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“My lord,” she said, addressing the hands she fisted in her lap, “can you not accept that were I to encourage your… mischief, I would be courting my own ruin?”
“Ruin?” He said with a snort. “Elise will be enjoying an entire estate for the rest of her days as a token of ruin at my hands—among others—if ruin you believe it to be. I did not take her virginity, either, Mrs. Seaton, and I am not a man who casually discards others.”
She was silent then raised her eyes, a mulish expression on her face.
“I will not seek another position as a function of what has gone between us so far, but you must stop.”
“Stop what, A
“You should not use my name, my lord,” she said, rising. “I have not given you leave to do so.”
He rose, as well, as if she were a lady deserving of his ma
He’d shocked her, he saw with some satisfaction. She’d thought him too autocratic to ask, and he was again reminded of his father’s ways. But she was looking at him now, really looking, and he pressed his advantage.
“I find it impossible to think of you as Mrs. Seaton. In this house, there is no other who treats me as you do, A
He watched as she closed her eyes and waged some internal struggle, but in the anguish on her face, he suspected victory in this skirmish was to be his. She’d grant him his request, precisely because he had made it a request, putting a small measure of power exclusively into her hands.
She nodded assent but looked miserable over it.
“And you,” he said, letting concern—not guilt, surely—show in his gaze, “you must consider me an ally, as well, A
She speared him with a stormy look. “An ally who would compromise my reputation, knowing without it I am but a pauper or worse.”
“I do not seek to bring you ruin,” he corrected her. “And I would never force my will on you.”
A
He stared after her for long moments, wrestling with her final accusation but coming to no tidy answers. He could offer A
For now, he could steal some delectable kisses—and perhaps more than kisses—while she found the resolve to refuse him altogether and send him packing.
He was lingering over his lemonade when Val wandered out looking sleepy and rumpled, shirt open at the throat and cuffs turned back.
“Ye gods, it is too hot to sleep.” He reached over and drained the last of his brother’s drink. “You do like it sweet.”
“Helps with my disposition. And as I did indeed have to deal with His Grace this morning, I feel entitled.”
“How bad was he?” Val asked as he sat and crossed his long legs at the ankle.
“Bad enough. Wanted to chat about the scene at Fairly’s but left yelling about grandchildren and disrespect.”
“Sounds about like your usual with him,” Val said as John Footman brought out a second tray, this one bearing something closer to breakfast.
“Mrs. S said to tell you this one is sweetened, my lord.” John set one glass before the earl. “And this one, less so,” he said as he placed the other before Val.
“I think she puts mint in it,” Val said after a long swallow.
“Mrs. Seaton?” the earl asked, sipping at his own drink. “Probably. She delights in all matters domestic.”
“And she did not appear to be delighting in you, when she was out here earlier.”
“Valentine.” The earl stared hard at his brother. “Were you spying on me?”
Val pointed straight up, to where the balcony of his bedroom overlooked the terrace. “I sleep on that balcony most nights,” he explained, “and you were not whispering. I, however, was sleeping and caught the tail end of an interesting exchange.”
The earl had the grace to study his drink at some silent length.
“Well?” He met his younger brother’s eyes, awaiting castigation.
“She is a decent woman, Westhaven, and if you trifle with her, she won’t be decent any longer, ever again. What is a fleeting pleasure for you changes her life irrevocably, and you can never, ever change it back. I am not sure you want that on your appallingly overactive conscience, as much as I applaud your improvement in taste.”
The earl swirled his drink and realized with a sinking feeling Val had gotten his graceful, talented hands on a truth.
“Maybe,” Val went on, “you should just marry the woman, hmm? You get on with her, you respect her, and if you marry her, she becomes a duchess. She could do worse, and it would appease Their Graces.”
“She would not like the duchess part.”
“You could make it worth her while,” Val said, his tone full of studied nonchalance.
“Listen to you. You would encourage me into the arms of a pox-ridden gin whore if it would result in His Grace getting a few grandsons.”
“No, I would not, or you wouldn’t have gotten that little postscript from me regarding Elise’s summer recreation, would you?”
The earl rose and regarded his brother. “You are a pestilential irritant of biblical proportions. If I do not turn out to be an exact replica of His Grace, it will be in part due to your aggravating influence.”
Val was gri
A
And as the week wore on, the heat became worse, with violent displays of lightning and thunder at night but no cooling rains to bring relief. The entire household was drinking cold tea, lemonade, and cold cider by the gallon, and livery was worn only at the front door. Everybody’s cuffs were turned back, collars were loosened, and petticoats were discarded.
A
“He misses our brothers,” the earl said from the kitchen doorway. “More than I realized, as, perhaps, do I.”
The music shifted and became dark, despairing, all the more convincingly so for being quiet. This wasn’t the passionate, bewildered grief of first loss; it was the grinding, desolate ache that followed. A
His eyes shifted back up just in time for A
“Come.” He took her hand and led her to the table, sitting her down, passing her his handkerchief, fetching the tray, then taking the place beside her, hip to hip.
They listened for long moments, the cool of the kitchen cocooning them both in the beauty and pain of the music, and then Val’s playing shifted again, still sad but with a piercingly sweet lift of acceptance and peace to it. Death, his music seemed to say, was not the end, not when there was love.