FIRST LOVE
“Iam going to speak with your father tomorrow morning, Daisy Montgomery.” Alastair William Frampton, the future Duke of Lovington, inhaled the fresh scent of Daisy’s hair as he tightened his arms around her.My Daisy.
A hint of vanilla from the pastries she’d baked earlier competed with the grass and trees surrounding them, but there was also something warm and floral.
Moving closer, he inhaled the subtle scents of the latest oil she’d mixed.
“I like this blend.” He nuzzled his face along hers. “A new one?”
Her answer was a relaxed, lazy hum as she rubbed her bare foot up his leg.
Together, they lay entwined on a wool blanket in the shade of the remote woods on his father’s property.
“I used honeysuckle with clove and sage…” she answered.
“It’s my new favorite. You drive me mad, you know.”
“I hope so. Because I feel the same.” Daisy hummed again. “Let’s never move from this spot—juststay here forever.”
Cradling the supple weight of her breast with one hand, Alastair settled the other over the intimate flesh between her legs—sweet and inviting, tempting him to throw caution to the wind.
Today, they had very nearly taken matters too far.
Alastair could still taste her on his lips, feel the warmth of her hands in his hair, as if she might anchor them in this moment forever. His pulse thundered with each soft sigh. And he’d never felt more complete than when her breath mingled with his in the cool evening air.
But they were not engaged. They were not betrothed. And no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise, the brutal truth remained—he lived in the main house, and she in one of the tenant cottages.
If either of their parents knew what they had been up to, there would be hell to pay.
And yet, despite the risk, despite the chasm of class and consequence stretching between them, Alastair could wait no longer.
He would not—could not—stand idly while the world decided their fate for them. Daisy was not some passing fancy, not some fleeting infatuation he would simply outgrow. She was in his blood, in his bones. And if loving her was a sin, then he was already damned.
Three years ago, when he had first met the girl who would become the center of his world, she had been all wide blue eyes and sharp wit, hovering at the cusp of womanhood. He hadn’t meant to care. Hadn’t meant to notice the way she laughed, the way she challenged him with her clever tongue, or how her smile could undo him with a single glance. And yet, he had.
Somewhere between stolen hours and whispered confidences, their friendship had evolved. Affection had deepened into longing, a desire so fierce it stole his breath. He had fought against it—they both had—but now…
Now, they stood at the edge of a cliff. One more kiss, one more touch, and there would be no turning back. The past, the expectations, the impossible divide between them—all of it would cease to matter in the face of the only truth that did.
They were on the verge of embracing forever.
Alastair would act with honor, would claim her as his wife—protect her as he was meant to.
His father would disapprove, of course. That much was inevitable. And his uncle, Lord Calvin, who oversaw Woodland Priory in his father’s absence, would undoubtedly forbid the match.
But none of that mattered.
Alastair would make a personal appeal to his father, a man who’d loved his wife dearly. The duke would eventually relent. There was no other option. Alastair was not going to allow anyone to change his mind.
His heart already belonged to her.
Life would not be worth living without his sweet Daisy, with her curly blond hair—ringlets so tight he could barely run his fingers through them—and her large blue eyes and cherry red lips. He loved seeing the world through the unique lens she shared with him, listening to her laughter, teasing a blush to her heart-shaped face. But his love went beyond all of that. She was his best friend, his confidante, and soon…
She would be his lover in every sense of the word.
But first, he needed to make her his wife.
On the last few occasions they’d met in secret, kisses had turned heated, touches had lingered, and tasting her had become both a torment and a necessity. It was no longer enough—never would be.
