Daisy swallowed hard, her fingers tightening over his. “Or those of your uncle,” she felt it necessary to add.
His mouth flattened slightly, but he didn’t argue.
“He only did what he thought was best, I suppose.” A sigh escaped him. “He mourned my father as deeply as I did. And he is my uncle. My flesh and blood.”
Daisy hesitated. She wanted to push—wanted to tell him that there were different kinds of loyalty. That the ties of family could be both a comfort and a prison.
But she had not been there. She had not lived in his world.
And she could not argue with the love he still held for a man who might have betrayed him.
“Do you have a plan?” She trusted Alastair.
Fate, not so much.
He rolled onto his side, brushing his knuckles againsther cheek. “I will learn what my uncle knows.” A determined glint entered his eyes. “And I will tell him I’ve found you again and that this time, there will be a betrothal. Afterwards, you and I will go to the authorities together. They’ll need a description of my attackers. I’ll hire additional watchmen until the culprit is brought to justice.”
Daisy’s lips parted, but no words came.
Betrothal?
As though it were already decided. As though this future she’d only ever allowed herself to dream of in the quietest moments of longing could actually be real.
But reality had a way of tearing her dreams apart.
She curled her fingers around the sheet beneath her, willing herself to ignore the cold trickle of fear in her veins. Because no matter how much she wanted to believe in him, she couldn’t forget the lesson she had already learned.
Hope was dangerous.
So was love.
And yet, he was in her bed. She was in his arms.
She twisted around again, this time feigning indignation. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” She swallowed against the effervescence bubbling in her chest, fighting the ridiculous urge to grin.
Oh, how she adored the way the moonlight softened the sharp angles of his face, the shadows along his jaw, the fullness of his lips. But most of all, she adored the way he looked at her—with undisguised affection, with something perilously close to reverence.
He frowned, puzzled for only a moment before realization dawned in his eyes, sending those gold flecks dancing. “I have not asked you yet.”
A thrill ran through her, even as she fought to suppress it. “This is the first time I’ve seen you blush.”
He rolled over, pinning her to the mattress. “I never blush,” he said gruffly, his breath teasing her lips.
“How would you know?” she murmured, biting back a laugh.
His expression turned solemn, the teasing flickering away like a candle snuffed by the wind. “Marry me, Daisy. Be my wife.”
This time, he was not a boy.
She sucked in a breath. His proposal was too perfect. Too much of a dream.
“I am no duchess,” she whispered, searching his face, waiting for him to see reason.
But he didn’t waver. The gold in his eyes blazed with determination, fierce and unwavering. “You need only be yourself. We’ll figure everything out later. But I can’t lose you again.” His voice dropped, rough with emotion. “I refuse to lose you again.” He exhaled sharply, like a man making a final gamble. “Please, my love, make me the happiest of men.”
He was impossible.
Because he was asking for a promise neither of them could keep.
