The Heir

“God, A

“I am fond of you,” he said, “and maybe more than that. If you are in trouble, A

“You can’t help,” she said, her expression unreadable.

He said nothing but climbed into bed beside her and lay back, his hands laced under his head. He should not have made that admission—fond of her, for God’s sake—what woman wants to hear that? He was fond of Elise, fond of Rose’s pony, George. It was as good as saying he did not love her, which he feared might not be true.

That is to say… He shied off that fence and turned his mind to A

She had a brother, he recalled. It was a brother’s job to protect a sister, so where was that worthy soul now that A

“Please assure me,” he said, glancing over at her, “you have no living husband.”

“I have no living husband,” A

“That is the truth,” A

He cracked a dry smile. “My dear, we are not even fornicating.”

“Not yet.” She offered him the same smile back.

“Are you a convicted felon?” he asked, puzzling over it.

“I am not charged with anything that I know of,” A

She sat up, hugging her knees, and Westhaven had the sense she was fighting back tears. Surely there was no more damning testament to a man’s seductions than that they left a woman in tears? He reached out and stroked his hand over her elegant spine.

“You are fond of me, but you are leaving me anyway.” She nodded once, her back to him, and he felt her heart breaking. With gentle force, he dragged her back into his arms and held her while she cried.

When the hamper had been repacked, A

“Pe

“It is lovely here,” A

He heard the wistful, almost despairing note in her voice, and knew with absolute conviction A

“I love my sisters. As any brother should love a sister.”

“They don’t all—brothers, that is,” A

“You simply have to choose the right brother”—Westhaven smiled at her gently—“or the right husband. I have enjoyed our time here, A

“Even when I cried,” she said, a world of resignation in her tone, “I was glad to be here with you, Westhaven. Believe that, if you believe nothing else of me.”

He handed her into the gig, puzzling over that comment. They were halfway back to Town, A

What she had meant was: Even when I cried because I must leave you, I was glad to be here with you… Believe that if you believe nothing else of me when I find the courage to finally go.

The hot, lovely day suddenly became ominous, and where A

Morgan stood beside Val when they’d left Viscount Fairly’s townhouse and listened. Fairly had worked a miracle, gently and thoroughly cleaning her ears, explaining that she had scar tissue complicating the natural process and her hearing would always be impaired. She thought he was daft, as she heard everything.

“It’s loud,” she said wonderingly. “But sweet, too. Like your music. The sounds all go together to say something.”

“Let’s walk home through the park,” Val suggested, offering his arm. “You can hear birds singing, hear the water in the Serpentine, hear the children playing… I never realized how happy the park sounds.”

“There’s so much…” Morgan took a deep breath and fell in step beside him. “I would never go anywhere I didn’t know well, because I could not stop to ask directions. I was confined to those places A

“That has changed. You may get lost several times a day, just to hear people give you directions. Are your ears hurting?”

“They are…” Morgan frowned. “Not hurting from the viscount’s treatment but throbbing, it feels like, with sounds. I’m pleased beyond telling to hear your voice, Lord Valentine.”

“Val,” he said easily. “I’d like to hear you say my name.”

“Valentine Windham.” Morgan smiled at him. “Musician and friend to hard-of-hearing chambermaids.”

“Did you ask Fairly if the cure is temporary?”

“It is. If I don’t look after my ears, they can get into the same state, particularly if I let quacks poke at me and bring me more infections and bleeding and scarring. He gave me an ear syringe and his card, should I have questions. However did you meet such a man?”

“Mutual friends,” Val said. “The circumstances were not particularly sanguine.”

“This involves your papa’s meddling?”

“Na

“What sorts of things?” Val asked, noticing Morgan’s voice was already increasing in range of pitch, taking on the intonations and inflections of a woman who could hear.

“Footmen are a bawdy lot,” Morgan said. “Na

“Has anyone been talking out of turn to His Grace?”

“Not that I know of.” Morgan frowned. “Mostly, the staff are very loyal to the earl, as he provided employment when His Grace was letting junior staff go, to hear them tell it. And I can.” Morgan sighed and hung a little on his arm. “I can hear them tell it. I will be on my knees for a long time tonight and every night. I wonder if I will sing again someday?”

“You like to sing?”

“Love to.” Morgan beamed at him. “I used to sing with my mother, and sometimes A

“So you are related to her?” Val asked, but Morgan’s hand dropped from his arm. “Morgan,” he chided, “A