The Heir (33 page)

So he sat for a long time, sipping his sweetened lemonade, contemplating the bouquet in the fireplace, and considering how exactly he could keep Anna Seaton—Anna
James
—safe when her valise was packed and sitting on her bed, just as it had been the night they’d been called out to Willow Bend.

When darkness was beginning to fall, Westhaven was pleased to see both his brothers would be joining him for dinner. Val, with music books, wardrobe, and horse in tow, had rejoined the earl’s household, claiming the duke was bloody well enough recovered to drive anybody to Bedlam.

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-dinner stroll with him to the stables. Once there, away from the house and its balconies, he explained what Hazlit had told him and enlisted his brothers’ support in seeing to it Anna and Morgan were kept safe.

“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 Anna tonight,” the earl said. “She has to be made to see reason, or I’ll bundle her off to Morelands myself, there to be confined until she’ll marry me.”

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 Anna than she would be willing to take her vows on those terms. I would live down to her worst expectations were I to even attempt it.”

“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 Anna, while I bare my soul to my art.”

“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 runner, who was able to deduce that two men, well dressed, one quite portly, bought a quantity of lamp oil the day before my stables burned, from the last likely source before one leaves Town for the Surrey countryside.”

“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?”

“He is not.” Hazlit fished in a pocket of his coat, and brought out a small pad of a paper. “Have you a pen?”

The earl got up and went to his desk, setting out ink, pen, sand, and knife on the blotter. Hazlit brought his drink to the desk, assumed the earl’s wingback chair, and with the earl looking over his shoulder, sketched a figure of a man.

“Helmsley,” Hazlit said tersely, tearing off the sheet and starting another sketch, this one of the man’s face. While Hazlit sketched, the earl studied the little ink drawing.

“Helmsley has bulk to him,” Hazlit said as he worked. “He’s close to six feet, and bad living is going to ensure middle age is a short interlude before the man’s shoulders are stooped, his gut sagging, and his face lined. There.”

Hazlit tore off the second drawing. “He bears a slight resemblance to your housekeeper around the eyes and perhaps in the texture and color of the hair.”

“He does.” The earl frowned. “He’s older than Anna?”

“He is. He is not your portly man, though. He qualifies as well fed but not obese.”

“Can you take this picture to the man who sold the lamp oil?” the earl suggested, picking up the second drawing. “And maybe get a description of the other fellow?”

“I can. I can also go back north and ask around regarding the portly man.”

“That will take some time.” The earl leaned against the arm of the sofa. “I hardly need tell you to spare no expense.” He appeared lost in thought, and Hazlit waited. “Do you think Anna’s grandmother is well enough to travel?”

“She hasn’t been seen much off the estate since her husband died,” Hazlit replied. “That does not suggest good health, but it might also mean she’s a virtual prisoner.”

The earl looked up sharply, and Hazlit had the sense his casual comment snapped something into place in the earl’s mind.

“If we cannot establish Anna’s brother is here in London,” the earl said slowly, “then I want you to go
north and figure out just where the hell he is. I believe he is the primary threat to Anna’s welfare, and his leverage is that he holds her grandmother’s welfare in his hands.”

“And the fat man?” Hazlit rose. “We know he’s in Town and that he’s probably lying in wait for Mrs. Seaton.”

“But waiting for what?” the earl mused. “For the brother to come to Town and have the legal right to reclaim his sisters, perhaps?”

“Good question,” Hazlit agreed. “Let me take the sketches with me, and maybe by tomorrow, I can have some answers for you.”

“My thanks,” the earl said, showing his guest to the front door.

Westhaven sat in the library for long moments, sipping cold tea and staring at the first sketch. When Anna came in, he slid the drawing into a drawer then rose to meet her.

“You are up late,” she observed, going into his arms. He kissed her cheek, and Anna squealed. “And your lips are cold.”

“So warm them up,” he teased, kissing her cheek again. “I’ve been swilling cold tea and whiskey and putting off having an argument with you.”

“What are we going to argue about?” Anna asked, pulling back enough to regard him warily.

“Your safety,” he said, tugging her by the wrist to the sofa. “I want to ask you, one more time, to let me help you, Anna. I have the sense if you don’t let me assist you now, it might soon be too late.”

“Why now?” she asked, searching his eyes.

“You have your character,” he pointed out. “Val
told me you asked him for it, and he gave it to you, as well as one for Morgan.”

“A character is of no use to me if it isn’t in my possession.”

“Anna,” he chided, his thumb rubbing over her wrist, “you could have told me.”

“That was not our arrangement. Why can you not simply accept I must solve my own problems? Why must you take this on, too?”

He looped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her against him. “Aren’t you the one telling me I should lean on my family a little more? Let my brothers help with business matters? Set my mother and sisters some tasks?”

“Yes.” She buried her nose against his shoulder. “But I am not the heir to the Duke of Moreland. I am a simple housekeeper, and my problems are my own.”

“I’ve tried,” he said, kissing her temple. “I’ve tried and tried and tried to win your trust, Anna, but I can’t make you trust me.”

“No,” she said, “you cannot.”

“You leave me no choice. I will take steps on my own tomorrow to safeguard you and your sister, as well.”

She just nodded, leaving him to wonder what it was she didn’t say. His other alternative was to wash his hands of her, and that he could not do. “Come up to bed with me?”

“Of course,” she said and let him draw her to her feet.

He said nothing, not with words, not as they undressed each other, not as they settled into one another’s arms on his big, soft bed. But when communications were offered by touch, by sigh and kiss and
caress, he told her loved her and would lay down his life to keep her safe.

She told him she loved him, that she would always treasure the memories she held of him, that she would never love another.

And she told him good-bye.

The next day started out in a familiar pattern, with the earl riding in the park with his brothers and Anna joining Cook on the weekly marketing. The women took two footmen as was their usual custom. Unbeknownst to Anna, the earl had taken both men aside and acquainted them with the need to serve as bodyguards and not just porters.

When the earl and his brothers were safely away from the mews, he wasted no time informing them of recent developments.

“So as long as this Whit is content to bilk his employers and draw out his surveillance contract,” the earl concluded, “we have some time, but it becomes more imperative than ever that Anna not be left alone.”

“Where is she now?” Dev asked, frowning at his horse’s neck.

“At market, with a footman on each arm, both ordered not to let her out of their sight.”

“Let’s ride home by way of the market,” Dev suggested. “I have an odd feeling.”