The Heir

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GAYLE WINDHAM, EARL OF WESTHAVEN, WAS ENJOYING a leisurely measure of those things that pleased him most: solitude, peace, and quiet.

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. 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. He was in demand everywhere, and for form’s sake, he had to be seen everywhere.

But not this summer. He smiled with relish. This summer, this stinking, infernally hot summer, he was going to remain right where he was, in the blessedly empty confines of London itself. Not for him the endless round of house parties and boating parties and social gatherings in the country.

His father had too free a hand in those environs, and Westhaven knew better than to give the duke any unnecessary advantage.

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