Anna rose from the library sofa. “And what if you cannot keep me safe? What if the betrothal contract is genuine? What if when I break that contract, the damned baron has the right to marry Morgan?”
“I can tell you straight out Morgan’s contract is not valid,” the earl replied. “She signed it herself, and as a minor, she cannot make binding contracts except for necessaries. Even if a spouse is considered a necessary, she can legally repudiate the contract upon her majority. The family solicitors are busily drafting just such a repudiation, though it would be helpful to see the contract she signed.”
“You are absolutely sure of this?”
“I am absolutely sure of this,” the earl rejoined. “I spend hours each day up to my elbows in the small print of all manner of contracts, Anna, and I read law at university, since that is one profession open to younger sons. Morgan cannot be forced to marry Stull.”
“Thank you.” Anna sat back down, the fight going out of her. “Thank you so much for that.”
“You are welcome.”
At least, Anna thought, he wasn’t telling her he wanted to paddle her black and blue, and he wasn’t tossing her out on her ear—not yet. But he’d learned what manner of woman she was, one who would sign a contract she didn’t mean to fulfill; one who would flee familial duty; one who would lie, hide, and flee again to avoid security and respectability for both herself and her sister.
The earl took up the rocker opposite the sofa. “There is yet more we need to discuss.”
Their talk, Anna recalled. He’d warned her they would be having a lengthy discussion; there was no time like the present.
“I am listening.”
“This is going to come out wrong,” the earl sighed, “but I think it’s time you gave up and married me.”
“Gave up and married you?” Anna repeated in a choked whisper. This was one outcome she had not foreseen, and in its way, it was worse than any of the others. “Whatever do you mean?”
“If I marry you,” the earl went on in reasonable tones, “then the worst Stull can do is sue for breach of promise. As he was willing to pay for the privilege of marrying you, I am not sure there are even damages for him to claim. It is the only way, however, to prevent him or some successor in your brother’s schemes from marrying you in another trumped-up circumstance.”
“And if he sues, it ensures you are embroiled in scandal.”
“The Windham family is of sufficient consequence Stull’s paltry accusations won’t be but a nine days’ wonder. Marry me, Anna, and your troubles will be over.”
Anna chewed her fingernail and regarded the man rocking so contentedly opposite her. Marry him, and her troubles would be over…
Marry him, she thought bitterly, and her troubles would just be starting. He’d never said he loved her, never asked for her brother and his nasty friend to descend like this. She wasn’t raised to be a duchess, and polite society would never let him forget he’d married, quite, quite down.
“I am flattered,” Anna said, staring at her hands in her lap, “but can we not wait to see how matters resolve themselves?”
“You are turning me down,” Westhaven said. “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.” He rose and smiled down at her. “But then, if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d be married to Stull by now, and that isn’t an eventuality to be considered even in theory. I’ve put you in the largest guest room, and you are dead on your feet. Let me light you up to your bed, Anna.”
She hadn’t realized he’d had her things moved, and so accepted his arm in a daze. She was tired—bone weary and emotionally wrung out. The day had been too eventful, bringing with it both joy, relief, and loss.
“You are my guest,” the earl said when he’d lit the candles in her bedroom. “I will wish you sweet dreams and promise you again to see this entire matter sorted out. You will consider my proposal and perhaps have an answer for me in the morning.”
He bowed—bowed!—and withdrew, leaving Anna to sit on the bed, staring unseeing at the hearth.
Since he’d learned she was betrothed to another, the earl had not touched her, not as a lover. He’d offered his arm, his hospitality, and his name in marriage, but he had not been able to touch her as a lover.
It spoke volumes, Anna thought as she drifted off. He was a dutiful man and he needed an heir and he was sexually attracted enough to her, despite her deceit, that he could get a child or two on her. She owed him more than that, though, and so her last thoughts as she found sleep were of how she could spare him the very thing he dreaded most: A wife chosen out of duty.
Several doors down the hall, the earl lay naked on his bed, cursing his solitude, his houseguest, and his own lack of charm. Give up and marry me? What manner of proposal was that? He was tempted to get up, stomp down the hall, and drag her back to his bed, but desire on his part was not the same thing as capitulation on hers.
“Well, Papa,” he muttered into the night, “I cannot see the rest of my life without her, but alas, I am certain the sentiment is not reciprocated.”
A soft knock on his door had his heart leaping in hopes Anna was seeking him out. He tossed on his dressing gown and opened the door to find Dev standing there, smiling slightly.
“Saw the light under your door and thought you might want to know Stull is again at liberty.”
“I thought we had at least a few days to catch our breath.”
“The magistrate had to leave Town and moved up his hearings,” Dev reported. “Somebody came along and made bail for the dear baron.”
“Come in.” The earl stepped back and busied himself lighting a few more candles. “Do we know who might have bailed him out?”
“One Riley Whitford,” Dev said. “Better known as old Whit, late of Seven Dials and any other stew or slum where vice runs tame.”
“You know the man?” the earl asked, settling on the sofa in his sitting room.
“He was involved in a race-fixing scheme just about the time I left for the Peninsula.” Dev ambled into the room as he spoke. “Clever man, always knows how to put somebody between him and the consequences of his actions.”
“He was the one managing the surveillance of my house.” The earl scowled. “Stop pacing, if you please, and sit quietly like the gentleman Her Grace believes you to be.”
“How she can be so deluded?” Dev rolled his eyes, looking very much like a dark version of His Grace. But he sat in a wing chair and angled it to face his brother. “What will you do with Anna?”
“I’ve proposed and proposed and proposed.” The earl sighed, surprising himself and apparently his brother with his candor. “She’ll have none of that, though the last time, she put me off rather than turn me down flat.”
“Things are a little unsettled,” Dev pointed out dryly.
“And marriage would settle them,” the earl shot back. “Married to me, there wouldn’t be any more nonsense from her brother, not for her or Morgan. Her grandmother would be safe, and Stull would be nothing but a bad, greasy memory.”
“He is enough to give any female the shudders, though maybe Anna has the right of it.”
“What can you possibly mean?” The earl stood up and paced to the French doors.
“You and she are in unusual circumstances,” Dev began. “You are protective of her and probably not thinking very clearly about her. She is not a duke’s daughter, as you might be expected to marry, not even a marquis’s sister. She’s beneath you socially and likely undowered and not even as young as a proper mate to you should be.”
“Young?” the earl expostulated. “You mean I can get her to drop only five foals instead of ten?”