The Heir

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 roue 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.