“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?”

“You have a duty to the succession,” Dev said, his words having more impact for being quietly spoken. “Anna understands this.”

“Rot the fucking succession,” Westhaven retorted. “I have His Grace’s permission to marry for love, indeed, his exhortation to marry only for love.”

“Are you saying you love her?” Dev asked, his voice still quiet.

“Of course I love her,” the earl all but roared. “Why else would I be taking such pains for her safety? Why else would I be offering her marriage more times than I can count? Why else would I have gone to His Grace for help? Why else would I be arguing with you at an hour when most people are either asleep or enjoying other bedtime activities?”

Dev rose and offered his brother a look of sympathy. “If you love her, then your course is very easy to establish.”

“Oh it is, is it?” The earl glared at his brother.

“If you love her,” Dev said, “you give her what she wants of you, no matter how difficult or irrational it may seem to you. You do not behave as His Grace has, thinking that love entitles him to know better than his grown children what will make them happy or what will be in their best interests.”

Westhaven sat down abruptly, the wind gone from his sails between one heartbeat and the next.

“You are implying I could bully her.”

“You know you could, Gayle. She is grateful to you, lonely, not a little enamored of you, and without support.”

“You are a mean man, Devlin St. Just.” The earl sighed. “Cruel, in fact.”

“I would not see you make a match you or Anna regret. And you deserve the truth.”

“That’s what Anna has said. You give me much to think about, and none of it very cheering.”

“Well, think of it this way.” Dev smiled as he turned for the door. “If you marry her now, you can regret it at great leisure. If you don’t marry her now, then you can regret that as long as you can stand it then marry her later.”

“Point taken. Good night, St. Just. You will ride in the morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Dev smiled and withdrew, leaving his brother frowning at the door.

Dev was right, damn him to hell and back. In Westhaven’s shoes, His Grace would have married Anna, worn her down, argued, seduced, and argued some more until the woman bowed to his wishes. It was tempting to do just that—to swive Anna silly, maybe even get her pregnant, lavish her with care and attention, and send Stull packing.

But her brother had tried to take her choices from her, and His Grace had made many efforts to take the earl’s choices from him. It was not a respectful way to treat a loved one.

So… He’d solve her problems, provide her sanctuary, and let her go, if that was what she wanted.

But he’d resent like hell that honor—honor and love—required it of him.

“I trust you slept well?” the earl inquired politely over breakfast.