The Heir

“Lord Westhaven?” Her hand came down to rest on his nape, then withdrew, then settled on him again. He knew he should move but didn’t until she stroked a hand over the back of his head. God in heaven, what was he about? And with his housekeeper, no less. He pushed to his feet and met her eyes.

“Apologies, Mrs. Seaton. A tray would be appreciated.”

A

When she knocked on his door, there was no immediate response, so she knocked again and heard a muffled command of some sort. She balanced the tray and pushed open the door, only to find the earl was not in his sitting room.

“In here,” the earl called from the bedroom. He was in a silk dressing gown and some kind of loose pajama pants, standing at the French doors to his balcony.

“Shall I put it outside?”

“Please.” He opened the door and took half a step back, allowing A

“I can sit for a few minutes,” A

If he picked up on her displeasure, he ignored it. A

He was just in want of company at the end of a trying day.

He took the tray and set it on a low table then dragged the chaise next to it. “How is it you always know exactly what to put on a tray and how to arrange it, so a man finds his appetite perfectly satisfied?”

“When you are raised by a man who loves flowers,” A

“Was he an old martinet, your grandfather?” the earl asked, fashioning himself a sandwich.

“Absolutely not,” A

“Somehow, I ca

“You are loving,” A

“Now that is beyond surprising.” The earl eyed her in the deepening shadows. “How do you conclude such a thing, Mrs. Seaton?”

“You have endless patience with your family, my lord,” she began. “You escort your sisters everywhere; you dance attendance on them and their hordes of friends at every proper function; you harry and hound the duke so his wild starts are not the ruination of his duchy. You force yourself to tend to mountains of business which you do not enjoy, so your family may be safe and secure all their days.”

“That is business,” the earl said, looking nonplussed that his first sandwich had disappeared, until A

“Did your sainted brother Bart ever tend to business?” A

“My sainted brother Bart, as you call him, did not live to be more than nine-and-twenty,” the earl pointed out, “and at that age, the heir to a duke is expected to carouse, gamble, race his bloodstock, and enjoy life.”

“And what age are you, your lordship?”

He sat back and took a sip of his drink. “Were you a man, I could tell you to go to hell, you know.”

“Were I a man,” A

“Oh?” He smiled, not exactly sweetly. “At which particular moment?”

“When you fail to offer a civil greeting upon seeing a person first thing in the day. When you can’t be bothered to look a person in the eye when you offer your rare word of thanks or encouragement. When you take out your moods and frustrations on others around you, like a child with no sense of how to go on.”

“Ye gods.” The earl held up a staying hand. “Pax! You make me sound like the incarnation of my father.”

“If the dainty little glass slipper fits, my lord…” A

“You are fearless,” the earl said, his tone almost humorous.

“I don’t mean to scold you”—A

“Lately?”

“You are out of sorts. I have mentioned this before.”

“And how do you know, A

A

“You have made a study of me,” the earl said, sounding as if he were relieved her conclusions were so flattering—if not quite accurate. “And where in my litany of virtues do you put my unwillingness to marry?”

A

“You think fidelity a hallmark of titled marriages, Mrs. Seaton?” The earl snorted and took a sip of his drink.

So I’m back to Mrs. Seaton, A

“You want what your parents have, my lord,” A

“Children who refuse to marry—assuming they remain extant?” the earl shot back.

“Your parents love each other,” A

The earl took a step closer to her. “And what if I am in need, A

He took the last step between them, and A

“Passion between two willing adults?” A

The earl responded by taking her hands and wrapping them around his waist then enfolding A

She had been here before, she thought distractedly, held in his arms, the night breezes playing in the branches above them, the scent of flowers intoxicatingly sweet in the darkness. And as before, he caressed her back in slow, soothing circles that urged her more fully against him.

“I ca

“You ca

Oh dear lord, she thought, wanting to hide her face against the warmth of his chest. He thought to kiss her. He was kissing her, delicate little nibbles that stole a march along her temple then her jaw. Oh, he knew what he was about, too, for his lips were soft and warm and coaxing, urging her to turn her head just so and tip her chin thus…

He settled his mouth over hers with a sigh, the joining of their lips making A