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“You didn’t force me to marry you. If any other woman had strolled into my room with a baby, I would have offered help and sent her away. But you? The moment you walked in with a tiny replica of yourself, the only thing I could think was that I had to make you mine, whether some other man fathered your baby or no.”

Daisy had a sinking feeling that his smile could convince her of anything. “I should see how Belle is doing.” She felt behind her for the latch once again.

“I will court you,” Miles said huskily. He bent his head and nipped her bottom lip. When she opened her mouth, his tongue met hers.

She dropped the latch and swayed toward him as his arms wrapped around her. When he was kissing her, she didn’t feel like a bag of laundry; her body felt plush and right, designed to press against his hard contours.

They kissed until Daisy felt as if her body blazed with heat, as if a sheet of fire roared over her. Miles finally pulled back, looking at her with aching hunger.

“Desire is not enough for marriage,” she blurted out shakily.

After another devouring kiss, he said, “Just so you know, Daisy, this is not garden-variety desire. I have never felt this out-of-control while kissing any woman. Ever.” One of his hands roamed down her back and curved around her bottom before sliding up to her waist. “I am obsessed with your arse.”

“One of my lovable parts?” she asked crossly. “That hurt my feelings.”

His eyes crinkled, and with a jolt she realized that he was smiling. “What do you think about my arse?”

Daisy gaped at him. She was already flushed, but she grew even redder. “I—”

“Because once I got into the carriage and stopped being so impulsive, I remembered that you like my burly muscle. You can explore every part of me when we get home. Hopefully you’ll find some of my parts lovable.”

“Miles.” Daisy protested, trying to pull together the tattered remains of her conviction.

He paused, looking into her eyes. His hands tightened on her waist. “You mean it, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I have Belle. I’m not merely responsible for myself. I’m only now realizing how much my father’s disinterest and estrangement from the family affected me as a child and as a woman. If you stormed out of the house in an argument … It wouldn’t be good for Belle.”

Miles’s hands eased, and he brushed a kiss on her lips. A nuzzling kiss, an affectionate kiss, a kiss that seeped into the lonely parts of her heart. “I agree. Mind you, that goes for you as well. No jumping into a hackney cab and leaving me behind.”

Daisy bit her lip. “That’s just it, Miles. Perhaps we’re too combustible.”

“If we love each other, it won’t matter. We won’t consummate the marriage until we’re both sure of that,” Miles said.

His smile widened. “Until you beg me.”

EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN

THE CAMPAIGN

The tightness in Daisy’s chest unfurled a little, but she was still terrified. “I can’t make a rash mistake,” she found herself saying. “What if you decide you no longer like me, the way you did before?”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When did I stop liking you? I have always liked you.”

“Not true. You thought I was a pain in the arse,” Daisy told him. “Then you did like me, a bit. You thought I was funny, at least. After the proposal that my mother didn’t tell me about, you looked at me with disdain. And disinterest.” She swallowed. “I couldn’t get you to laugh at all.”

“Your mother told me that I couldn’t marry you, and that I was a disgusting old man like your father.”

“What?”

“Also that I should consider you only in an avuncular manner.”

Anger surged to replace desire. “She had no right!”

“Avuncular regard wasn’t a bad cover,” he said musingly. “I was so angry that I kept looking for you everywhere, making a point of dancing with you and talking to you, all so that I could prove to your mother how disinterested I was. How avuncular.”