The Heir

Another pause while A

“I must decline,” he said slowly, “though I comprehend the great honor you do me, and I would not wish bastardy on our progeny either.”

“You must decline?” A

“I must decline,” the earl repeated, his words coming a little faster than he intended, “because I have it on great good authority one accepts a proposal of marriage only when one ca

A

“I love you, Westhaven,” she reminded him, “I’ve told you this.”

“You told me on one occasion.”

A

“I have not been honest,” the earl corrected her swiftly, lest she rise and he give in to the need to tackle her bodily right there in the green grass.

“At the risk of differing with a lady, I must stand firm on that one point, but I can correct the oversight now.” He slipped off the bench and took her right hand in both of his as he went down on one knee before her.

“I love you,” he said, holding her gaze. “I love you, I ca

“You love me?”

“For God’s sake.” He was off his knee in an instant, dusting briskly at his breeches. “Why else would I have tried to keep my bloody paws off you when you were just eight and twenty feet down the hall? Why else would I have gone to my father—Meddling Moreland himself?—to ask for help and advice? Why else would I have let you go, for pity’s sake, if I didn’t love you until I’m blind and silly and… Jesus, yes, I love you.”

“Westhaven.” A

“I am not in the habit of lying to the woman whom I hope to make my duchess.”

That, he saw, got through to her. Since the day she’d bashed him with her poker, he’d been honest with her. Cranky, gruff, demanding, what have you, but he’d been honest. So he was honest again.

“I love you, A

She cradled her hand along his jaw, and in her eyes, he saw his own joy mirrored, his incredulity that life could offer him a gift as stu

She leaned into him, as if the weight of his honesty were too much. “Oh, you are the most awful man. Of course I will marry you, of course I love you, of course I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But you have made me cry, and I have need of your handkerchief.”

“You have need of my arms,” he said, laughing and scooping her up against his chest. He pressed his forehead to hers and jostled her a little in his embrace. “Say it, A

He was smiling at her, gri

“I love you,” A

“And my wife?” He spun them in a circle, the better to hold her tightly to his chest. “You’ll be my wife, and my duchess, and the mother of my children?”

“With greatest joy, I’ll be your wife, your duchess, and the mother of all your children. Now please, please, put me down and kiss me silly. I have missed you so.”

“My handkerchief.” He set her down on the bench, surrendered his handkerchief with a flourish, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “And my heart, not in that order.”

And then he bent his head and kissed her silly.

Epilogue

ANNA WINDHAM, COUNTESS OF WESTHAVEN, WAS enjoying a leisurely measure of those things which pleased her most: peace and quiet at the end of the evening and anticipation of her husband’s exclusive company in the great expanse of the marital bed.

“I can wait, A

“It has been eternities,” A

“Husband, I have missed you.”

“I’m right here. I will always be here, but we can’t rush this. You’ve had a baby, given me my heir, and you must prom—”

She kissed him into silence then kissed him into kissing her back, but he was made of ducally stern stuff.

“A

She got her legs wrapped around his flanks and began to undulate her damp sex along the glorious length of his rigid erection.

Take it slowly. What foolishness her husband spouted.

“We’ll be fine,” she whispered, lipping at his ear lobe. “Better than fine.”

As they sank into the fathomless bliss of intimate reunion, they were fine indeed, and then much, much, much better than fine.

Acknowledgments

It takes a village to transform a first-time author’s aspirations into the lovely book you’re reading now. At the risk of leaving out a few deserving villagers, I’d like to thank my editor, Deb Werksman, who has been patient and supportive over a long haul, and my agent, Kevan Lyon, who has been forbearing with an author who has more enthusiasm than industry expertise (for now!). The art department, marketing, and copy-editing folks all deserve an enthusiastic nod, along with editorial assistants and numerous other contributors.

And first, last and always, I must thank my family, whose emphasis on education and the life of the mind resulted in my having enough imagination to create The Heir. Enjoy!

About the Author

Grace Burrowes is the pen name for a prolific and award-wi