Each time he left her, he ached, body and soul, for more. And if they continued on this path, if they allowed their desires to follow nature’s course, he would endanger not only her reputation but her future.
Their future.
Alastair had never considered himself reckless, but where Daisy was concerned, all reason abandoned him. He could not bear the thought of causing her harm, of forcing her into ruin because of his own selfish need to love her fully, completely.
He would not let her suffer for loving him.
Lying beside her now, he stared at the few wispy clouds visible through the branches, his mind full of the life they could have. A life together, where he would never have to steal moments with her, never have to pretend she wasn’t the most important person in his world.
Daisy nuzzled closer, her breath a warm whisper against his neck, and his chest tightened.
Yes, it was time. Not just because it was the honorable thing to do, not just because it was right—but because he loved her.
And that wasn’t going to change.
Ever.
He plucked a sprig of flowering clover from the grass above her head and brushed it over her forehead, tracing the delicate line of her brow before sweeping it down around her mouth. “So sweet.” His voice was little more than a whisper, reverent, as if the words themselves were a vow.
Then, with a boyish grin, he sprinkled the blossoms in her hair, letting them fall like tiny blessings before claiming her lips in a kiss—soft at first, then lingering, as if he could bind them together in ways that no one, not even their families, could undo.
They were soulmates—it was a concept Alastair knew his father would ultimately understand, even if his uncle would scoff at it.
Daisy sighed against him but did not let go. “My father will say no,” she murmured. “Even if mine approved, your father will never allow it.” A small, bittersweet laugh escaped her. “Especially if your uncle has a say.”
They had spoken of this often, in hushed tones beneath the cover of trees, in hurried whispers when they could steal a moment alone.
Daisy, having grown up on the estate, knew his family’s dynamics better than most. She had seen firsthand the rigid traditions that ruled their lives, the weight of duty pressing down upon Alastair since the moment he was old enough to understand what it meant to be his father’s son. She knew that his uncle, Calvin, wielded more influence than he ought to, that he spoke as though the title were his to command rather than merely borrowed in his brother’s absence.
But Alastair refused to be bound by the ways of the past.
“My uncle will not have the final word,” he said, his voice low but firm. “He is not the duke. Nor is he the heir.”
His jaw clenched. Sometimes his uncle needed reminding of those facts.
Alastair hadn’t yet achieved his majority, but he was his father’s son.
In less than two years, his father’s younger brother could no longer pretend he was Alastair’s master.
“My father loved my mother,” he insisted, his grip tightening around Daisy as if sheer will alone could shape the world to his liking. “He will not stand in the way of true love.”
At his words, Daisy stiffened. Then, shifting in his arms, she turned to face him.
“Love?” she echoed, her voice uncertain.
This was not how he had intended to tell her. Not like this, spoken in the heat of a promise, as though love were a shield that could ward off every obstacle in their path. And yet, he met her gaze head-on.
“You know I love you,” he said simply. “I have for years.”
She was his anchor—his one unshakable truth in a world that often felt too rigid, too confining.
Now that his school days were behind him, and with hisfather spending more time in London than at Woodland Priory, Daisy provided light in his life… a special joy he’d never known with anyone else.
She was the reason he could see beyond the cold, impersonal weight of duty and obligation. With her, he was more than a name, more than an inheritance.
She made him believe his worth wasn’t measured by the blood in his veins—but by the thoughts in his head.
She made him believe there could be more—that he was more.
