Daisy was all too aware that if anything happened toAlastair, Lord Calvin was next in line to inherit the Lovington title…
A chill crept down her spine.
She swallowed hard, but before her thoughts could spiral further, a scraping sound from the back of the house shattered the silence.
Shaking off her sudden onslaught of concerns, Daisy forced herself to follow the sounds of movement.
At the threshold of her dining room, she stopped.
Alastair—dressed once more in her father’s clothing—was bent over one of her mismatched chairs, measuring and adjusting the legs with an air of quiet determination.
She should have announced herself. Should have spoken right away.
But instead, she watched.
Watched the way his muscles flexed beneath the thin linen, how his strong hands worked the chair with steady precision, how easily—naturally—he moved about her home, as though he belonged here.
She clenched her fingers at her sides.
“What are you doing?” she finally asked, no longer reluctant to face him.
He glanced over his shoulder, and though a shadow of his beard had returned, there was no mistaking him now.
“Fixing your table and chairs,” he said simply.
Squatting, he nudged a chair in and tested its balance. For as long as she could remember, those chairs had wobbled precariously. Yet now, under his hands, they were steady.
He moved around the room, checking the other three, then gave the table one final push, as though ensuring it would hold.
“You didn’t have to?—”
“It’s the least I could do.”
He straightened and turned to face her, gripping the edge of the table with his hands before resting his weight against it.
He stared at her, his green eyes searching. Trusting. “How are you?”
Such a simple question. And yet, she had no idea how to answer it.
The truth, she supposed, was as good as anything.
“When I saw the pantry empty, I was afraid you had left.”
His expression remained unreadable. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, without… thanking you.”
His voice was calm, even. But his eyes never left hers.
Oh, dear. He was going to make her say it out loud, wasn’t he?
“But… I kissed you.”
Realizing she’d been gripping the doorframe, she let go, clasping her hands at her waist instead.
“I don’t know what… I mean, I—I apologize.” She stumbled over her words. “I don’t know why. I’m not like that.” She shook her head. “It’s just that—” She drew in a breath, readying herself to tell him everything. He deserved to know the truth.
But before she could form the words, he tilted his head and said, “You have nothing to apologize for. If you hadn’t, I would have.”
The words on her lips vanished. “You would have…?”
