Page 2 of The Heir’s Return

If he hadn’t been born to be an heir.

If he hadn’t lost his mother so young.

If he hadn’t been passed off to a succession of nannies and tutors while his father traveled from estate to estate in an attempt to outrun the ghosts haunting him.

If only…

“Sit!” the girl commanded again.

Harry did so with such swiftness it felt as if his feet had been kicked out from under him and his rear landed so hard on the root that he suspected he’d develop a bruise the next day. He did his best to mask his wince.

“Here’s your portion.” The girl shoved a warm roll into his chest, and he accepted it before it dropped to the ground and was wasted, too. She’d already bitten off a chunk of her bounty and was chewing with gusto, one cheek filled to bursting. “Well? Aren’t you going to eat? We need to finish quickly before they find us. The punishment won’t be so terrible if they don’t catch us eating.”

Without a word of protestation, Harry began to shove the roll into his mouth and chew so furiously that he hardly tasted the perfect blend of yeast and honey. When he was finished, he licked the crumbs from his fingers and froze when he saw Mina watching him. Quickly, he stopped what he was doing and brushed off his breeches, feeling his cheeks warm.

“I am proud of you,” she said with a contented sigh and sat back against the stone wall to fish around in a hidden pocket of her dress.

“Proud?” Harry’s brow knit together.

“I did not believe you would go through with it,” she answered with a shrug. He had no time for further questioning because she pulled from her pocket a tiny carved wooden whistle. What followed was a perplexing performance of toots and squeals, with only the occasional pleasing assemblage of notes. She was either terrible or she was making up the song as she played, because Harry recognized none of it.

“You are quite unique, Mina…” Harry muttered in disbelief at just how his day had taken a turn.

“As are you, Harry.” She grinned broadly over the mouthpiece of her whistle. “Not just any little lord would have gone along with my plan. You are a rebel.”

“I’d hardly consider myself a rebel,” he answered, rearing back. To him, a rebel was someone who behaved to the extreme, who snubbed his nose at convention. All Harry had done was act as an accomplice in the theft of a dessert; he hardly thought that qualified.

“Oh, but you are. You trusted me without knowing my plan even though I am an unfamiliar girl. You risked your skin for someone you did not know. My father says the mark of a good man is one who does not look down upon others, who is willing to take risks within reason, and who is kind. I saw the way you regretted the mess you made of those prunes; just like I know you will go back later and offer to help Cook fix the mess.” Harry’s cheeks warmed again; how had she come to see him so well in the span of one long afternoon? “You will be a good man, Harry. I can tell.” She nodded sagely, suddenly seeming so much older than her years.

CHAPTER 2

Ten Years Later

“You are utterly infuriating, Mina. Absolutely maddening, I tell you!” Harry called after his friend, puffing slightly as he fought to catch up to her while she crested the hill. Caramel-colored skirts rucked high to keep clear of the tall grasses; her long legs ate up the distance in great strides. The late summer sun was pale and watery, though, given the chance, it would surely pinken her cheeks. She never wore a bonnet if it could be helped.

“It is not my fault you are so gullible!” Her laughing voice was like music on the wind as she continued to run.

“I am not gullible!” he called after her in denial; his boot slipped on another stone, and he barely managed to save his footing. She’d always been so nimble, able to climb a tree and eat an entire apple even before he could reach the branch she’d mounted. The years had made him less awkward as he grew into his long limbs and gained proportionate height, but there were times she still caused him to feel like a gangly colt. There were confidence and intentionality to every move she made, and it had always fascinated him—she had from their very first encounter. “It is not gullibility to trust one’s friend when she says Cook’s rhubarb pie was delicious; that is the natural conclusion.” He was gaining on her. “It is not the logical process to consider that someone had swapped the slice out for one made with salt instead of sugar.”

Her laughter rang anew.

Harry released a shout of triumph as he wrapped his arms around her waist and yanked her back to his front. She squealed in delight and clutched at the bands of his forearms as he spun her in a circle.

“Harry!” she laughed breathlessly. “Harry, stop!”

“Vengeance will be mine—oof!” His victory was short-lived as his heel caught upon another stone, and they tumbled to the ground. He just managed to toss his body beneath hers and absorb the brunt of the impact.

Tossing the loose strands of her burnished chestnut hair from her face, Mina propped an elbow upon his chest and gazed down at him. “And how, precisely, do you anticipate exacting your revenge from flat on your back?” Her smirk was maddening and enticing all at once. The red pillows of her lips called to him like a siren’s song. He grew hard every time her tongue darted out to moisten them, whenever she nibbled on the corner of her lower lip in thought, each time she licked a bit of jam or caramelized sugar from her fingertip. God, ever since that first day, his favorite thing was watching her ecstasy whenever she ate something she found delicious.

That was why he’d so readily accepted her offer of rhubarb pie earlier—the perverse little voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe she’d make one of her tiny moans of delight and he could squirrel that tidbit away for when he was alone in his rooms that night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was another of her pranks.

For the most part, Mina limited her mischief to targets other than himself, like his tutor who was overly fond of the switch for minor infractions, or the bully son of the neighboring lord who liked to shove Harry whenever they passed one another in the village.

For slightly more than a decade, his life had been filled with Mina—had practically revolved around her in one way or another. When he wasn’t in residence at his father’s country estate and spending nearly every free moment with her, he was marking off the days until his next school break when he might return to her. She was his closest friend, his confidant; she understood him better than any other living being. He sometimes expected that she knew his thoughts before even he could process them. Try as he might, however, Harry doubted that he would ever be that integral in Mina’s life.

She was gregarious where he was muted and thoughtful; she was unabashed where he lived in near constant fear of making a misstep; she drew everyone to her like a beacon in the night while he wasn’t the least bit memorable. He suspected most of his professors at school knew the son of an earl was listed on their roster but couldn’t have placed his face if asked. Harry’s life had always been that way, but the only time he did not mind it was when he was in Mina’s presence. She warmed him from the inside out, and lying with her half draped across his torso, the lush curves of her blossoming womanhood pressed against him, Harry was reveling in it. He was convinced he would be content to stay in that moment for the rest of his days, holding this woman who was a veritable force—the very embodiment of joy and free-spiritedness—as the deep pools of her moss-green eyes sparkled down at him.