Except in Everett’s dream, Daisy hadn’t pushed him away.
She’d drawn him closer.
Into silken arms warm and willing.
Against breasts soft and full.
On a bed strewn with wildflowers.
It was an impossibly romantic fantasy. Completely at odds with the lewd imaginings he’d had of busty tavern wenches ever since he’d learned how to properly use his cock. If a mate shared it with him, he would have laughed the addled fellow right out of the room. But in his own mind…in his own mind, with Daisy beside him, her coils of auburn hair gleaming in the morning sunlight, it felt right. It felt real. It felt…it felt like nothing he’d ever truly experienced before.
Home.
In his dreams, Daisy felt like home.
Clearing his throat on a gruff cough, he went to the edge of the terrace and leaned against the railing. “That was your first kiss? Last night. Under the tree.”
She looked at him oddly, as if she couldn’t fathom where such an inane question would come from, and honestly, he didn’t either. He just knew that he wanted to speak with her. To be with her. To breathe the same air as her. Because whenever he was with Daisy–in those two brief moments they’d shared, first at the stables and then in the shadows–he was better than the wretch he’d become.
“Yes, it was.” She stepped into the dappled shade of a Trewithen lilac, notable for both its vibrant blue flowers and its late blooming capabilities.
Long after all the other lilacs had budded out and gone to seed in late spring, the Trewithen continued to flower throughout the summer. Late to emerge, it required patience and a steady faith. But when it did finally bloom, it was the most beautiful of all.
“I don’t suppose it wasyourfirst kiss,” she added, freckles dancing across her nose as it wrinkled with mirth.
“No,” he admitted. “That ship sailed when I was twelve and Lady Houtan cornered me at a dinner party.”
“Twelve?” Daisy’s eyes went wide. “How old was Lady Houtan?”
He shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Twenty? Thirty?”
“Old enough to have not been chasing after children for kisses.” Daisy frowned. “What did your parents say?”
“About what?” he said blankly.
“About–about Lady Houtan taking advantage of you!”
Her indignation was on his behalf was adorable. Were it not for the windows permitting everyone and their dowager aunt to peer out at them, Everett would have snatched her against him then and there.
“My mother died in childbirth, so she did not say anything. And my father…” The tightness returned to his chest, squeezing around his pumping heart like an iron cage. “My father wouldn’t have cared had I bothered to tell him.”
“I’m sorry to hear of your mother.” Daisy’s blue eyes welled with sympathy. “As well as your father. It must have been very difficult.”
“What must have been difficult?”
“Feeling so alone that you couldn’t even go to a parent for help.”
Everett inhaled sharply. “This was a mistake,” he said, mostly to himself, but the wind was low, and the terrace was small, and of course Daisy overheard him.
“What is?” she asked, her gaze attentive on his. A wayward tendril had escaped its pins and clung to her temple; rich red against smooth ivory. Thick lashes curved beneath expressive brows that were drawn together over the delicate bridge of her nose, where little dots of gold formed miscellaneous constellations that he wanted to trace with his fingertips.
“Thinking that I…” His jaw clenched. “Thinking that I could ever deserve someone like you. Excuse me, Miss White.”
“But you were the one that asked me out here,” she said, her lips parting in bewilderment.
“A mistake,” he growled. “It was all a damned mistake.”
* * * * *
