The Heir

The night was difficult for them both, with the earl again dozing between bouts of higher fever and A

“I think you would be more comfortable if we doused you in cool water from head to toe,” A

“That would involve moving, and right now, A

“But if we can get your fever down it won’t hurt as much.”

“If you insist.” The earl made the monumental effort to push himself to the edge of the bed, but he needed A

“So tomorrow night should be easier?”

“It should,” A

“Do you have children?” the earl asked from the depths of the towel around his head.

Her hands went still, but her voice was steady when she answered. “I do not. Do you?”

“None. But marry me, A

“I will not marry you,” she said, going to stand behind him. He felt the first gentle tug of the brush through his hair. “But you should have children. You will be a very good father, and children will be good for you.”

“How so?” He closed his eyes, the better to enjoy the feel of the brush stroking gently across his scalp. “My father has hardly given me an example I want to emulate.”

“That’s just bluster.” A

“Ridiculous lengths,” Westhaven said. “I would regale you with the details, but I hardly have the strength to keep my eyes open.” He rose under his own power when A

“Nor are you worsening, particularly.”

“True.” He closed his eyes and inhaled the rosy fragrance of her skin. “If I should worsen, you must promise me not to let His Grace inflict his cronies on me.”

A

“I will not let your father bother you. It has occurred to me that were you in need of someone to guard you from his mischief, Lord Amery and his wife are probably better equipped to do that than the Queen’s own.”

“Come to think of it, you are right. I will sleep better for the realization.”

She tucked in the covers around him, laid a hand on his forehead, then smoothed back his hair. When his breathing evened out into sleep, she blew out the candles, banked the fire, and drew the extra blanket around her shoulders. As she curled down to rest her cheek against the bed, she felt the earl’s hand stroking her hair in a slow, repetitive caress. The tenderness of the gesture soothed them both, and A

Eight

“YOUR GRACE WILL NOT DISTURB A GUEST UNDER my roof.”

Douglas’s voice, raised but not quite shouting, came from the corridor as A

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,” A

“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. A

“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 A

“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 A

“I don’t answer to you, my lord,” A

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

“No, Your Grace,” Westhaven bit out with the same disdain A

“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 A

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