The Heir

by Grace Burrowes

  “I need you inside me,” she pleaded softly, framing his face with her hands. “Later you can be careful, I promise. Now, just please… I need you.”

  “Do not hurry me, Anna. I won’t answer for the consequences if you do.” But to her great relief, he brought the tip of his cock to the entrance of her sex and began to use it to nuzzle through her folds. He was content to explore that pleasure, lazily rooting and thrusting with little apparent focus, sometimes coming close to his goal, sometimes—deliberately, Anna thought—angling himself to one side, too high, the other side…

  “You… are tormenting me.”

  “Then guide me, Anna,” he coaxed. “Show me where you want me.”

  She was wet—he’d made sure of it—and he was wet as a result, as well. Anna’s fingers closed around his shaft and drew him directly to her. She didn’t withdraw her touch until he’d advanced enough to understand where she’d put him, snugged against her but not quite penetrating.

  “You let me do this part,” he cautioned, levering up on his forearms to hold her eyes. “I mean it, Anna. I’m not a small man, and you’re… Oh, Jesus.” The last word was said on a near groan as he pressed forward just the smallest increment. “God Almighty,” he breathed as he lowered his face to her neck. “You are so blessedly fucking…”

  He is joining his body to mine, Anna thought in wonder. Oh, it felt strange and wonderful and too damned slow by half.

  “Westhaven.” She arched her hips tentatively, only to have him go still.

  “No,” he ground out. “You damned let me, for once in your stubborn life, take care of you, Anna. Just… let me.”

  She liked his cursing and his foul language and the way he was so stern with her, but mostly, she liked the feel of him inching carefully into her body.

  And then she didn’t quite like it as much.

  “Hold onto me,” Westhaven urged. “Hold onto me but relax, Anna. I won’t move until I feel you relax. Kiss me.” He dipped his head and planted slow, easy kisses on her cheeks, her jaw, her eyelids. When her breathing was steady and she was kissing him back, he let a hand drift to her breast, there to knead and fondle and stroke, until Anna heard herself sigh and felt her whole body going boneless in response. Gradually he pressed his cock forward.

  And again met resistance.

  He slid a hand under Anna’s buttocks, braced her, and without warning, gave a single hard thrust. She winced and stiffened beneath him but made no sound.

  “It will go easier now,” he assured her, moving much more gently. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

  He had hurt her, Anna thought, but only for a surprising twinge of a moment. It felt better now, and the more deeply he moved into her body, the better she felt.

  “I like this,” she said, pleased and breathless and bothered. “Don’t stop, Westhaven. I do like this.”

  “Move with me now, Anna. The difficult part is over, and it’s all pleasure from here. Fuck me silly…” he teased, but there was a desperate note beneath the tenderness in his tone even as his thrusts became more purposeful.

  Anna tried to match the undulation of her hips to his, and that forced him to slow down, to give her time to catch his rhythm. But what he gave up in speed, he made up for in intensity.

  “That’s it,” he whispered a few moments later. “Move like that, and… Anna. God.”

  She was a quick study, able to move with him and send her hand wandering up his side to find his nipple, as well. Her thumb feathered across his puckered flesh in the same deliberate rhythm as he made with his cock, then she applied more pressure, actually rubbing him in a small, gratifyingly erotic circle.

  “Anna…” He slipped his own hand more firmly around her buttocks. “Slow down… You’ve got to let… Ah, Christ. Don’t stop, love.”

  “You either.” She traced her tongue over his other nipple. “For the love of God, don’t you dare stop.”

  She tried to quicken their rhythm, but he held firm to the more deliberate pace.

  “Westhaven, please…” she wailed softly. “Gayle…”

  His name, spoken in that hot, pleading tone, had the effect she’d hoped. He let the tempo increase until she was shaking and keening beneath him in the throes of her pleasure. Still he didn’t stop but bent his head, took her nipple into his mouth, and drew strongly on her. She flailed her hips desperately against him, whispering his name over and over against his chest, her legs locked around his flanks.

  He lifted his head, anchored a hand under her buttocks, and Anna felt a wet heat spreading deep in her body as his thrusts slowed and deepened. Westhaven groaned softly in her ear then went quiet above her.

  “You,” Westhaven rasped long moments later. “Sweet, ever-loving, merciful, abiding Christ.”

  He made it to his feet, carefully extricating his softening cock from Anna’s body. She winced at the sensation of him leaving but made no verbal protest, merely watching him with luminous eyes in the soft predawn shadows. He used the wash water then brought the damp cloth to the bed.

  “Spread your legs for me.” She complied, unable to deny him in that moment any intimacy he wanted. Dear God, the things he had made her feel… The cloth was cool and soothing, and yet knowing he wielded it made it arousing, too.

  “Take your time,” she murmured. “No need to rush.”

  “Naughty.” He smiled approvingly. “But you’ll likely be sore, so no more marzipan for you this morning.”

  “And you won’t be sore?”

  “As to that”—he tossed the wet cloth over the rim of the basin—“I very well might be. You have much to answer for.”

  “Much.”

  “Anna?” The earl climbed over her, bracing himself on his forearms, and regarded her very seriously. “Weren’t you going to tell me?”

  “Do you need to hear the words?” She met his eyes, feeling sadness crowd out contentment.

  “The words?” Guardedness crept up on the tenderness in his eyes.

  “Oh, very well,” Anna sighed, brushing fingers through the lock of hair on his forehead. “Of course I love you.” She leaned up and wrapped her arms and legs around him. “I love you desperately. I would not still be here if I didn’t. I would not be leaving you if I didn’t. I love you, Gayle Windham. And I probably always will. There… now are we both thoroughly mortified?”

  “I am not mortified,” he whispered, burying his face against her neck. “I am… awed. Beyond words. You honor me, Anna Seaton. You honor me unbelievably.”

  He should say more, he knew, but his heart was pounding again, and she could probably feel that, so tightly was he clutching her to him. He should say that he loved her, for he certainly did, but he could not speak, could not contain with words the emotions rioting through him.

  “Westhaven?” Anna stroked his back, her tone wary. “Are you well?”

  “No,” he said, feeling—merciful God—tears thicken in his throat as he held her even tighter. “I am not exactly well. I am…fucked silly.”

  And he meant it in every possible way.

  “I tell you that was her,” Stull hissed. “I know my girls, Helmsley, and that’s my little Morgan.”

  “It has been more than two years since you’ve seen your little Morgan,” Helmsley said with as much patience as he could muster. “Women change in those years, change radically. Besides, it can’t be her. That girl was laughing and shouting and talking with her swain so the whole park could hear her. Morgan can’t do any of those things.”

  “It’s her,” Stull insisted. “I bet you if we follow her and that callow buffoon on her arm, we will find my Anna, as well.”

  “You are more than welcome to go haring off in this heat after a girl who obviously is not my sister, though I will grant you a certain resemblance. Morgan’s hair was not so light, though, and I do not think Morgan was as tall as that girl.”

  “You said it yourself,” Stull shot back, “women between the ages of fifteen and eighteen will change, delightfully so
to my way of thinking.”

  “So go on. If you’re so convinced that’s Morgan, trot along. Confirm your hunch.”

  Stull gave him the mean look a grossly fat boy will often show when taunted then sighed.

  “It is too hot,” Stull conceded. “If she’s in the area, she’ll be back here. The park is the only decent air to be had in this miserable city. I’m parched—what say we find us a flagon or two of summer ale and perhaps the wenches that happily serve it?”

  “A pint or two sounds just the thing,” Helmsley said, knowing Stull, true to his two consistent virtues, would pay for it. “And perhaps we can find someone to watch for your girls in the park. I still have their miniatures.”

  “Good idea. Put the common man to work and let us do the thinking. What was the name of that inn where we saw the one with the big…?” He cupped his hands over his chest and wiggled his eyebrows.

  “The Happy Pig,” Helmsley sighed. It would be The Happy Pig. “I’m sure we can find a couple of sharp eyes there, maybe more than a couple.”

  For Anna, the week was passing too quickly. In her mind, the duke’s health would be resolved in those seven days, giving him either a cheerful or a grim prognosis. Westhaven was gone during most of the days, spending time with his parents and sisters, tending to business, dashing out to Willow Bend, or riding in the mornings with his brothers.

  But the nights… it had been two nights and three mornings since they’d become lovers in fact, and Anna had all she could do to stumble around the house, appearing to tend to her duties. She was swamped with Gayle Windham, her senses overwhelmed with memories of his tenderness, passion, humor, and generosity in bed. He insisted she find her pleasure, early and often. He talked to her before, during, and after their lovemaking. He teased and comforted and aroused and asked no questions other than what pleased her and what did not.

  It all pleased her. She sighed, frowning at the flowers she was trying to arrange in the library’s raised fireplace. Normally, she could arrange a bouquet to her satisfaction without thought, the patterns simply working themselves out. This morning, the daisies and irises were being contrary, and the thought of Westhaven’s hand clamped on her buttocks was only part of the problem.

  She heard the door open and assumed Morgan was bringing in fresh water, so she didn’t turn.

  “Now this is a fetching sight. I don’t suppose the buttons of your bodice are going to get stuck in the screen?” Anna sat back on her heels and looked up at Westhaven looming over her. He stretched down a hand and hauled her up, bringing her flush against his body.

  “Hello, sweetheart.” He smiled then brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Miss me?”

  She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “How is your father?” she asked as she always did.

  “Improving, I’d say.” But her unwillingness to return his sentiments bothered him, and that showed in his eyes. “I met with Hazlit,” the earl said, letting Anna walk out of his embrace.

  “You did?”

  “I got nowhere.” Westhaven sat down on the sofa and tugged off his boots. “He is an interesting man—very dark, almost swarthy. It is rumored his grandmother was a Jewess, rumored he is in line for some Scottish title, rumored he is filthy rich.” He sat back and stacked his boots beside the sofa. “I’ll tell you what is true: That man has the presentation of a cool demeanor down to a science, Anna. He gave away exactly nothing but told me to call again in a few days, thank you very much. He will call on Her Grace and hear from her in person that I am to be trusted with her confidences.”

  “Her Grace hasn’t given you the substance of his investigation?” I don’t have a few more days to tarry, Anna silently wailed.

  “He does not write down his findings,” the earl explained, “and he made the appointment to call on Her Grace, and then my father fell ill. He will reschedule the appointment, and Mother will receive him immediately.”

  “You could simply join that appointment.”

  “And give the appearance that I am coercing my mother?” the earl countered. “I wish it were simpler, but that man will not be bullied.”

  “One wonders how such an odd character would winkle secrets out of my dour Yorkshiremen.”

  “So you are from Yorkshire,” the earl replied just as Anna’s hand flew to her lips. “Anna…” His voice was tired, and his eyes were infinitely sad and patient.

  “I’m sorry.” Anna felt tears welling and turned away. “I always get like this when my courses are looming.”

  “Come here.” The earl extended a hand, and Anna’s feet moved without her willing it, until she was sitting beside him, his arm around her shoulders. For a long, thoughtful moment he merely held her and stroked her back. “I will meet with Hazlit in a day or two, Anna. What he knows will soon be known to me; I’d rather hear it from you.”

  She nodded but said nothing, trying to pick through which parts of her story she could bear to tell and how to separate them from the rest. She shifted to the rocking chair, and he let her go, which was good, as she’d be better able to think if they weren’t touching.

  “I can tell you some of it,” she said slowly. “Not all.”

  “I will fetch us some lemonade while you organize your thoughts. I want to hear whatever you want to tell me, Anna.”

  When he came back with the drinks, Anna was rocking slowly, her expression composed.

  “You’re beautiful, you know.” The earl handed her a glass. “I put some sugar in it, but not as much as I put in mine.” He locked the door then resumed his seat on the sofa and regarded the woman he loved, the woman who could not trust him.

  Since their first encounter several days ago, Anna had not repeated her declaration of love, and he had not raised the topic of her virginity. The moment had never been right, and he wasn’t sure explanations mattered. Many unmarried housekeepers were addressed as Mrs., and the single abiding fact was that she’d chosen to give him her virginity. Him.

  “So what can you tell me?” he asked, sitting back and regarding her. She was beautiful but also tired. He was keeping her up nights, and he knew she wasn’t sleeping well in his bed. In sleep, she clung to him, shifting her position so she was spooned around him or he around her.

  In sleep, he thought a little forlornly, she trusted him.

  “When my grandfather died and my grandmother fell ill,” Anna began, staring at her drink as she rocked, “things at home became difficult. Grandpapa was a very good and shrewd manager, and funds were left that would have been adequate, were they properly managed. My brother was not a good manager.”

  Westhaven waited, trying to hear her words and not simply be distracted by the lovely sound of her voice.

  “My grandmother encouraged me to take Morgan and flee, at least until Grandmother could meet with the solicitors and figure out a way to get my brother under control. But she was very frail after her apoplexy.”

  “You came south, then?” The earl frowned in thought, considering two gently bred and very young women traveling without escort far, far from home. Morgan in particular would have been little more than a child and much in need of assistance when away from familiar surroundings.

  “We came south.” Anna nodded. “My grandmother was able to provide me with some references written by her old acquaintances, people who knew me as a child, and I registered with the employment agencies here under an assumed name.”

  “Is Anna Seaton your real name?”

  “Mostly. I am Anna, and my sister is Morgan.”

  He let that go, glad at least he was wasn’t calling her by a false name when passion held him in its thrall. “You found employment.”

  “I took the job no one else wanted, keeping house for an old Hebrew gentleman. He was my own personal miracle, that bone the Almighty throws you to suggest you are not entirely forgotten in the supposedly merciful scheme of things.”

  “The old Hebrew gentleman was decent to you?” the earl asked, more relieved t
han he could say to realize whatever price Anna had paid for her decisions, she’d kept her virtue until such time as she chose to share it with him.

  “Mr. Glickmann knew immediately Morgan and I were, as he put, in flight. He had scars, Westhaven, from his own experiences with prejudice and mean-spiritedness. He’d been tossed into jail on flimsy pretexts, hounded from one village to another, beaten… He knew what it meant, to live always looking over your shoulder, always worrying, and he gave us the benefit of his experience. He told me the rules for surviving under those circumstances, and those rules have saved us.”

  “And is one of those rules to trust no one?”

  “It might as well be. I trusted him, though, and if he’d only lived longer, then perhaps he might have been able to help us further. But his life had been hard, and his health was frail. Still, he gave us both glowing characters and left us each the kind of modest bequest a trusted servant might expect. That money has been sent from heaven, just as his characters were.”

  She fell silent, and Westhaven considered her story thus far. Difficult, he tried to tell himself, and sad, but hardly tragic. Still, the what ifs beat at him: What if the job nobody wanted had been working for a philandering lecher? What if they’d been snatched up and befriended by an abbess upon their arrival to London? What if Morgan’s deafness had meant no jobs presented themselves?

  “Go on,” Westhaven said, more to cut off his own lurid imagination than because he wanted to hear more.

  “From Glickmann’s,” Anna continued, “I got employment in the home of a wealthy merchant, but his oldest son was not to be trusted, so I cast around and found your position. The woman the agency picked for the position was at the last minute unable to serve, as she was sorely afflicted with influenza. Rather than make you wait while they interviewed other more suitable candidates, they sent me over, despite my lack of experience and standing.”

  “Thank God they did,” the earl muttered. Anna’s fate was hanging by threads and coincidences, with social prejudice, influenza, and pluck standing between her and tragedy.