Page 39 of The Heir
“I like that look in your eye, Anna,” he said. “It bodes well for a man housebound with little to do.”
“You are lusty,” she said, not a little surprised.
“Not particularly,” the earl said, passing her the bottle. “Or not any more than others of my age and station. But I am lusty as hell with you, dear lady.”
His expression softened, the humor shifting to a tenderness she hadn’t seen in him before.
She put aside the bottle. “That look does not bode well for a mere housekeeper who wants to preserve her paltry little reputation.”
He reached into the hamper to retrieve her hairbrush, untying a hair ribbon from its handle. “We traveled in an open carriage, Anna, and when this rain blows over, I’ll have you directly back to Town. You never even let me get a hand on your delicate ankles.”
“That isn’t the magnitude of the problem, and you know it.”
“I can see we are going to have a substantial discussion. At least let me put your hair to rights so you can’t glare at me while we do.”
“I do not reproach you for what happened outside,” Anna said, scooting around to present him her back.
“Good.” The earl kissed her neck. “I want to reproach myself, but at present, I just feel too damned pleased with life, you know? Perhaps in a day or two I will get around to being ashamed, but, Anna, I would not bet on it.”
She could hear the uncharacteristic smile in his voice, and thought: I put that smile there, just by sharing with him a few minutes of self-indulgence.
“I am not ashamed, either.” Anna tried on the lie. “Well, only a little, but this direction could easily become shameful, and I would not want that. For you or for me, as we are not shameful people.”
“You will not be my mistress,” Westhaven said, sifting his hands through her hair in long, gentle sweeps. “And you did not sound too keen on being a wife.”
Anna closed her eyes. “I said it depended on whose wife, but no, in the general case, taking a husband does not appeal.”
“Why not?” He started with the brush in the same slow, steady movements. “Taking a husband has some advantages, you know.”
“Name one.”
“He brings you pleasure,” the earl said, his voice dropping. “Or he damned well should. He provides for your comfort, gives you babies. He grows old with you, providing companionship and friendship; he shares your burdens and lightens your sorrows. Good sort of fellow to have around, a husband.”
“Hah.” Anna wanted to peer over her shoulder at him, but his hold on her hair prevented it.
“Heownsyou and the produce of your body,” she retorted. “He has the right to demand intimate access to you at any time or place of his choosing, and strike you and injure you should you refuse him, or simply because he considers you in need of a beating. He can virtually sell your children, and you have nothing to say to it. He need not be loyal or faithful, and still you must admit him to your body, regardless of his bodily or moral appeal, or lack thereof. A very dangerous and unpleasant thing, a husband.”
The earl was silent behind her, winding her hair into a long braid.
“Were your parents happy?” he asked at length.
“I believe they were, and my grandparents were.”
“As are mine, as were mine,” the earl said, fishing her hair ribbon out of his pocket and tying off her braid. “Can you not trust yourself, Anna, to choose the kind of husband I describe rather than that nightmare you recount?”
“The choice of a woman’s husband is often not hers, and the way a man presents himself when courting is not how he will necessarily behave when his wife is fat with his third child a few years later.”
“A housekeeper sees things from a curious and unpleasant perspective.” He hunched forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders. “But, Anna, what about the example of our parents? The duke and duchess when they open an evening with the waltz still command every eye. They dance well, so well they move as one, and they function that way in life, too. My father adores my mother, and she sees only the best in him.”
“They are happy,” Anna said, “but what is your point? They are also very lucky, as you and I both know.”
“You will not be my mistress,” the earl said again, “and you are very leery of becoming a wife, but what, Anna, would you think of becoming a duchess?”
He said the words close to her ear, the heat and scent of him surrounding her, and she couldn’t stop the shudder that passed through her at his question.
“Most women,” she said as evenly as she could, “would not object to becoming a duchess, but look at your parents’ example. Had I to become your father’s duchess, I would likely do the man an injury.”
“And what if you were to become my duchess?” the earl whispered, settling his lips on the juncture of her shoulder and neck. “Would that be such a dangerous and unpleasant thing?”
