He would not, however, be forced to marry some simpering little puppet to breed sons on her like a rutting hound.Īnd already, the pleasure of days and nights uncluttered by meaningless entertainments was bringing a certain cheer to Westhaven’s normally reserved demeanor. Westhaven was a dutiful son, conscientious in his responsibilities, a brother who could be relied upon, an heir more than willing to tend to the properties and investments as his father’s power of attorney. There had already been one forced engagement, which the lady’s family had thwarted at the last minute. His goal in life was to see to it his heir married and produced sons, and Westhaven had made it a matter of pride to outwit the old man. The Duke of Moreland was a devious, determined, unscrupulous old rogue. His father had too free a hand in those environs, and Westhaven knew better than to give the duke any unnecessary advantage. Not for him the endless round of house parties and boating parties and social gatherings in the country. This summer, this stinking, infernally hot summer, he was going to remain right where he was, in the blessedly empty confines of London itself. He was in demand everywhere, and for form’s sake, he had to be seen everywhere.īut not this summer. The unmarried heir to a dukedom had a nigh impossible task if he wanted to elude the predatory mamas and determined debutantes of polite society. The best plans were the simplest, he reflected as he poured himself a single finger of brandy, and his brother’s suggestion that Westhaven hide in plain sight had proven brilliant. G AYLE W INDHAM, E ARL OF W ESTHAVEN, WAS ENJOYING a leisurely measure of those things that pleased him most: solitude, peace, and quiet. Printed and bound in the United States of America Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
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