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Willow blew out a frustrated sigh. Flopping onto her back, she flung an arm over her eyes. For two hours, she’d attempted to sleep, but the morning’s events replayed in her mind over and over and over again.

She couldn’t regret the blissful experience. It had been beyond wonderful.

However, she could regret her carelessness, the angst it had caused Reeves, and the discomfort Mrs. Twistleton had known when she’d come upon them. But mostly, she regretted the awkward position her impulsiveness had put Ansley in.

Earlier, she had wanted to flee Fawntonbrooke Hall. Still did, truth to tell.

But he’d been right. She did have a responsibility to him, to this household, and to the other servants.

She didn’t know what boldness had possessed her to demand he pay for a passage to America in exchange for her remaining a few more weeks. She’d never been mercenary or one to take advantage. Distress and desperation must’ve been to blame for her tossing convention to the wind and practically bribing him. Stooping so low made her feel like a grasping opportunist.

She uncovered her eyes to stare at the plaster ceiling instead. Mrs. Twistleton’s kindness had been wholly unexpected, as had her practically ordering her son to propose. A small smile quirked Willow’s mouth as she shoved herself into a sitting position. He’d been as startled by his mother’s insistence as Willow had been, she’d be bound.

Sighing, she swung her legs over the side of the small bed, and after slipping on her plain, worn, but comfortable cream night robe, preceded to light a candle.

If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well be productive and go over the details of the house party. She felt sure she had everything in order, but since this was her first major event—only event—she wanted to double-check that she hadn’t overlooked anything of importance.

At least she could ensure Ansley’s Christmas gathering a success. She owed him that. And much more.

Despite the small fire still glowing in the grate, she shivered slightly. The temperature had dropped, and she wouldn’t be surprised if frost blanketed the ground again tomorrow. Once she’d slid her feet into her slippers, she lifted the candle holder and left her fourth story chamber.

She’d make a soothing cup of India tea and pilfer a shortbread biscuit or two to enjoy while she surveyed her notes in her office. She didn’t fret that she might be seen in her night clothing. The mansion had long since settled into silence, and Ansley always retired precisely at eleven.

He’d tossed off a few of his routines, but the time he sought his bed wasn’t one of them.

If only she could accept his proposal, her heart silently cried, but her conscience insisted she refuse. So intense was the pain, she bit her lip. To deny herself what she most wanted in the world, because it was what was best for him, still hurt bloody awful.

A man should no more be compelled to wed because he’d shared a mutually exciting kiss than a woman should be required to marry for the same reason. Perhaps her notions of marriage were too romantic. Too fanciful, for she still longed for love.

Passion wasn’t enough. Ansley wanted her, yes. But he’d never said a word about love.

Nonetheless, she loved him far too much to make him pay such a severe consequence for their indiscretion.

After all, it had been she who had entered the music room. She’d crossed to him, with no thought of how foolish her actions were. And at no time had she resisted. Resisted? Willow gave a soft, sarcastic little laugh. No, she most certainly had not done anything of the sort.

She’d seized the opportunity like a dying person, and he was her only salvation. What was more, she’d enjoyed every splendid moment. The experience had been so much more than carnal excitement. Ansley’s soul had touched hers.

Did he know?

How could he unless he felt the same?

By Jove, she refused to bring shame upon him, which undoubtedly would occur if they wedded. The gossip would be unrelenting and vicious. Hadn’t she endured that already in London after that debacle in the tea shop?

At times, simply coping on a daily basis proved a struggle for Ansley, and he didn’t need to contend with the disgrace of marrying beneath him, too.

She’d descended the first two flights of stairs, and deep in thought, tread softly along the corridor’s carpet. Her desire to return to America had gradually faded into a distant wisp these past weeks.

However, given what had transpired this morning, combined with that horrid tea shop scene, she had no choice. Unless she changed her name, acquiring a position in England was an unrealistic dream. Ha. Her educational credentials wouldn’t accompany a new name.

No credentials, no job.

So she was good and truly stuck.

Something constricted painfully behind her ribs, and she firmed her jaw against the rush of sorrow billowing over her. When she left England, she’d leave her heart here. Any notion she’d harbored of marriage and children evaporated as well.

How could she marry another when, as long as the sun rose and set, she’d never stop loving the earl? She could not be that unfair to another man.

At a noise further along the corridor, she snapped her head up and lifted her candle high. “Is someone there?”