“You look guilty. Clearly, you’ve done something.”
She wrapped one hand around the post and leaned against it and bit her bottom lip. Those lush lips of hers were going to get him in trouble.
“Daisy, come here. I’m teasing. You look morose. What the devil happened on the walk?”
She shook her head and came around to the side and sat on the edge of the bed just out of his reach—not that he was intending on reaching for her. But he did shift to sit beside her. He bumped his shoulder against hers.
“Who popped your bubble? I’ll kill them. I swear it.”
She huffed out a laugh. “At the park we ran into an acquaintance of my mother’s—Lady Claystone—and she was... horrible.”
Sam frowned in confusion. “Lady Claystone? Lord Cliffton’s mother?”
Her face snapped to his and her skin paled. “You know him—them?”
“We’re the same age. We had one or two lectures together at Eton, if I recall.”
She bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears.
Now Sam had to reach for her. He tucked her into his side and rested his chin on her head. She smelled like daffodils and soap. She hiccupped and covered her eyes with her hands.
“She and my mother are friends from childhood. They are incredibly close. My mother calls her a sister in spirit. Lady Claystone is the one who invited me to travel with Mrs. Miranda and her daughter. Now she wants me to go stay with her to save my reputation from further damage, but I said I wouldn’t. And she is not a woman who tolerates disobedience.”
“She can’t do that. She’s not your mother.”
She winced a little. “She can make my life difficult.”
Sam scoffed. “You know, Cliffton did everything he could to avoid her, too.”
She sniffed. “He did?”
“Absolutely. He called her The Gorgon.”
She laughed a little. “I didn’t know that.”
“You know Cliffton as well?” He twisted carefully to look at her face, but he refused to let her go. Her warmth seeped through her clothing to his.
“I’ve known him since birth,” she said. “We spent most holidays together until he was old enough to go to school. Then I saw him less and less.”
Good. Cliffton was a witless bounder. The only thing he loved more than prostitutes was whittling wood. Sam stroked a hand over her head, much like he’d done for Amelia countless times for comfort, but Sam wasn’t feeling particularly brotherly with Daisy. His fingers just so happened to slide into the loose coil of hair on her head. She fit against his side perfectly. Her hip touching his and her shoulder fitting right under his. Like two matching puzzle pieces.
Sam cleared his throat. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. But he’d be damned if he pulled away from her while she cried. Sam peeled one of Daisy’s hands away from her face and kissed her palm. She sucked in a breath and held it. She turned her face up to his and, damn it, he held his breath too. She was flushed, eyes glittering with teardrops stuck to her lashes, and her lipstrembling. He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted his next breath.
He could do it, too. He could make her feel so good she would forget about Lady Claystone.
But he took a breath, fighting back that urge. This wasn’t like him. He may be a practiced lover, but he wasn’t easily swayed by his base desires. He was a man of principal even when he liked to flaunt the rules.
And Daisy wasn’t a passing interest. She was important to him in a way no woman has ever been. Not a sister and more than a friend. But she could not be his lover. And yet he was still somehow pulling her closer, her lips a scant handsbreadth beneath his. Sam closed his eyes, a groan filling his chest as he willed himself to stop. He turned his head and tucked his face into her neck. Her scent filled his nose. Sweet and succulent. He couldn’t stop himself from running his nose up her neck to her ear. She let out a soft gasp. His desire roared inside him, but he pulled himself back, his breathing labored as he battled his lust back into its cage. Her wide gaze met his, pupils blown to fathomless black pools. She might not know it, but she wasn’t immune to him. He could see the desire in her eyes, see the flutter of her racing pulse in her neck.
If he wanted, he could have her. He could satisfy this craving for both of them. But not at the expense of her trust and innocence. He broke their eye contact and kissed the back of her hand.
“Just tell Amelia you want Claystone ostracized and she’ll do it. Amelia has the ear of many prominent matrons in society. Once this scandal fades from the fickle minds of society, Amelia will help you debut, and Lady Claystone will be nothing but a distant memory.”
He set her hand back on her lap and she blinked away her tears.
“Amelia already defended me today,” she said.
“You’re safe here. It’s a very short list of people who are permitted to enter this house during my recovery, and that woman isn’t on it.”
