Her breath hitched.
“Accosted?” The inspector prompted.
Alastair’s hand dropped, and he curled it into a fist.
“By your two officers,” he addressed the inspector again, gesturing toward the kitchen where one man lay dead and the other was having his hands and feet bound. “Both Mr. Giles and Brown were on my uncle’s payroll, whom I’d made the mistake of trusting.” When he turned to meet Daisy’s gaze, the green in his eyes was almost black. “You were right about him all along.”
His words sent a shiver down her spine, but Daisy didn’t waver. She lifted her chin.
“I know,” she murmured.
And just like that, he was touching her again—fingers brushing over her knuckles, trailing up her arm, as though he couldn’t stop himself. As though he needed the connection just as much as she did.
But Daisy still had questions.
“Those men said Lord Calvin believed Gilbert was your son.” She forced her voice to stay even, though her mind raced to make sense of it all. “But what I don’t understand is… even if he was—which he is not!—Gilbert wouldn’t have been legitimate.”
Heat crept up her cheeks.
God help her, was she actually discussing this?
It wasn’t just the absurdity of the claim—it was the implication. The fact that she’d had to assure Alastair he wasn’t a father meant that anyone listening could easily infer that they had?—
“The marriage certificate,” Alastair cut through her spiraling embarrassment. “I saved that damned certificate you drew up.”
He let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face.
Daisy’s brows pulled together in confusion. “From when we?—?”
“From our secret ceremony.” His voice was low, weighted with meaning.
Her stomach flipped. “When we were practically children?”
Alastair’s expression darkened. “But… we weren’t.”
The realization hit like a bolt of lightning.
“He believed it was authentic?” she asked, her pulse hammering.
Before Alastair could respond, Gilbert, who had been listening intently, suddenly paled all over again. “Wait—you’re my sister… aren’t you? Please, don’t tell me?—”
Daisy whirled around, immediately reaching for Gilbert’s hand. “I am your sister,” she said firmly, squeezing tightly. “I was there when Mother gave birth to you. If you don’t believe me, ask Mrs. Farley.”
Gilbert stilled, his shoulders slumping slightly in relief, though his wary eyes remained locked on hers.
Daisy swallowed hard. Yes, she had loved Gilbert as if he were her own. She had raised him. But…
“Mother and Father loved you. Never doubt who you are.” She met his gaze, willing him to believe her. “You are my brother.”
But Gilbert, ever inquisitive, wasn’t done yet.
“Are you and Alastair secretly married?”
“It was only a pretend ceremony—a game we played whenwe were young.” The memory softened something inside her. She glanced at Alastair, and despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile. “You picked wildflowers for my bouquet, and one of the stable cats played vicar.”
Alastair’s half-smile wasn’t just amused—it was fond, nostalgic… and a little sad. “You insisted we say proper vows,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers as if the past had suddenly become just as vivid to him. “And you wore your mother’s lace handkerchief as a veil.”
Daisy’s chest constricted at the memory. “You said I looked beautiful.”
