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At once, Willow slapped her hands to her cheeks and turned away, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Ansley. Forgive me. I should never have interrupted you. I brought this disgrace upon us. I shall, of course, pack and depart at once.”

He cupped her shoulders, rotating her until she faced him, bringing uncertain cinder-lashed eyes to meet his. “You will do no such thing.” He lifted her hand, tracing his thumb over the knuckles and then raising it to his mouth to kiss her fingertips. “Willow Harwood, will you marry me?”

So many emotions flitted across her face in rapid succession he could scarce keep track of them: Wonderment. Skepticism. Doubt. Confusion. Disbelief. And lastly, sadness and remorse.

“No.” She shook her head, and that ridiculous lace cap fluttered as if mocking him. “I shall never have it said that I trapped you into marriage. You will come to hate me and regret your decision. A spectacular kiss does not make a good foundation for nuptials between a couple as mismatched as us.”

She thought the kiss spectacular, did she? Male pride edged the corners of his mouth upward and quickened his pulse.

He agreed whole-heartedly with her assessment regarding the kiss but vehemently disagreed with the rest of her assertion. Physical attraction was a bloody good foundation to start with. Many couples entering into arranged marriages and marriages of convenience couldn’t claim as much

He gave her slender shoulders a slight shake. “Willow, you must. Something like this cannot be kept quiet. Reeves is not a gossip, but if he’s offended because you don’t return his affections—word could leak out.” Most assuredly would. “You’ll not be able to find a position anywhere.”

Not in England, in any event.

She shook her head again, her resolve to refuse him frustrating as hell. “My answer is still no. Marriage should be between two people who love each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together. Not an arrangement that has been forced upon them because of a foolish impulse.” She sucked in a ragged breath then swallowed. “Do you require a letter of resignation, or is my verbal notice sufficient?”

“By God, I shall not accept your resignation. My long-time housekeeper has left. I have guests arriving for the first gathering I have hosted in less than three weeks’ time.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the familiar pounding and the tightening in his chest to begin.

“Ansley…”

Before prudence and pride muzzled him, he rushed on. “I cannot do this without you. Since you came into my life, I feel like a measure of normality has come over me. I’ve been able to relax. I’m not so regimented in my routines.” Opening his eyes, he searched her turbulent, stormy sea-green gaze. “Please, love. I need you.”

To his own ears, he sounded like a petulant child denied the sweet he wanted in the confection shop. He all but begged her, and he didn’t care that he seemed desperate. He was. For he required time to work this out. To not only persuade her to stay but to wed him.

Willow licked her lower lip, still slightly plump from his kisses. Hands clutched, she tilted her head. Several strands of silky red-gold hair had slipped loose of the confining knot at the back of her head and caressed her shoulders.

Ansley had disheveled her coiffure when he’d kissed her. He wouldn’t pretend regret. If they hadn’t been interrupted, he’d have done much more. Would do much, much more after they were wed. He wasn’t ready to quit the field just yet.

“You should probably fix your hair.” He gestured toward the strands. “There are a few tendrils…”

“Lord, what your mother and Reeves must’ve thought of me.” Rare color stained her ivory cheeks. With practiced efficiency, she repinned the errant locks. When she’d finished, she crossed her arms, forcing her tempting breasts upward. Chin raised in a challenge, she said, “I shall concede to stay through Christmastide. If you agree to pay for my passage to America.”

Oh, she was bold. And brave and daring. And brilliantly cunning.

Did she suspect how much he needed her?

Without a jot of hesitation, he would acquiesce. Would consent to almost anything to keep Willow with him one more day. One more hour. One more minute.

“Agreed.” He gave a sharp nod. “But, you must also allow me to woo you during that time.”

Her mouth tipped into a fragile smile. “Ansley, I do not have the makings of a countess. You know that. I am a half-American commoner who’s barely qualified to manage your household. I do not, by any stretch of the imagination, have what it takes to be a peeress. People would laugh and mock you behind your back.”

The haut ton could scoff to his face, and it wouldn’t make a mite of difference.

Then, without a backward glance, she also glided from the room, taking his battered heart with her.

Forever and always.

There must be a way to change his sweet Willow’s mind. And, by God, he’d find it.

That night, long after his mother had retired, the servants had sought their beds, and the manor had settled into the silence of a house at rest, Ansley sat in a wingback chair before the library’s fire, much as he had that night at the Wicked Earls’ Club.

He noted with a surprising lack of distress, the clock had chimed the half-hour past eleven. Last week, he’d placed the rubbing stone in a bureau drawer in his chamber, for he didn’t need it any longer. He was finally free. And it felt glorious. Unimaginable. Exhilarating. Liberating.

Because of Willow.

A mind overflowing with thoughts of her left little room to obsess about trivialities. Things that had once dominated his life had faded into near obscurity. Because she occupied whatever void that had once made his routines and regimens so critical to his existence.