Page 94 of The Heir

“Down,” he panted, easing one of her feet back several inches to explain himself. Anna straightened her knees and slipped to her stomach as his cock slid wetly from her body. He followed her, blanketing her back with his greater weight.

“Are you all right?” He kissed her cheek and paused to suckle her earlobe.

“I am boneless,” Anna murmured. “I like this, though.”

“What this?” He nuzzled at her neck.

“The way you like to cuddle afterward.”

“I am a rarity in that regard,” he assured her. “I know of only one other person in this entire bed so prone to shameless displays of affection.” His moved his hips partly off her but shifted only a little to the side to kiss her nape.

“You trust me,” he said, biting her neck gently.

When she said nothing, he got off the bed to use the basin and water. He washed his hands and his genitals then came back and stood frowning at her for a long moment.

“You do trust me, but only in this,” he said again. “You would let me take you in any position, anywhere I pleased, as often as I pleased.”

Anna rolled to her back and hiked up on her elbows, wariness in her expression. “You have never given me reason not to trust you in this bed. I am safe with you.”

“You don’t believe that. You might believe you are safe from me, from the violence and selfishness that can make any man a rutting boar, but you do not believe you are safe with me.”

There was such defeat in his tone, such resignation, Anna was almost glad this would be their last night together. In the morning, he’d ride off to meet with his brothers, and she’d gather up her sister and her belongings and board a coach for Manchester. She’d lie in his arms for this one final night, hold him close, breathe in his scent, and love him. But it would be their last night, and this time tomorrow, she’d be far, far away.

It was that simple to do and that impossible to bear.

Fourteen

“My lord! My lord, you must wake up!”

Shouts at the bedroom door had Westhaven struggling up from sleep as Anna shook him hard by his shoulder.

“Gayle,” she hissed. “Gayle Tristan Montmorency Windham!” She had her fist cocked back to smack him when he caught her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“Please! You must wake up!” Sterling sounded near tears, but the earl only heaved a sigh, knowing he was going to hear himself addressed as “Your Grace” from that moment on for the rest of his life.

“Under the covers,” he said to Anna quietly as he reached for his dressing gown. A small part of him was grateful he at least wasn’t going to be alone when he got the news of his father’s death.

“Yes, Sterling.” He opened the door, his composure admirable—worthy of a duke.

“A message, my lord”—Sterling bowed—“from Lord Amery. The messenger says there’s a fire at your new property.”

Not His Grace, the earl thought with soaring relief. Not His Grace, not yet.

But there was a fire at Willow Bend.

“Have Pericles hitched to the gig,” the earl said. “Pack a hamper and plenty of water. Send word to my brothers—Val should be at the mansion; Dev will be at Maggie’s. Under no circumstances are Their Graces to get wind of this, Sterling.” He hoped Dev was at Maggie’s, but he might also still be at his stud farm or holed up with old cavalry comrades. He glanced at Douglas’s note.

The Willow Bend stables are ablaze as I write; no loss of life thus far. Will remain on site until the situation is contained. Amery.

A thousand questions fluttered through Westhaven’s head: How did the fire start, how did Amery come upon it, was the house safe, and why the hell was this happening now…?

“What is it?” Anna had risen from the bed, put on her wrapper, and padded over to him silently.

“There’s a fire at Willow Bend. Just the stables, according to a note from Amery. I’m going out there.”

“I’ll go with you.”

He sat on the bed and drew her to stand between his legs. “That won’t be necessary.”