“My lord?” Mrs. Seaton sat at the long wooden table in the kitchen, shelling peas into a wooden bowl, but stood as he entered the room.

“Don’t get up. I’m only here to filch myself some cold lemonade.”

“Lord Valentine sent word you’d both be missing dinner.” She went to the dry sink and retrieved the pitcher. The earl rummaged in the cupboards and found two glasses, which he set down on the table. Anna glanced at him curiously but filled both, then brought the sugar bowl to the table.

Westhaven watched her as she stirred sugar into his glass, his eyebrows rising in consternation.

“I take that much sugar?”

Anna put the lid back on the sugar bowl. “Either that, or you curse and make odd faces and scowl thunderously at all and sundry.” She pushed his glass over to him, and took a sip out of hers.

“You don’t put any in yours?” he asked, taking a satisfying swallow of his own. God above, he’d been craving this exact cold, sweet, bracing libation.

“I’ve learned not to use much,” Anna said, sipping again. “Sugar is dear.”

“Here.” He held up his glass. “If you enjoy it, then you should have it.”

Anna leaned back against the sink and eyed him. “And where is that sentiment in application to yourself?”

He blinked and cocked his head. “It’s too late in the day for philosophical digressions.”

“Have you even eaten, my lord?”

“It appears I have not.”

“Well, that much of the world’s injustices I can remedy,” she said as she rinsed their glasses. “If you’d like to go change out of those clothes, I can bring you up a tray in a few minutes.”

“If you would just get me out of this damned cravat?” He went to stand near her at the sink, waiting while she dried her hands on a towel then nudged his chin up.

“The cravat is still spotless,” she informed him, wiggling at the clasp on the stickpin, “though your beautiful shirt is a trifle dusty and wilted. Hold still.” She wiggled a little more but still couldn’t undo the tiny mechanism. “Let’s sit you back down at the table, my lord.”

He obligingly sat on the long bench at the table, chin up.

“That’s it,” she said, freeing the stickpin and peering at it. “You should have a jeweler look at this.” She set it on the table as her fingers went to the knot of his neckcloth. “There.” She loosened the knot until the ends were trailing around his neck, and a load of weariness abruptly intensified low down, in his gut, where sheer exhaustion could weight a man into immobility. He leaned in, his temple against her waist in a gesture reminiscent of when she tended his scalp wound.

“Lord Westhaven?” Her hand came down to rest on his nape, then withdrew, then settled on him again. He knew he should move but didn’t until she stroked a hand over the back of his head. God in heaven, what was he about? And with his housekeeper, no less. He pushed to his feet and met her eyes.

“Apologies, Mrs. Seaton. A tray would be appreciated.”

Anna watched him go, thinking she’d never seen him looking quite so worn and drawn. His day had been trying, it seemed, but it struck her that more than the challenge of a single meeting at Carlton House, what likely bothered him was the prospect of years of such meetings.

When she knocked on his door, there was no immediate response, so she knocked again and heard a muffled command of some sort. She balanced the tray and pushed open the door, only to find the earl was not in his sitting room.

“In here,” the earl called from the bedroom. He was in a silk dressing gown and some kind of loose pajama pants, standing at the French doors to his balcony.

“Shall I put it outside?”

“Please.” He opened the door and took half a step back, allowing Anna just enough room to pass before him. “Will you join me?” He followed her out and closed the door behind him.

“I can sit for a few minutes,” Anna replied, eyeing the closed door meaningfully.

If he picked up on her displeasure, he ignored it. Anna suspected he was too preoccupied with the thought of sustenance to understand her concern, though, so she tried to dismiss it, as well.

He was just in want of company at the end of a trying day.

He took the tray and set it on a low table then dragged the chaise next to it. “How is it you always know exactly what to put on a tray and how to arrange it, so a man finds his appetite perfectly satisfied?”

“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.”