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Relishing the way her pupils dilated and her mouth parted in surprise, he said, “I confess, Willow, you fascinate me as no woman ever has.”

Willow did mesmerize him, and Ansley wasn’t altogether sure what to do about it. What he did know—what he couldn’t bear contemplating—was her leaving Fawtonbrooke. Departing England and sailing across the vast Atlantic.

How could he stop it? She wasn’t his chattel.

Ansley paid her double what a newly-hired, inexperienced housekeeper characteristically received. Nonetheless, within the tangled knot in his stomach, he knew it wasn’t enough to convince her to remain. She was proud, independent, and determined to make her own way in this world.

Just another thing, of many, he admired about her. Not content to accept what life had apportioned her, she forged onward, seizing opportunity, or creating her own.

If Mr. Birdwhistle and Mrs. Smitherman’s treatment of her were typical of what she’d endured, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to flee England.

Willow Harwood didn’t care about money or elevated position. Because of no fault of her own, she’d been forced to relinquish one dream, at least temporarily. Who was he to keep her from her heart’s desire?

There was no way he could entice her to stay on indefinitely. And there was no way he could endure having her under his roof and not taking her to his bed.

Neither scenario pleased him. Not in the least.

He’d suffered a permanent cockstand for weeks already, but he would not compromise her. Mayhap the best thing to do would be to pay for her passage to America.

No. His soul objected at once.

He tapped down the emotion, needing to gauge the situation with his previous dispassionate logic.

His life could then return to the well-orchestrated rhythm it had been several weeks ago. That boring, predictable life that didn’t hold nearly as much appeal as it had before this umbrella-wielding spitfire had charged to his rescue.

I cannot bear it. I cannot bear for her to leave.

Since she’d come into his life, as unfathomable as it was, a degree of peace had descended upon him like none he’d ever known. Why, he’d even begun relaxing his rigid regimens, something he’d despaired of ever happening.

“Fascination can swiftly become Society’s next scandal, my lord.”

Her gentle, melodic murmur brought him back to the present, reminding him of his careless declaration a moment ago. Her words held a degree of truth he didn’t want to hear but could not deny.

“Touché.” He reluctantly released her soft hand and crossed to the small table, surrounded by four chairs. “I’ve noted a few of my ideas. I would be pleased if you’d give me your opinion.”

The afternoon had grown sulky and gray, much like his current mood. He’d failed to put a flame to the lamp upon the table. Nor were the sconces above the fireplace or throughout the room lit.

Gliding to his side, she offered a ghost of a smile as she accepted the sheet of paper. She stepped close to the window to take advantage of the meager light and swiftly perused the page.

“I believe this will suit you and your guests very well.” Willow met his gaze, her expression, as always, open and honest. “They will be tired after traveling on Friday, so a relaxing afternoon with nothing scheduled is wise. After a formal supper that night, everyone can remove to the drawing room for cards or to the music room for those who prefer informal musical recitations.”

He’d considered hiring professionals to entertain the guests but decided against it. In his limited experience, he’d found people enjoyed displaying their own abilities. Or lack thereof.

She tapped the paper with her long finger. “An indoor picnic in the smaller ballroom Saturday for the midday meal is quite a quaint idea.” Willow gifted him an approving smile.

Much like a dog receiving a pet from its beloved owner, he edged closer. Earning her favor sent warm whorls of satisfaction and contentment gliding through him. But he wanted more. So much more.

“Very clever, actually,” she went on, a hint of a smile in her words and curving her kissable lips. “Especially the bit about the Nativity petting zoo on the terrace afterward.”

“I hope to acquire a camel to make it more authentic.” He was truly out of his bloody, sodding mind. Where was he to find a camel in England? Actually, he didn’t have to. His man, Druthers, had been assigned the task.

He had accused Ansley of being out of his bloody, sodding mind.

“They spit, you know. Actually, it’s more like casting up their accounts. They can also be quite foul-tempered.” She eyed the paper in her hand, a little furrow between her eyebrows. “Perhaps you should only allow petting of the smaller animals.”

“Excellent idea.” He agreed with a considering nod. “I’ll take care of procuring the animals and greeneries for decorating.”

Her lips tipped into a mischievous grin. “Good, for I haven’t a notion where to acquire an ox.”