“Yes.” He shifted back and then entered her again. “Yes,” she urged him.
“Love you,” Alastair said. He shifted out and then in again. “Love you.”
Daisy moved with him, allowing fate to guide this pinnacle act of love.
Alastair’s movements grew more deliberate, each touch sending a fresh wave of sensation spiraling through Daisy—coiling low in her belly, spreading warmth through her limbs, filling her chest until she thought she might burst from the sheer wonder of it.
And then he stopped.
Her body cried out in protest, her lips parting to beg him not to—only for his finger to press gently against them, silencing her before she could utter a sound.
Then she heard it too.
The thunder of hooves, fast and unrelenting, closing the distance between them. Each strike against the earth sent vibrations through the ground, rattling the fragile cocoon they had wrapped themselves in.
Alastair’s horse, loosely tethered to a nearby tree, let out a sharp whinny.
Someone was approaching. And fast.
Their gazes locked, the heat between them still simmering, but they… could not.
Alastair withdrew, and the flash of frustration in his eyes—perhaps even pain—mirrored her own sense of loss. But there was no time to lament. They would find one another tomorrow. Or the day after.
The hoofbeats slowed, then stopped altogether.
Panic jolted through Daisy, and in a flurry of frantic movement, she and Alastair scrambled to right themselves. Fingers fumbling, she smoothed her skirts, trying to banish any telltale signs of what they’d been doing. Alastair yanked his shirt over his head, raking a hand through his hair to tame its wild disarray.
The curtain of thick willow branches parted with a sharp rustle.
“Alastair!”
The voice—sharp, furious—made Daisy flinch.
Alastair’s uncle stepped into their cocoon, his imposing figure backlit by the sunlight filtering through the thin branches. His gaze swept over them, taking in their disheveled state, his expression darkening with every passing second.
He was livid.
And they were caught.
Feeling exposed, ashamed, Daisy wanted nothing more than to hold onto Alastair—for him to be her shield.
But she… could not.
“The entire household has been searching for you,” Lord Calvin practically spat, affording Daisy no more than a disgusted glance.
Daisy had seen the man from a distance several times, andof course, she’d heard him shouting at various workers. But, as one would expect, she’d never been introduced to Lord Calvin.
Close up now, she immediately noticed the family resemblance. He shared Alastair’s thick mahogany hair—albeit streaked with gray—high cheeks, green eyes, and aquiline nose, but it ended there.
Whereas Alastair stood tall, with broad shoulders that tapered to a flat belly, his uncle hunched over, and his jacket strained at his paunch. And although the older man’s eyes were the same shade as Alastair’s, they lacked any goodness or warmth whatsoever.
According to Daisy’s father, Lord Calvin did not possess the same character that the Duke of Lovington did. And, unfortunately, until Alastair reached his majority and while his father was away, Lovington’s younger brother had been charged with acting as proxy.
Alastair tossed his jacket to Daisy to provide her some measure of protection and rose to face his uncle. “Well, you’ve found me. What is so urgent that you’ve come after me like a madman?” He sounded angry, but underneath that, she could hear concern as well.
“A message from London.” Lord Calvin frowned, softening his voice in what sounded like sympathy. “You must go to your father immediately. It might already be too late.”
Alastair shook his head. “What’s happened?”
