watching two sizeable muffins meet their end in mere minutes. The earl rose and gave her another lordly smile.

“I’ll leave you to your errands. I am fortified sufficiently for mine to last at least until breakfast. Good day to you, Mrs. Seaton.”

“Good day, my lord.” Anna retrieved her reticule from the table and made for the hallway, relieved to have put her first encounter of the day with his lordship behind her.

“Mrs. Seaton?” His lordship was frowning at the table, but when he looked up at her, his expression became perfectly blank—but for the mischief in his eyes.