Chase awoke with a start, facedown in his pillow. He yanked it away and gulped in the cold morning air, his body drenched in sweat. Bloody hell, what a nightmare.

But it was no wonder—he was inundated with sheep. Chase tucked the pillow back under his head and rolled onto his back, blinked groggily into the darkness as he waited for his breathing to return to normal. He’d never worked so hard in his life, though to tell the truth, as more and more days passed, he found that he was beginning to enjoy it.

Well, some of it. There was one particular ram who detested Chase on sight, a sentiment Chase found that he could return with his full compliments. Every opportunity the ram got, he would lower his head and attempt to knock Chase into the mud.

In all truth, far worse than the work and the cantankerous ram, was the constant trail of visitors that had descended on Garrett Park. They came, they saw, they gawked. Each night, Chase would drag himself in from the fields, take a quick gallop on his poor horse, who no doubt was feeling as cooped up as Chase himself, and then put on his London clothes and pretend he wasn’t nigh dead with exhaustion at dinner.

That night promised to be the worst night of all, for Lady Cabot-Wells was reputed to be attending. Mrs. Ward had announced with some glee that the woman was the busiest gossip this side of Dorset.

Chase rubbed his neck and stretched, wakening more each passing moment. The more he saw of the gossip chain that operated in Sticklye-By-The-River, the happier he was that he hadn’t blurted out his name when he’d first arrived.

In one more week, all would be finished. The wool would be gathered, the bank paid, Garrett Park saved, and Chase St. John would be on his way. He rolled to his side and looked about his dark bedroom, wondering why the thought made him feel so bleak.

Didn’t he want to protect his family from his own errors? Of course he did. And leaving was the best way. He was sure of it.

Almost.

What, he wondered, would Harriet do in his case? He saw her as she’d looked in his arms, dancing with such a joyous air.

Of all the women Chase had known, Harriet Ward was the most honest, genuine of all. He liked how she faced life’s difficulties with her chin in the air, still able to laugh and enjoy a moment of frivolity without playing the martyr. He thought of her shoes and the joy she’d taken in wearing them.

One day, when all this was over, he would order a dress for her, one that would match those shoes. One that would fulfill every daydream she’d ever had.

The thought pleased him and he lay in the darkness, smiling.

“Captain?” Stephen threw open the door. “It’s another day.”

So it was. Chase kicked back his covers and sat up, stretching in the dark. The second the sheep were shorn and he was certain Garrett Park was saved, it would be time to leave. Time to resume his journey. But today was not that day.