The Heir by Grace Burrowes

toward the mews. “I’ve been exercising this fine lad and taking the morning air. I also ran into Dev, who seems to be thriving.”
    “He is becoming a much healthier creature, our brother,” Val said, grinning. “He has this great, strapping ‘cook/housekeeper’ living with him. Keeps his appetites appeased, or so he says. But before we reach the confines of your domicile, you should be warned old Quimbey was at the Pleasure House last night, and he said His Grace is going to be calling on you to discuss the fact that your equipage was seen in the vicinity of Fairly’s brother yesterday.”
    “So you might ply his piano the whole night through,” Westhaven said, frowning mightily at his brother. Val grinned back at him and shook his head, and Westhaven felt some of his pleasure in the day evaporating in the hot morning air. “Then what is our story?”
    “You have parted from Elise, as is known to all, so we hardly need concoct a story, do we?”
    “Valentine.” Westhaven frowned. “You know what His Grace will conclude.”
    “Yes, he will,” Val said as he dismounted. “And the louder I protest to the contrary, the more firmly he’d believe it.”
    Westhaven swung down and patted Pericles’s neck. “Next time, you’re walking to any assignation you have with any piece of furniture housed in a brothel.”
    They remained silent until they were in the kitchen, having used the back terrace to enter the house. Val went immediately to the bread box and fished out a muffin. “You want one?”
    “I’ve already had three. Some lemonade, or tea?”
    “Mix them,” Val said, getting butter from the larder. “Half of each. There’s cold tea in the dry sink.”
    “My little brother, ever the eccentric. Will you join me for breakfast?” Westhaven prepared his brother’s drink as directed then poured a measure of lemonade for himself.
    “Too tired.” Val shook his head. “I kept an eye on things at the Pleasure House until the wee hours then found myself fascinated with a theme that closely resembles the opening to Mozart’s symphony in G minor. When His Grace comes to call, I will be abed, sleeping off my night of sin with Herr Mozart. You will please inform Papa of this, and with a straight face.”
    His Grace presented himself in due course, with appropriate pomp and circumstance, while Val slept on in ignorant bliss above stairs. The footman minding the door, cousin to John, knew enough to announce such an important personage, and did so, interrupting the earl and Mr. Tolliver as they were wrapping up a productive morning.
    “Show His Grace in,” the earl said, excusing Tolliver and deciding not to deal with his father in a parlor, when the library was likely cooler and had nowindows facing the street. Volume seemed to work as well as brilliance when negotiating with his father, but sheer ruthlessness worked best of all.
    “Your Grace.” The earl rose and bowed deferentially. “A pleasure as always, though unexpected. I hope you fare well?”
    “Unexpected.” His Grace snorted, but he was in a good mood, his blue eyes gleeful. “I’ll tell you what’s unexpected is finding you at a bordello. Bit beneath you, don’t you think? And at two of the clock on a broiling afternoon! Ah, youth.”
    “And how is Her Grace?” the earl asked, going to the sideboard. “Brandy, whiskey?”
    “Don’t mind if I have a tot,” the duke said. “Damned hot out, and that’s a fact. Your mother thrives as always in my excellent and devoted care. Your dear sisters are off to Morelands with her, and I was hoping to find your brother here so I might dispatch him there, as well.”
    The earl handed the duke his drink, declining to drink spirits himself at such an early hour.
    The duke sipped regally at his liquor. “I suppose if Valentine were about, I’d be hearing his infernal racket. Not bad.” He lifted his glass. “Not half bad, after all.”
    Mrs. Seaton’s words returned to the earl as he watched