Daisy wasn’t quite ready to answer with the truth, so instead she stated the obvious. “The timing,” she said. “The description. Your accent, your clothing. Everything adds up.”
He glanced down at the article again and she forced herself to ask, “Does the name mean anything to you?”
Alastair shook his head but kept reading until he’d finished the entire article, absorbing every word with a grave expression.
Daisy already knew what he was learning—most notably that, although he worked diligently to promote his progressive ideas in Parliament, he had avoided other responsibilities, such as marriage and securing an heir.
“I am Lovington.” He spoke as though testing the words.
Her stomach clenched. “Yes.”
His gaze skimmed over the page once more. “Alastair Frampton, the Duke of Lovington. Unmarried,” he murmured. “No sons.”
Daisy’s throat tightened. “Your uncle is your heir presumptive. Lord Calvin. Do you remember him?”
Alastair shook his head again, his frown deepening.
She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to remain calm when all she wanted to do was shake him—to beg him to understand that beyond her little shop, something terrible awaited.
She didn’t know where, or why, but she was sure of it.
“With the little information we have, your attack may have been ordered by your own people, perhaps even… your uncle.” Her voice hardened. “Your estate is one of the most valuable in all of London.”
His jaw tensed, but before he could speak, she pressed on, her voice thicker than usual. “Until you remember what happened, you aren’t safe. You were not attacked randomly. Someone deliberately ordered you dead. And that person wasa lord. You cannot show your face in public until you get your memory back. It would be…” She swallowed, her voice breaking. “You would be putting yourself in too great of danger.”
Oddly enough, his shoulders seemed to relax at her passionate plea, as though her worry steadied him instead of burdening him.
“Any of that is possible.” He glanced around thoughtfully before wincing. “But I can’t hide forever.”
The tears stung before she could stop them.
She had no right to care this much. No right to feel this desperation clawing at her ribs. But the idea of him being taken from her—from this world!—made it impossible to breathe.
Then, before she could recover, he stuffed the article into his pocket and very much surprised her.
By taking her into his arms.
And oh, it felt perfect.Too perfect.
His warmth surrounded her, and she could almost believe that he would share her burdens, her worries…
His breath stirred her hair, his voice a quiet rasp. “Damn myself for involving you in this.”
“It isn’t your fault.” Daisy swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to study her face. “You knew it might be dangerous,” he said, his voice quieter now, rougher. “But you still helped me.”
She let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. “Of course I did.”
She had known the moment she heard those men outside her garden that they were doing something cruel. She had known the decision to bring him into her home had been a perilous one.
But she had brought him into her home anyway.
Still, hearing him say it—knowing he recognized the risk she had taken—it made something in her chest go tight.
His fingers flexed against her back. “You saved me.”
“You don’t even remember what you were saved from.”
