The Heir (8 page)

“When you are raised by a man who loves flowers,” Anna said, “you develop an eye for what is pleasing and for how to please him.”

“Was he an old martinet, your grandfather?” the earl asked, fashioning himself a sandwich.

“Absolutely not,” Anna said, taking the other wicker seat. “He was the most gracious, loving, happy man it will ever be my pleasure to know.”

“Somehow, I cannot see anyone describing me as gracious, loving, and happy.” He frowned at his sandwich as if in puzzlement.

“You are loving,” Anna replied staunchly, though she hadn’t exactly planned for those words to leave her mouth.

“Now that is beyond surprising.” The earl eyed her in the deepening shadows. “How do you conclude such a thing, Mrs. Seaton?”

“You have endless patience with your family, my lord,” she began. “You escort your sisters everywhere; you dance attendance on them and their hordes of friends at every proper function; you harry and hound the duke so his wild starts are not the ruination of his
duchy. You force yourself to tend to mountains of business which you do not enjoy, so your family may be safe and secure all their days.”

“That is business,” the earl said, looking nonplussed that his first sandwich had disappeared, until Anna handed him a second. “The head of the family tends to business.”

“Did your sainted brother Bart ever tend to business?” Anna asked, stirring the sugar up from the bottom of the earl’s drink.

“My sainted brother Bart, as you call him, did not live to be more than nine-and-twenty,” the earl pointed out, “and at that age, the heir to a duke is expected to carouse, gamble, race his bloodstock, and enjoy life.”

“And what age are you, your lordship?”

He sat back and took a sip of his drink. “Were you a man, I could tell you to go to hell, you know.”

“Were I a man,” Anna said, “I would have already told you the same thing.”

“Oh?” He smiled, not exactly sweetly. “At which particular moment?”

“When you fail to offer a civil greeting upon seeing a person first thing in the day. When you can’t be bothered to look a person in the eye when you offer your rare word of thanks or encouragement. When you take out your moods and frustrations on others around you, like a child with no sense of how to go on.”

“Ye gods.” The earl held up a staying hand. “Pax! You make me sound like the incarnation of my father.”

“If the dainty little glass slipper fits, my lord…” Anna shot back, glad for the gathering shadows.

“You are fearless,” the earl said, his tone almost humorous.

“I don’t mean to scold you”—Anna shook her head, courage faltering—“because you are a truly decent man, but lately, my lord…”

“Lately?”

“You are out of sorts. I have mentioned this before.”

“And how do you know, Anna Seaton, I am not always a bear with a sore paw? Some people are given to unpleasant demeanors, and it is just their nature.”

Anna shook her head. “Not you. You are serious but not grim; you are proud but not arrogant; you care a great deal for the people you love but have only limited means of expressing it.”

“You have made a study of me,” the earl said, sounding as if he were relieved her conclusions were so flattering—if not quite accurate. “And where in my litany of virtues do you put my unwillingness to marry?”

Anna shrugged. “Perhaps you are simply not yet ready to limit your attentions to one woman.”

“You think fidelity a hallmark of titled marriages, Mrs. Seaton?” The earl snorted and took a sip of his drink.

So I’m back to Mrs. Seaton, Anna thought, knowing the topic had gotten sensitive.

“You want what your parents have, my lord,” Anna said, rising.

“Children who refuse to marry—assuming they remain extant?” the earl shot back.

“Your parents love each other,” Anna said, taking in the back gardens below as moonlight cast them in silvery beauty. “They love each other as friends and
lovers and partners and parents.” She turned, finding him on his feet directly behind her. “That is why you will not settle for some little widgeon picked out by your well-meaning papa.”

The earl took a step closer to her. “And what if I am in need, Anna Seaton, not of this great love you surmise between my parents but simply of some uncomplicated, lusty passion between two willing adults?”

He took the last step between them, and Anna’s middle simply vanished. Where her vital organs used to reside, there was a great, gaping vacuum, a fluttery nothingness that grew larger and more dumbstruck as the earl’s hands settled with breathtaking gentleness on her shoulders. He slid his palms down her arms, grasping her hands, and easing her toward him.

“Passion between two willing adults?” Anna repeated, her voice coming out whispery, not the incredulous retort she’d meant it to be.

The earl responded by taking her hands and wrapping them around his waist then enfolding Anna against his body.

She had been here before, she thought distractedly, held in his arms, the night breezes playing in the branches above them, the scent of flowers intoxicatingly sweet in the darkness. And as before, he caressed her back in slow, soothing circles that urged her more fully against him.

“I cannot allow this.” Anna breathed in his scent and rested her cheek against the cool silk of his dressing gown. He shifted, easing the material aside, and her face touched his bare chest. She did not even try to resist the pleasure of his clean, male skin beneath her cheek.

“You cannot,” he whispered, but it didn’t sound like he was agreeing with her. “You should not,” he clarified, “but perhaps, Anna Seaton, you can allow just a kiss, stolen on a soft summer evening.”

Oh dear lord, she thought, wanting to hide her face against the warmth of his chest. He thought to kiss her.
He was kissing her
, delicate little nibbles that stole a march along her temple then her jaw. Oh, he knew what he was about, too, for his lips were soft and warm and coaxing, urging her to turn her head just so and tip her chin thus…

He settled his mouth over hers with a sigh, the joining of their lips making Anna more aware of every aspect of the moment—the crickets singing, the distant clop of hooves one street over, the soughing of the scented breeze, and the thumping of her heart like a kettledrum against her chest.

“Just a kiss, Anna…” he reminded her, her name on his lips a caress Anna felt to her soul. Her sturdy country-girl’s bones melted, leaving her weight resting against him in shameless wonder. When his tongue slipped along the seam of her lips, her knees turned weak, and a whimper of pleasure welled. Soft, sweet, lemony tart and seductive, he stole into her mouth, giving her time to absorb each lush caress of lips and breath and tongue.

And then, as if his mouth weren’t enough of a sin, his hands slid down her back in a slow, warm press that ended with him cupping her derriere, pulling her into his greater height and into the hard ridge of male flesh that rose between them. She didn’t flinch back. She went up on her toes and pressed herself
more fully against him, her hands finding their way inside his dressing gown to knead the muscles of his back.

She wrapped herself around him, clinging in complete abandon as her tongue gradually learned from his, and her conscience gave up, along with her common sense. She tasted him, learned the contours of his mouth and lips then tentatively brushed a slow, curious hand over his chest.

Ye gods
…

“Easy.” He eased his mouth away but held her against his body, his chin on her temple. Anna forced her hands to go still as well, but she could not make herself step back.

“I’ll tender my resignation first thing tomorrow,” she said dully, her face pressed to his sternum.

“I won’t accept it,” the earl replied, stroking her back in slow sweeps.

“I’ll leave anyway.” She knew he could feel the blush on her face.

“I’ll find you,” the earl assured her, pressing one last kiss to her hair.

“This is intolerable.”

“Anna,” he chided, “it is just a kiss and entirely my fault. I am not myself of late, as you’ve noted. You must forgive me and accept my assurances I would never force an unwilling female.”

She stayed in his arms, trying to puzzle out what he was going on about. Ah, God, it felt too good to be held, to be touched with such consideration and deliberation. She was wicked, shameless, lost and getting more lost still.

“Say you will forgive me,” the earl rumbled, his hands going quiet. “Men require frequent forgiveness, Anna. This is known to all.”

“You don’t sound sorry,” she muttered, still against his chest.

“A besetting sin of my gender,” and Anna could tell he was teasing—mostly.

“You aren’t truly sorry.” She found the strength to shove away from him but turned out to regard the night rather than face him. “But you have regret over this.”

“I regret,” he said directly above and behind her ear, “that I may have offended you. I regret just as much that we are not now tossing back my lavender-scented sheets in preparation for that passion between consenting adults I mentioned earlier.”

“There will be no more of that,” Anna said, inhaling sharply. “No more mentioning, no more kissing, no more talk of sheets and whatnot.”

“As you wish,” he said, still standing far too close behind her. He was careful not to touch her, but Anna could tell he was inhaling her scent, because she was doing the same with his.

“What I wish is of no moment,” she said, “like the happiness of a future duke. No moment whatsoever.”

He did step back at that, to her relief. Mostly, her relief.

“You have accepted my apology?” he asked, his voice cooling.

“I have.”

“And you won’t be resigning or disappearing without notice?”

“I will not.”

“Your word, Anna?” he pressed, reverting to tones of authority.

“My word,
your lordship
.”

He flinched at that, which was a minor gratification.

A silence, unhappy for her, God knew what for him, stretched between them.

“Were you to disappear, I would worry about you, you know,” he said softly. He trailed his fingers down over her wrist to lace with hers and squeeze briefly.

She nodded, as there was nothing to say to such folly. Not one thing.

In the moonlight, he saw her face in profile, eyes closed, head back. His last comment seemed to strike her with the same brutal intensity as her use of his title had hit him, for she stiffened as if she’d taken an arrow in the back before dropping his hand and fleeing.

When he was sure she’d left his rooms, the earl went inside and locked his bedroom door then returned to the darkness of the balcony. He shucked his trousers, unfolded the napkin from the dinner tray, and lay back on the chaise. As his eyes fell closed, his dressing gown fell open, and he let memories of Anna Seaton fill his imagination.

In the soft, sweet darkness, he drew out his own pleasure, recalling each instant of that kiss, each
pleasure
. The clean, brisk scent of her, the softness of her lips, the way she startled minutely when his hands had settled on her shoulders. When he finally did allow himself satisfaction, the sensations were more gratifying and intense than anything he’d experienced with Elise.

It was enough, he assured himself. He was content for one night to have kissed her and pleasured himself resoundingly. If she truly insisted he keep his distance, he would respect that, but he would make damned sure her decision was based on as much persuasive information as he could put before her.

As the night settled peacefully into his bones, he closed his eyes and started making a list.

Anna was up early enough the next morning to see to her errand, one she executed faithfully on the first of each month—rain, shine, snow, or heat. She sat down with pen, plain paper, and ink, and printed, in the most nondescript hand she could muster, the same three words she had been writing each month for almost two years: All is well. She sanded that page and let it dry while she wrote the address of an obscure Yorkshire posting inn on an envelope. Just as she was tucking her missive into its envelope, booted footsteps warned her she would soon not have the kitchen to herself.