The Heir

“Enterprising of you,” the earl said, reaching for the stack of papers Hazlit passed to him. “Ye Gods…” He sorted through the IOUs and markers, his eyebrows rising. “This is a not-so-small fortune by Yorkshire standards.”

“My guess, and it’s only a guess, is that A

“You manage to imply a host of nasty outcomes, Mr. Hazlit,” the earl observed, “though nothing worse than my imagination has concocted. Any advice from this point out?”

“Don’t let them out of your sight,” Hazlit said. “It is not kidnapping if you are a concerned and titled brother looking for sisters whom you can paint as flighty at best. He can snatch either one, and there will be nothing you or anyone else could do about it. Nothing.”

“Can he marry them off?”

“Of course. For Morgan, in particular, that would be simple, as she was arguably impaired by her deafness, and marriage is considered to be in a woman’s best interests.”

“Considered by men,” the earl replied with a thin smile. “Well, thank you, Hazlit. I will convince the ladies to remain glued to my side, and all will be well.”

Hazlit stood, accepting the hand proffered by the earl. “Better yet, marry the woman to someone you can trust to look out for her and to manage Helmsley. The situation could resolve itself quite easily.”

“You are not married, Mr. Hazlit, are you?”

“I do not at this time enjoy the wedded state,” Hazlit said, his smile surprisingly boyish. “I do enjoy the unwedded state.”

“Thus sayeth we all,” the earl said, escorting Hazlit to the front door. “Those of us in expectation of titles sometimes particularly enjoy the unwedded state—while we can.” Something briefly shone in Hazlit’s dark eyes—regret? Sympathy?—it was gone before the earl could analyze it.

“Good day, my lord,” Hazlit said, his eyes drifting to the huge bouquet on the table, “and good luck keeping your valuables safe.”

The earl retreated to his study, pe

So he sat for a long time, sipping his sweetened lemonade, contemplating the bouquet in the fireplace, and considering how exactly he could keep A

When darkness was begi

Dev was clearly trying to contain his questions about the fire out in Surrey, but when the meal was consumed, sweets and all, the earl asked his brothers to take an after-di

“But you can’t keep them under surveillance every minute,” Dev protested. “They are intelligent women, and they will soon know we’re up to something.”

“I’ll talk to A

Val exchanged a look with Dev. “So the ducal blood will out, and you’re taking the Roman example of seizing and carrying off your bride.”

Westhaven sighed. “I am no more willing to force a marriage on A

“Glad you comprehend that much,” Dev said. “Best of luck convincing her she needs bodyguards. Morgan, at least, can’t argue with us.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Val said, his expression preoccupied. “I have missed my piano though, so I’ll leave you, Westhaven, to reason with A

“Damn.” Dev watched his youngest brother depart and smiled at the earl. “And here I’ve been baring everything else to the wenches at the Pleasure House. Which of us, do you suppose, has it right?”

“Neither.” The earl smiled. “When it comes down to it, I’m having to admit in the things that matter most, it’s the duke who has gotten closest to the mark.”

Devlin cast him a curious glance then ambled off to tuck in his horses. Westhaven was alone in the darkened alley when he heard the barest thread of a whisper summoning him farther into the shadows.

“This is short notice, your lordship.” Hazlit studied the Earl of Westhaven by the light of the candles in the man’s library. It was a handsome room, and Hazlit had noted at their earlier meeting the whole house appeared well cared for. The bouquets were fresh, the wood work polished, the windows sparkling, and not a speck of dust to be seen.

“I apologize for the lateness of the hour, Hazlit,” the earl said. “May I offer you a drink?”

“You may.” Hazlit accepted the offer, in part because the quality of the drink served told him about a man’s character, but also because he had the sense the earl was offering not in an attempt to manipulate but out of sheer good breeding.

“Whiskey or brandy?”

“Whatever you’re having,” Hazlit replied. “I assume we meet to discuss the same matter?”

“We do,” the earl said, handing Hazlit a generous tot of whiskey. “To your health.”

“Yours.” Hazlit sipped cautiously then paused. “Lovely, but I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s a private label.” The earl smiled. “Heathgate owns the distillery and calls this his bribing vintage.”

Hazlit nodded. He had sampled this vintage before but not often, and it wasn’t something he’d admit about one client to another. “My compliments. Now, how can I assist you?”

“Shall we sit?” The earl gestured to the long, comfortable-looking leather sofa, and Hazlit sank into one corner. The earl took up a rocking chair, his drink in hand. “I have become aware my house is being watched, front and back. I had a very interesting discussion last night when I went to bid my horse good night. I was accosted by an urchin loyal to David Worthington, Viscount Fairly, who was picketed in my mews unbeknownst to me.”

Hazlit merely nodded, his eyes locked on the earl.

“More significantly,” the earl went on, “I was informed my house is also being watched by the minions of one Whit, who is in the employ of two gentlemen from the North, one of whom is obese.” The earl paused to sip his drink. “I recently purchased a modest property a short distance from Town, Willow Bend by name. The stables there were burned last week, and other buildings were soaked with lamp oil. By chance, acquaintances happened to see the stables burning and summoned help before the rest of the property could be set ablaze.

“Fortunately, the place was not yet occupied, and only the stables were lost. I hired a ru

“You suspect these men were sent after Mrs. Seaton,” Hazlit suggested.

The earl met Hazlit’s eyes. “I suspect one of them of being her brother, the earl. Is he reported to be portly?”