Bran couldn’t deny that he was frustrated. And not in a sexual way. All right, perhaps in a sexual way too. Could he help it if Jo had awakened a stirring desire within him? He’d thought of little else the past day and a half, and given her behavior, he wasn’t sure she’d thought of him at all.

She’d done a fair job of avoiding him all day yesterday and again today, and she’d brushed him off last night with some excuse about a headache. He had to assume he’d done something wrong, but he’d no idea what.

This had happened periodically with Louisa. She’d become cross with him and wouldn’t lie with him until he’d apologized. Sometimes he’d discovered what he’d done—said something off-hand that she’d taken poorly or been ignorant of something he shouldn’t have been—and others, he’d no idea. Nevertheless, he’d learned that apologizing went a long way to curing a woman’s gripes.

He’d try that today with Jo.

Evie came bounding down the stairs with Jo following at a more sedate pace. “Ready for our picnic, Papa?”

He swept her up into his arms and spun her around, making her squeal. “I am, sweetling.” He set her down and looked at Jo, who watched them with a half smile. “Let me just grab our picnic basket, and we’ll be on our way.”

Bran picked up the basket that the cook had prepared for their outing, and Bucket opened the door for them. Bran waited for his daughter and Jo to precede him. He noticed that as soon as they were outside, Evie took Jo’s hand. It was a simple gesture, but it warmed his heart to see Evie so comfortable and happy here.

They paused at the bottom of the stairs, allowing him to catch up. Then Evie took Bran’s hand too.

Bran recalled walking along the beach in Barbados like this. Except the woman on the other side of Evie had been her mother. He doubted Evie remembered that.

“What have you been doing today?” Bran asked.

“This and that,” Evie said. “We measured distances on my map. Did you know that Barbados is over four thousand miles away? Of course you did. You know everything.”

Bran laughed. “I do not, but I appreciate your confidence.”

“What don’t you know?” Evie asked as they made their way toward Green Park.

“So many things, most of them to do with women,” Bran said, still thinking of Jo and what he’d done to upset her, if anything.

Evie scrunched her face up and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He realized he’d said the wrong thing. Again. “Er, nothing. I don’t know much about making my way in London society. I get all these invitations, and I’ve no idea what to do with them.”

“You should accept some probably,” Evie said. “Right, Jo?”

Bran was curious to hear her opinion.

“Probably. Meeting new people might be nice.”

Evie cocked her head to the side and swung her arms, forcing Bran to swing his too, not that he minded. “Hmmm, I’m not sure,” she said. “Papa doesn’t really like to meet people. He likes to be at home. With me.” She grinned up at him.

“That’s true. But Mrs. Shaw has a point. I’m an earl now, and I should form some connections at least.”

“Becky told me that balls are spectacular with beautiful music, a million candles, and everyone is in their finest. She says her mama wears the prettiest ball gowns.” Evie turned her head to Jo. “Do you go to balls?”

“I have. Once, anyway.” She flicked a glance toward Bran, and he knew she was thinking the same as him—that the best part of that ball hadn’t been music or candles and certainly not clothing. “Governesses don’t really go to balls,” Jo said.

Evie frowned. “That doesn’t seem fair. Why can’t you have fun?”

“Let me see if I can explain,” Jo said. “It’s a bit complicated. There is a hierarchy to London Society, and certain groups aren’t invited to Society events such as balls.”

“What’s hierarchy?”

“A sort of ranking. Such as with peers. A duke is the highest rank, then marquess, then earl, then viscount, and so on. We’ll study Debrett’s later. Much later.”

“Becky told me her father is more important than mine. I told her that wasn’t true, but I guess it is?” Evie looked at Jo and then Bran.

“I don’t think importance has anything to do with it,” Jo said.

Bran snorted. “It’s all chance. In most cases, some forefather was given a title that’s passed down from father to son. It’s entirely possible that someone who’s a duke or an earl doesn’t really deserve to be.” Or want to be, as was Bran’s case.

“So most peers haven’t really earned their position,” Evie deduced, showing a keen intelligence that made Bran’s pride swell.

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Bran said. He hadn’t earned his, and he was certain everyone would agree with that fact.

“Well, that’s rather silly, isn’t it? Ranking people based on their family and allowing that to decide who can go to a ball.” Evie stuck her tongue out and trilled her lips to make a rather rude sound he’d taught her a few years ago. He glanced at Jo to see her reaction. She stifled a smile, and Bran did the same.

They’d arrived at the park and paused at the entrance. “Where shall we go?” Jo asked, looking down at Evie.

Evie turned her head this way and that as if she were getting her bearings. At last she pointed to the Queen’s Basin. “Over by the water, I think.”

As they made their way toward the reservoir, they passed another family, the mother and father holding the hand of a small boy who walked between them. Well, he didn’t walk so much as float since he was little enough that they picked him up from the ground every few steps. He giggled every time he took flight, and again Bran recalled similar times with Evie and Louisa. He hadn’t really missed his wife in the last couple of years, and especially not since they’d traveled to London. A wave of nostalgia hit, surprising him with its force. He missed his former life, his home, and everything that encompassed.

When they reached the water, Bran set the basket down. Jo came to open it at the same time he did, and their hands brushed.

She jerked away, her eyes flickering with a myriad emotions—so fast that he couldn’t discern them all. Or any of them really. “I was just going to spread the blanket.”

He took a step back. “Please.”

She glanced at him before turning her attention to the basket and went about setting up the picnic.

Evie had strolled to the fence surrounding the reservoir, and Bran joined her. “Papa, can we go to the ocean? I miss the ocean.”

“Yes. I don’t think it’s terribly far. I would like that too.”

“But it won’t be like home. Barbados, I mean.” Evie’s voice held a note of resignation. She was coming to terms with the fact that they didn’t live there anymore. This both relieved Bran and made him sad at the same time.

“No, it won’t be the same.” Nothing was the same. He looked over to where Jo laid out their picnic. It also wasn’t all bad either. “You like it here at least a little bit, don’t you?”

Evie turned to him and glanced up at the sky. “I’m glad it’s sunny today. I miss seeing its happy face.” She took his hand again. “Don’t worry about me, Papa. I’m fine. I want to make sure you’re happy. Come on, let’s go eat. Cook said she packed little salmon sandwiches!”

Fish was one of the few things Evie adored, and their new cook had made sure to make it available to her at every meal.

They returned to the blanket, where Jo had everything neatly and appetizingly organized. There was something very natural and comfortable about the entire thing—walking to the park hand in hand, having Jo set up the meal, and now the three of them sitting down together to eat. He could picture them as a family quite easily. The impediment, whether she could give him a son, loomed at the back of his mind. Then came Evie’s proclamation that titles were silly. Or at least the inheritance of them. It was all so arbitrary, he realized. They had so little control over things, and that frustrated him.

While they ate, Evie told stories about Barbados, regaling Jo with tales of her pets, including her horse, all of which they’d left behind. Why hadn’t he gotten her a new one? Or a cat or a dog? He was an idiot.

“Do you ride well?” Jo asked her.

Evie nodded after finishing the last of her sandwich. “Yes. Papa started teaching me when I was three.”

Jo glanced at him in mild alarm. “Goodness, that seems so young.”

Bran shrugged. “Things were different there.” He looked at Evie. “It occurs to me that you need a new horse. I’ll look into it. Would you like that?”

She nodded, smiling widely. “Ever so much, thank you!”

“Evie!” A girl’s squeal carried across the reservoir.

Evie squinted in that direction and then jumped to her feet. “It’s Becky!”

Becky was with a woman but quickly darted away from her to run around the reservoir. Evie dashed from the blanket to meet her.

Bran smiled as he watched them.

“You’re an exceptional father,” Jo said quietly.

Bran turned his head and saw that she was watching him intently. “I try. She makes it very easy.”

The girls came to the blanket, their arms linked. “Papa,” Evie said. “Becky has invited me to come to her house for the afternoon. May I go?”

“I’m not certain it will be all right with the duchess.” Bran looked over at Jo in silent question.

“Mama would say it’s fine,” Becky said, turning to Jo. “Wouldn’t she, Aunt Jo?”

“I’m sure she would,” Jo agreed.

“Do you have plans for the afternoon?” Bran asked.

“Nothing that can’t be postponed,” Jo said, turning to Becky. “I can come fetch you later.”

Becky’s governess finally caught up to them at the blanket. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” Bran said. “The girls have hatched a plan to spend the afternoon together. Can you think of a reason Evie can’t return home with you?”

The governess was quiet a moment before shaking her head. “I cannot. I’d planned to work on sewing this afternoon.” She smiled at Evie. “Would you like to join us in that endeavor, Lady Evie?”

Becky looked at her friend eagerly. “We’re going to make dresses for the puppets Father brought home the other day.”

“Oh, that sounds marvelous!” Evie turned to Bran with pleading eyes. “Please, Papa?”

It sounded as though it would be all right with everyone, and he couldn’t ignore the fact that it would leave him alone with Jo. “Yes, you may go. Jo will fetch you later. I have to meet with my secretary.” He planned to talk with him about procuring a horse.

The girls danced in delight and a few minutes later headed back the way they’d come with the governess.

Jo began to repack the basket.

“Are you in a hurry to return home?” Bran asked.

“You said you have an appointment.”

“I didn’t say it was immediately.”

She kept her gaze averted and busied herself quite thoroughly with her task.

“Jo.”

She tipped her head toward him.

“Sit with me. Please.”

It took her a minute before she finally sat down next to the basket. Her shoulders were stiff, her back arrow straight.

He scooted closer to her so that only a matter of inches separated them. From here he could just catch her scent. It tantalized him almost as much as her simple proximity. Her long lashes fluttered against her cheeks as she blinked toward the basin. Her lips were slightly parted. He imagined taking her in his arms and kissing her, pressing her back against the blanket, the sun warming them from above. He suddenly had an image of doing the same thing, but back on Barbados, on the beach, with the warm surf stealing over their bodies. His cock grew stiff, and he forced himself back to this moment.

“You’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong? Do you regret the other night?” He held his breath, almost afraid of her answer.

She flashed him a tentative glance. “I… It’s nothing.”

He moved a bit closer until they were nearly touching, his hip and her knee. “It’s never nothing where you’re concerned.”

She swung her head toward his and pierced him with an inquisitive, almost accusatory stare. “When you asked me to be your governess, what were your intentions?”

He blinked, unsettled at her dark tone. “For you to be Evie’s governess. I’m not sure I understand your question.”

She pressed her lips together, and he sensed she was dissatisfied with his answer. But of course she was. He had no idea what she was talking about. Unless…hell. He sorted it out just as she said it: “Did you hire me so that you could seduce me?”

“Of course not.” Except that he had hoped to at least kiss her again. “I did not hire you for that sole purpose. However, I am also not sorry that things between us…progressed.”

“So you considered the possibility?”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hopeful—if you recall, I proposed marriage to you.”

“Which I firmly declined,” she said sternly. “And would still decline.”

He began to grow irritated. Yes, she’d made her rejection of him quite clear. “Because of that, I didn’t think anything would happen. But I stand by what I said: I don’t regret it.” He peered at her closely. “Is there some other reason you declined my proposal?”

“I don’t need one. I should think the reason I provided for my refusal would be more than enough.”

It would—he needed an heir, and she supposedly couldn’t give him one. However, he now wondered if it was more than that. He knew she’d been unhappy in her marriage, that her husband had been the worst sort of ass. Perhaps she didn’t see any point to marriage, especially if she couldn’t have children.

His head was beginning to ache. Women were incredibly complicated. “Yes, your rejection was more than enough. I truly didn’t expect to seduce you, nor did I plan to. I’m not a glutton for punishment.”

Her features softened. “I never meant to injure you. My apologies.”

“Would you like to return to the way things were?” He feared he knew the answer to that. It seemed that she did regret what had happened.

She leaned toward him, and his breath caught once more. “I do not.”

His pulse picked up speed, and he stared at her mouth. “I see. Well that’s good to know.” If frustrating, given their current location. He wanted to take her into his arms. “I would kiss you now, if I could.”

Her lips parted, and her chest rose and fell more rapidly as her breathing quickened. “I would like that. Tell me.”

What was she asking? What he would do? “I’d come closer and press you back onto the blanket. Then I’d put my mouth on yours, and I’d slide my tongue inside.”

“I’d meet you. And I’d strip your cravat away.” She gave him a sultry look that told him she knew just how much he would like that.

Her words fired his lust. His cock began to throb. “I would lift your skirts—”

“Knighton!” A loud feminine voice interrupted their mutual verbal seduction. Bran turned his head and saw Lady Dunn and a younger woman, her companion, he thought, coming toward them.

Bran swore silently. He needed to get up. And demonstrate his full arousal to all and sundry. He glanced toward Jo, who looked suddenly anxious. He took her hand and helped her stand. “If you could just position yourself slightly in front of me, that would be helpful.” He dipped his gaze down toward his groin, and her eyes widened.

She nodded infinitesimally and clasped his hand while he stood. Then he pulled her to her feet.

“Good afternoon, Lady Dunn,” Bran said.

“Good afternoon, how delightful to see you here.” She transferred her gaze to Jo. “And you, Mrs. Shaw. Is Lady Evie somewhere about?” She looked around.

“No, we encountered Lady Rebecca, and she went home with her,” Bran said. “Mrs. Shaw and I were just about to pack up the remainder of our picnic.”

“How charming.” Lady Dunn gave him a knowing stare sparkling with approval. “Will I see you at the Andover ball this evening?”

He couldn’t be sure but thought it was probably one of the many invitations he’d ignored. “Ah, I wasn’t planning on it.”

Lady Dunn clucked her tongue. “My dear boy, you must get out more. You needn’t stay for a long while, just show your face. And allow me to introduce you to some people—it will make me so happy.” She looked at him expectantly, her gaze hopeful.

He wanted to refuse but couldn’t. “I’ll find you there.”

She grinned. “Excellent. I’m so glad we ran into you this afternoon. See you tonight.” She turned to Jo. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaw.”

“Good afternoon, Lady Dunn.” Jo waited until Lady Dunn and her companion had turned about before bending down to pick up the blanket and quickly folding it before stashing it in the basket. She handed it to Bran. “Would you mind taking this back to the house? I’m going to walk straight to Nora’s.”

Disappointment that he wouldn’t get to spend the walk with her dampened his mood, but he took the basket. “Of course. I’ll see you later.”

She blinked, as if confused by that statement. “You have a ball to attend. I expect you’ll return rather late, and I will likely be asleep.”

Hell and damnation, why had he agreed to go to the damn thing? To please his godmother. “I’ll endeavor to return at a reasonable hour.”

She shrugged. “If you’re so inclined. See you at dinner.” She turned, and he watched her circuit the reservoir.

What had happened? She’d flirted with him—no, teased him—before Lady Dunn’s untimely arrival, and now it was as if she were coated in frost. Well, he’d warm her up later.

He could scarcely wait.

* * *

Sleep continued to evade Jo as she flipped to her back once more and stared at the canopy overhead. She was jealous. Jealous of all the people at the stupid Andover ball tonight who got to spend time with Bran. Of all the women he’d dance with.

Do you really think he’ll dance?

She rose up on her elbow and punched her pillow with a grunt. He might not dance, but he was still moving about in a world she had cut herself off from when she’d agreed to become his governess. It wasn’t lost on her that Lady Dunn hadn’t asked if she was attending the ball tonight.

Which had led Jo to wonder if she could. She’d considered asking Nora when she’d gone over there to fetch Evie but had ultimately decided against it. Nora would’ve asked if she was having second thoughts about being a governess. And she wasn’t. No, she was having second thoughts about what she was doing with Bran.

She settled back against the pillow and exhaled. She’d meant it when she’d told him she didn’t regret lying with him the other night. And she’d thoroughly enjoyed their banter before Lady Dunn had interrupted them. She envisioned another magical night before them. Instead, he was at a ball. Without her.

She threw off the covers and stood from the bed, sliding her feet into a pair of slippers. Pulling on her robe and tying the sash, she made her way from the room. Maybe a book would help her fall asleep.

She crept down the stairs and made her way to Bran’s office. It was dark and cold without him in it. It wasn’t completely dark—embers from the fire burned low in the grate. She set her candlestick on his desk, and her eye caught the jar of shells. Evie had told her that she’d collected them in Barbados every time she and her father had walked along the beach. It sounded idyllic. She’d thought of it today as they’d walked hand in hand to the park. It was impossible not to imagine them as a family, not when she felt like they were, or at least could be very easily.

If it weren’t for her problem.

And that was the issue. Every day Evie and Bran stole a little more of her heart, and when the time eventually—and unavoidably—came for him to take a wife, everything would change.

She turned from the shells, her chest pulling. The crate of things he’d brought from Barbados was pushed up against the bookshelves, the lid propped beside it. Several items had made their ways into various rooms, including a miniature of his wife, which now hung in Evie’s room.

Louisa Crowther had been very beautiful, with shining golden hair and a soft smile. Jo could see the resemblance between her and Evie and wondered if Bran was reminded of her every time he looked at his daughter. Had his marriage been a happy one? She simultaneously wanted to know and yet didn’t. It would be easier to think her death hadn’t adversely affected him in the way that Matthias’s hadn’t upset Jo.

She knelt next to the crate and picked up a coin, wondering if it had been mistakenly dropped inside or if it was a memento of some kind. It was rather worn, the edges dull and smooth. She set it back into the crate and her knuckles grazed an object wrapped in paper.

Carefully, she uncovered the item. It was a small golden box with a rope dancer. Jo gasped softly at its exquisite beauty.

“That’s a music box.”

Jo swung her head toward the doorway. Bran stood there, his cravat and coat missing and his waistcoat unbuttoned. She was growing used to seeing him thus, but he never failed to make her think of an untamed animal. He was an aberration, a gentleman who refused to adhere to Society’s rules and requirements, and he made no apologies. All that just made him more attractive to her.

She blushed at being caught prying through his things. “I was curious. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He stepped over the threshold. “I don’t mind. I went upstairs to your chamber as soon as I arrived home, but you weren’t there.”

She set the music box back in the crate and stood. “I came for a book, and then I saw the crate.”

He went to it and leaned down to look through it for a moment. “Did you find a small key with the box?”

“No. It was wrapped in paper, and that was the only thing inside.”

He straightened. “The key has been missing for some time. I’d hoped it had magically appeared. The box was a gift to Louisa from her parents when we married.” He bent to retrieve it. Holding the box in one hand, he lifted the glass top. He pointed to a hole in the intricate design of the rope dancer. “See here?” At her nod, he continued. “The key is inserted here. After you turn it a few times, the music plays, and the dancer jumps up and down on the rope. It’s an automaton.”

She wished she could see it. “How clever.”

“Quite. If only I could find the key, but I’m sure I can find a shop here in London that can fabricate another.”

“I’m sure you could, yes.”

He put the glass lid back down and set it on one of the bookshelves. “Then I’ll give it to Evie. She used to listen to it constantly when she was very young. I think she may have been the one to lose the key. I wonder if she even remembers it.”

“It would be a nice thing for her to have since it belonged to her mother.” Jo had a handkerchief her mother had made and nothing else. “Do you miss her?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but the question had simply leapt from her mouth.

He stared at his desk for a moment, his brow creasing. “Not really. I wish she hadn’t died, especially for Evie’s sake.”

“Were you happy?” Jo asked softly.

He turned his gaze toward hers. “Happier than you were, I imagine. She was a kind and lovely woman.”

The jealousy Jo felt earlier burned through her again, which was petty. She oughtn’t be jealous of a dead woman. Just as she oughtn’t be jealous of him going to a ball.

But she was. When she thought of him, dazzling and unbearably handsome beneath a thousand candles, her heart ached. “How was the ball?” The question sounded brittle to her ears.

He stepped toward her, and she turned to fully face him, her back nearly touching the bookshelves. “Boring.”

“In what way?”

“In every way.” He advanced on her, closing the distance between them. “I detest such nonsense.”

She pressed her back against the shelves. “Then why did you go?”

“To please my godmother.” He brought his chest flush with hers.

She could feel his warmth through the meager layers of their clothing. “Is that right?”

“Mmm.” He lowered his head and pressed hot kisses along her neck.

She arched her head back as far as it would go before the bookcase stopped her. Fire and need ignited in her belly and spread through her limbs before coiling in her core. “Did you dance?”

“Twice.”

Another shaft of jealousy sliced through her. “I’m…surprised.”

His tongue licked along her jaw. “I am too.” He straightened, his mouth a bare inch from hers. “Are you upset that I went to the ball?”

“No.” She answered too quickly and saw the doubt in his gaze.

His eyes darkened as he untied the sash at her waist. He pushed the garment open and then pulled his shirt over his head, leaving just her night rail between them. “Rest assured, I would much rather have been here with you. Doing this.” He kissed her, his tongue capturing hers in feverish want.

She clasped his shoulders and held him tightly, her body quivering with desire. He kissed her deeply, his body pressing into hers so that she could feel the hardness of his cock. Need sparked between her legs, and she rotated her hips against his. He met her movements, thrusting into her.

She needed more.

He cupped her breast through the night rail, his fingers finding her nipple. The fabric was thin and seemed to only intensify the sensation as it rubbed against her desperate flesh. His mouth left hers and trailed down her neck to the top of her breasts. He pushed her nipple up and caught it with his tongue, drawing lush, wet circles over the fabric before grazing her with his teeth.

She gasped as stark lust shot through her. This was even more intense than the other night. She wanted him so badly. Here. Now.

He seemed to understand as he found the hem of her night rail and lifted it to her waist. His hand came between her legs, stroking her as she widened her stance to open her thighs.

And then he was gone. She whimpered. But he was back momentarily after dragging the chair toward them. He pushed it to the bookshelf, on her right.

He reached for her right leg, grasping her behind the knee and lifting. “Put your foot on the chair.”

She did as he said, and immediately knew why he’d done it when his hand moved between her thighs once more. This opened her more fully, gave him better access. And oh, did he make good use of it.

She curled her hand around his neck, gripping him with harsh need as his finger entered her. He stroked in and out, teasing her arousal. She needed his mouth again.

Cupping his neck, she pulled him toward her and kissed him. He groaned into her mouth. His fingers worked faster, his thumb pushing on that sensitive spot that made her want to cry out.

He tugged his mouth from hers. “I can’t wait.” His breathing was ragged and wild.

She pulled at his hair. “I don’t want you to.”

He withdrew his hand from her, and she felt him undoing his fall between them. He shoved her night rail up once more and pushed her foot farther over on the chair, opening her wider. Then his cock nudged her opening. She was desperate to have him inside her.

She dug her fingers into his back as he entered her in one quick, filling thrust. She moaned, and he kissed her again, bringing heat and ecstasy.

He began to move, but she felt wobbly. He seemed to sense this as he lifted her by the waist. He broke the kiss. “Wrap your legs around me.”

Again, she followed his command, and again he filled her, this time causing a cascade of light behind her eyelids as she squeezed them shut. Pleasure swept through her, lifting her high on wave after wave of rapture. She held on to him tightly as he drove relentlessly into her eager body.

He moaned as he took her mouth again, his tongue mimicking the movements of his cock. Each thrust sent her farther over the edge until uncontrollable spasms racked her body. He gripped her waist and buried himself deep. She felt his release as he shuddered.

He kept moving, a bit more slowly, but still filling her and prolonging her pleasure. After a minute, he withdrew, easing her legs from him. She found her footing before he let her go. She opened her eyes and saw him sprawl in the chair, his eyes closed, his head cast back, and his chest pulsing as he caught his breath.

Her gaze drifted to the still-open door, and panic filled her. Her night rail hung crooked around her waist. She smoothed it down and drew her robe closed, tying the sash tightly around her. “We can’t let that happen again.”

His eyes flew open. “Why?”

She hurriedly closed the door. “Anyone could’ve walked in.” Her gaze dipped to his open fall and his spent cock.

He swore quietly and fastened the buttons. “If only you weren’t so damned desirable. I’ll try to restrain myself unless we’re in your chamber. Or mine.” He looked up at her, his eyes still dark with pleasure.

Want tore through her, but her earlier misgivings rose to the front of her mind. “Maybe we shouldn’t do it at all. If someone were to find out. Or Evie—”

He jumped up and pulled her into him, his hands clasping her waist. “They won’t. We’ll be more careful. I’ll be more careful.”

It was so much more than that. This was a temporary thing. But she couldn’t seem to form the words to push him away, as she surely must.

He caressed her face and kissed her softly. “Don’t worry yourself. It will be all right. I promise.” He smiled. “There is no reason we should deny ourselves this gift. This joy.”

Her throat suddenly burned. It was a gift. And a joy she’d never known. It would end someday—sooner or later—but for now it was enough. It had to be. She wasn’t willing to let him go.