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.”

“Fires mean people can get hurt. I can help, and I don’t want you to go alone.”

He didn’t want to go alone, either. He had good memories of her at Willow Bend, and she had a point. Unless he brought medical supplies with him, there were none on hand at Willow Bend adequate to deal with the burns and other mishaps that could come with fighting a fire.

“Please,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I want to go.”

He leaned into her embrace, pressing his face to the soft, comforting fullness of her breast for just a moment. He was torn, knowing he should spare her this but also feeling a vague unease about leaving her side for any extended period.

Mistrust, it seemed, could go both ways.

“Dress quickly,” he said, patting her bottom. “Bring a change of clothes. Fires are filthy business.”

She nodded and darted for the door, pausing only long enough to make sure the corridor was empty before slipping into the darkness beyond. In her absence, Westhaven heard a clock chime twelve times.

“At least we now know for sure where they are,” Helmsley said over their rashers of morning bacon.