Daisy exhaled, steadying herself against the crushing ache in her chest.
Until he knew.
Until he remembered who he was.
And when he did? If he had a wife waiting for him? If he had a life where she had no place?
She would lose him all over again.
Her warring emotions left her speechless.
Helpless.
He lowered his head, resting it against hers, his breath unsteady, his hands fisting at his sides as though he wanted to hold her but wouldn’t allow himself.
“I’m so damn sorry, Daisy.” His voice was hoarse, raw. “Someday, maybe… but until I have answers, I can’t promise anything.”
Someday.
Maybe.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to crumble.
She had once believed in someday-maybe.
And it had nearly destroyed her.
Enough.
Enough!
Daisy stepped back and reached shaking hands into her apron pocket. “T-t-this might provide a few answers.” She handed over the folded article, pretending she was fine.
Pretend you’re fine.
Pretend it doesn’t matter.
“This is from last week’s Gazette.” Her voice came out too even, too calm. “I can’t afford a subscription of my own, but one of my clients passes them to me after her husband has read all the articles,” she explained a little defiantly, lest he think she had kept the information from him.
He took the paper, his fingers brushing against hers—warm, rough, real.
She almost pulled away too quickly, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, watching her. And then, slowly, he unfolded the article.
Daisy braced herself.
“Duke of Lovington Missing, Presumed Dead.” His voice was quiet, but the words echoed between them.
A furrow formed between his brows.
“That is you,” she said, barely hearing her own voice over the sound of her heartbeat. “You are the Duke of Lovington.”
He didn’t react. Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
The silence stretched, thick with tension.
“How do you know this?” he finally asked, looking up at her with narrowed eyes.
