Heavy footsteps on the floorboards, then the door swung open to reveal Willow. He wore a white coat and suspenders, and his red hair was neatly combed back.

“Hi, I mean… hello, Doctor.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Cartwright.”

She hadn’t misheard. He was speaking with a soft, Scottish brogue, and as he looked her up and down, there wasn’t any recognition in his eyes. He might have been seeing her for the first time.

Eden’s face burned. “My, um, father sent me to see you?”

“Of course. Come inside.”

He gestured behind him to a wood-panelled room. Eden entered, her heart thumping. The space looked like a dance hall with dusty floorboards and wide windows. In the middle of the room stood what looked like a supermarket massage chair, covered by a sheet. In the corner she saw a wooden desk, scattered with paper and adorned with a vase of daffodils.

“Sit in the chair,” he directed.

Eden moved toward the centre of the room. As she sat, Willow—Doctor Williams—studied her with faint interest. His gaze lingered on her breasts and he glanced away, his fingers knotting together. Eden saw a fat gold wedding band on his left hand and her stomach contracted. Was he married?

Her face heated as she realised she was being stupid. Of course, he wasn’t married. His character was. The thought, along with how good he looked in the white coat, had her fighting back a smile. It was game on.

“Would you like a glass of water, Miss Cartwright?”

God, that accent. It made Eden want to call off this charade and pull his face between her legs. She tried some showmanship of her own. Clearing her throat, she adopted her mother’s cut-glass English accent. “No, thank you.”

A faint smile creased Willow’s lips. “Very well. Try to relax. This isn’t an interrogation. I’m here to take care of you.”

Eden’s mouth went dry. She wished she’d accepted the glass of water.

The doctor paced the floorboards, hands behind his back. “Your father tells me you’re having trouble at home.”

“I… I suppose so.”

“What kind of trouble, Miss Cartwright?”

Again, Eden tried not to smile. In real Victorian times, her sister Sienna would be ‘Miss Cartwright.’ She’d be ‘Miss Eden’ until Sienna got married—

Don’t think about that.

She leaned back in what she was now positive was a massage chair. “I don’t know, Doctor. I find it hard to concentrate. I sleep lightly and I’m distracted all the time.”

Willow strode to the edge of his desk and sat on the corner. His coat opened to reveal a fitted shirt, tight enough that Eden could see his pecs.

“Are you lightheaded?” he asked.

“Occasionally.”

“Moody?”