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Ansley shouldn’t have smiled at Willow when she caught him admiring the seductive swing of her slim hips. But she had the most deliciously rounded bum, and when she walked… Well, any breathing man who wasn’t blind couldn’t help but appreciate the graceful, tantalizing sway.
And here, he’d stupidly been congratulating himself on his self-control these past weeks. He slipped his hand in his pocket, gripping the worn stone between his thumb and fingers. It occurred to him, of late, the act had become more habit than actual need.
Mayhap, it was time, after two decades, to put the stone aside.
By adhering to his usual routines, which oddly, had deviated several times without causing him a great amount of stress, he’d been able to keep their relationship professional thus far.
Until the household had moved to Fawntonbrooke. He’d been at home much more often since, seeing her several times a day as she went about one task or another, her movements svelte and graceful.
What glorious strawberry-blonde hair was not concealed beneath that hated cap, was silky temptation. She hummed while she worked, frequently swaying to whatever tune ran through her mind, and he couldn’t help but envision her in his arms as they danced. He was an accomplished dancer though he seldom partook.
His yearnings and imaginations mattered naught. It simply wouldn’t do to allow his lust to entice him into doing something he’d regret. Something unconscionable. Impulsive. Rash.
Ansley Cecil Huxley Twistleton, Earl of Scarborough, did not act impetuously.
I offered employment to a woman I didn’t know. One doesn’t get much more impetuous than that.
Truly, he hadn’t retained her for any purpose other than his housekeeper. But he’d also known from that day in the coffee house, keeping his desire in check for this delectable woman would be a bloody challenge.
Willow Harwood was a virtuous woman.
Acutely mindful that should she become aware of his inappropriate desire for her, she very well might give notice, he’d tempered his carnal cravings. Not easily, by damn. She would not encourage an illicit relationship and compromise her reputation any more than it already had been.
She had plans. To save enough money to sail out of his life. To America and become the teacher England had denied her. That knowledge left him bereft. As if a cleaver had hacked his heart from his chest and tossed the organ into a raging fire.
The problem was, he’d been without a woman far too long, and she made his blood run feverishly hot. Nevertheless, that wasn’t a viable excuse. He did not dally with his servants. The logical thing to do would be to slake his lust on a willing partner, but he’d no interest in another.
Never a rogue or philander, he found casual sexual encounters distasteful.
More frequent of late, resisting Willow’s intoxicating allure had proven ever-more difficult. Like an idiot, he’d subjected himself to more torture by consulting her on matters that had nothing whatsoever to do with his household’s operation, simply to be in her presence.
To hear her melodious voice. To inhale her fresh lemon and peony scent. And if he were truly blessed, her incomparable laugh, and see the stars and the moon sparkling in her bright green eyes.
She wants to return to America.
Her heart lay in the United States, and Ansley couldn’t fault her in that longing. He also couldn’t help but hope she’d find contentment beneath his roof. Except, for a woman of her tender age who’d never aspired to domestic service, the prospect probably did not elicit much excitement.
Not pausing in the kitchen to wait for him, she crossed the scrubbed floor, returning along the same path he’d just ventured down minutes before. Acutely aware of the covert, curious glances darted at them as they wordlessly passed through the kitchen, he tensed his jaw and commanded his pulse to a normal rhythm. His staff needn’t see him lusting after the housekeeper, for God’s sake.
Nonetheless, Willow was his employee.
One who held a prestigious position and, to which, a great deal of responsibility would fall when Mrs. Bloomfield left in a matter of days. It was well within his rights to discuss matters with her in his study as he had Mrs. Bloomfield. He’d never made an improper advance and would give Willow no reason to believe he would start now.
But if he should, would she resist him? Slap him? Call him a cad and an opportunistic fiend? She must, he decided. For her own self-respect. Willow was that kind of woman. Virtuous and honorable.
“Miss Harwood, I do not believe the house is on fire.”
At once, she slowed her pace, waiting for him to come alongside her.
“My Lord, is it wise for us to meet alone in your study?” Genuine concern created fine lines at the corners of her eyes. “I realize you’ve done so with Mrs. Bloomfield. But given the disparity between her age and mine, and the ugly rumors which we both know have circulated regarding us, I should think we ought to use the utmost care to snuff any possible further speculation.”
He gave her a considering, side-eyed glance. “Are you suggesting people are still linking our names together in an inappropriate manner? Perhaps, people residing in this household?”
They’d reached his study, and he pushed the latch, waiting for her to enter.
She swept through the doorway and turned to face him as he shut the panel. Hands clasped before her, she appeared to choose her words carefully. “Even the most loyal of servants can sometimes misunderstand a situation.”
He stilled, absorbing her words and their implications.
