The Heir

Douglas’s voice, raised but not quite shouting, came from the corridor as Anna blinked herself awake. Dear God, the duke was going to find her in here, sprawled beside…

She hopped off the bed, shaking the earl’s shoulder firmly.

“My lord,” she hissed, “wake up.” He groaned and rolled, the covers slipping down his naked, spotted torso. “My lord!” He curled to his side, frowning.

“Gayle Tristan Montmorency Windham, wake up!”

“I am awake,” he said, automatically shoving the blankets aside, “and feeling like hell. Make way, lest I embarrass myself.”

“Your father is here,” Anna informed him, thrusting his dressing gown at him.

“Stand aside, Amery.” The duke’s voice rang with authority and disdain. “You will not keep a man from his son’s sick bed, or the magistrate will know the reason why.”

“Hurry.” The earl shoved his arms into his dressing gown, his father’s voice galvanizing him. “Find the book,” he ordered, and in a feat of desperate strength, shoved the tub across the room behind the privacy screen. Anna tossed the covers back over the bed, opened the drapes, and pulled two chairs up to the hearth.

“Your son is not an infant,” Douglas said with equal disdain. “He does not need his papa checking up on him. You will please wait in the parlor like any civilized caller, even at this uncivilized hour.”

“You insult your betters, Amery,” the duke stormed, “and you would not know a father’s affection if it landed on the back of your horse. I will see my son.” The door crashed open, causing Anna to look up from where she was tending the hearth. She rose slowly but kept hold of the poker.

“Westhaven.” The duke marched up to his son, who was reading Caesar by the hearth. “What are you doing rusticating here, when you should be in the care of our personal physicians?”

“Do I look ill?” Westhaven stood and raised a lordly eyebrow at his father, who did not quite match his son in height. “Or any more ill than I usually appear, as fatigue is a constant companion when one has as much to see to as I do.”

Douglas stifled a snort at that but quickly frowned as two rotund gentlemen pushed past him into the room, having obviously escaped the barrier of footmen at the foot of the stairs.

“We can examine him immediately, Your Grace,” the shorter of the two said, opening a black satchel. “If the young lady would please leave us?”

“Out, girl,” the duke barked at Anna.

“I don’t answer to you, my lord,” Anna barked right back. “If your son were sick, his health would be best served by allowing him rest, Your Grace. I suggest you take your minions and wait in the parlor, lest Lord Amery be the one to summon the magistrate to eject trespassers.”

The duke glared at his host. “Amery, your help is insufferable.”

“No, Your Grace,” Westhaven bit out with the same disdain Anna had shown. “You are insufferable. I am here to visit my niece, and there is no call whatsoever for you to interfere. You have, as usual, caused a great deal of drama at the expense of others, for your own entertainment. Your absence would be appreciated.”

“And how about mine?” Valentine Windham strolled into the room. “Westhaven, my apologies. I have no idea how His Grace has managed to track you here. Shall I engage in a physical display of disrespect toward our parent?”

“This I must see,” said another masculine voice from the corridor.

A tall, dark-haired man with icy blue eyes sauntered in behind Lord Valentine.

“Greymoor.” Douglas nodded, his eyes glinting with humor.

“Amery.” The latest player on the stage nodded in return.

“What is he doing here?” the duke thundered, glaring at Greymoor. “And I suppose your rakehell brother is bringing up the rear?”

Greymoor offered a slight bow. “The marquis may join us shortly, but was up most of the night with a colicky infant, which this fellow,” Greymoor cocked an eyebrow at the earl, “is most assuredly not.”

“I insist that I be assured of his health, and immediately,” the duke snapped. “Woman, you will leave this room, or I will physically see to it myself.”

“Lay a hand on her,” the earl interjected softly, “and you will see just how robust I can be, Papa.” Unbidden, Douglas, Valentine, and Greymoor shifted to flank Anna and the earl by the hearth.

“I will not have this,” the duke shouted. “A man has the right to be assured of the health of his heir!”

“Grandpapa! ” Rose trumpeted from the doorway. “Shame on you! There is a no- shouting-in-the-house rule, just as there is a no-running-in-the-barn rule.”

And clearly, her tone said, a grandpapa was expected to know and obey the rules.

“Rose,” the duke said, his volume substantially decreased, “if you will excuse us, poppet, your uncles and I were just having a small disagreement.”

Rose crossed her arms over her skinny chest. “You were the one yelling, Grandpapa, and you didn’t apologize.”

To the amazement of all, the duke nodded at his older son and at Lord Amery. “Gentlemen, my apologies for raising my voice to a level that disturbed my granddaughter.”

“Apology accepted,” Westhaven ground out.

“Now, poppet,” the duke said with exaggerated patience, “will you excuse us?”

“Papa?” Rose turned to her step-father, who held out a hand to her.

“No need to go just yet, Rose,” he said. She bounded over to him and was soon perched on his hip. The duke, looking frustrated beyond bearing, stomped out of the room, snapping his fingers to indicate his lackeys were to follow.

Greymoor closed the door and locked it. Val went to assist his brother into a chair, and Douglas tossed Rose onto the bed.

“Grandpapa was in a temper,” Rose said, bouncing on the mattress. “His neck was red, and I think his physicians ought to examine him.”

“Apoplexy isn’t something I would wish on even him,” Douglas said. “Rose, don’t bounce so high, you’ll hit the canopy.” This inspired Rose to reach up and try to touch the canopy on every leap, while Val scowled at his brother.

“You really do not look well, Westhaven,” he concluded. “How in the hell did His Grace get word you were ill in the first place?”

“I know not,” the earl replied wearily.

“Spies,” Greymoor said. “Might I have an introduction to the other lovely lady in the room before we get to that?”

“My apologies,” Douglas said. “Mrs. Anna Seaton, may I make known to you Andrew Alexander, Lord Greymoor. Mrs. Seaton is visiting with us while Westhaven recuperates.”

“What about me?” Rose flopped down on the bed. “You didn’t bow to me, Cousin Andrew.”

“You get off that bed and make a proper curtsy,” Lord Andrew said, “and I will make you a proper bow.” He scooped up Rose as she made an elaborate curtsy. “Magic misses you,” Lord Andrew whispered. “He’s telling George just how much right now.”

“Oh, can I go visit Sir Magic before you leave?” Rose squealed, perfectly content to remain cuddled against her mother’s cousin.

“Of course, but I think there are weighty matters to discuss first.” He sat on the bed with Rose and tossed an expectant look at the earl. “Westhaven, what’s wrong with you?”

“He has the chicken pox,” Rose volunteered. “You know, where you get all spotty and itchy and cranky?”

“I noticed the cranky part.” Greymoor nodded. “You must have a serious case, Westhaven, the symptoms have been in evidence for some time. I don’t see the spots, though.”

In reply, the earl hiked the sleeve of his dressing gown, exposing a spotty, hairy, muscular forearm.

“Poor blighter,” Lord Andrew murmured. “Had ’em myself when I was seven.”

“Seems we’ve all had them,” Lord Valentine commented, “except for Fairly.”

Westhaven sat down wearily. “I am told I’m recuperating despite the absence of a quack, but it seems we should send somebody downstairs to keep His Grace from further mischief.”

“I’ll go with you, Douglas,” Greymoor said, “and referee your entertainment of the duke. Val, can you valet