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Daisy nodded.

He picked up her left hand and slid her wedding ring back in place. “It would be my honor.”

“I should tell you something first …” she said awkwardly.

Miles looked at her with his heart in his eyes. “I don’t care what you tell me, Daisy though I might as well warn you that if you have another husband, I’ll kill him and then marry you again.”

A giggle burst from Daisy’s lips. “I haven’t!”

“Then?”

She forced the words out quickly. “Perhaps we might adopt my other half-siblings.”

“Damn it, you scared the hell out of me,” Miles groaned, pulling her closer. “Of course. I already have a Bow Street Runner working on it. The man will find them, and we’ll bring them home.”

“There may be several children,” Daisy said, shamed again by her father’s behavior.

Miles rubbed his nose against hers. “Our children. All of them.”

“I’m particularly worried about the girl who’s my age,” she confessed. “My mother said she looked just like me.”

“So beautiful as to be vulnerable,” Miles said, nodding. “The Chelsea Orphanage is not a terrible place to grow up, Daisy. She may be working as a perfectly respectable lady’s maid.”

“My mother thought it was too much to ask you, that I would be taking advantage of you.”

“Please take advantage of me,” Miles said, grinning. His fingers sank into her thigh.

Daisy nipped his bottom lip, which led to a crushing kiss, his hand ever sliding ever higher. The ache between her legs tightened.

“How do I take advantage of you?” she whispered when his fingers were toying with the curl of hair between her legs. A cry caught in her throat. “Miles!”

“Just by allowing me to touch you.” His voice was low and greedy. A broad finger slid into Daisy’s slick warmth.

She gasped as heat swept up her legs. They were still kissing, but Daisy couldn’t concentrate. Her hands curled around his biceps, but her attention was focused on the broad, callused finger that was gently, oh so gently, sending heat surging through her body.

“Miles,” she gasped, tearing her mouth away from his. His caress was so soft that it was driving her mad.

“Tell me,” he growled, eyes on hers.

The air seized in Daisy’s lungs. She couldn’t say—it was so unladylike—so … “Harder,” she whispered, her voice aching and desperate. “Oh, please, please, Miles.” Her hips arched up against his hands.

He cursed in a low voice, and a second finger slid inside her, filling her. He moved down her body, pulling up her gown. She scarcely noticed, her toes curling, bliss just out of reach.

“This doesn’t hurt?” he growled.

“No, no, no.” Daisy arched her hips again, forcing his fingers deeper, wider.

With a male grunt of satisfaction, a third finger filled her. Miles nipped her thigh and before she could prop herself up to see what he was doing, his tongue lashed her core.

Sensual delight crashed over her head, tossing her into a deep sea. Miles made a purring noise as he explored her sensitive spots, while Daisy gasped and stifled her cries with an arm over her face until lightning abruptly streaked all the way to her toes. He coaxed her through wave after wave of pleasure until Daisy opened her eyes to find herself breathless, sweat coating the back of her knees, her legs scandalously askew.

Her husband was propped on one elbow beside her, smiling. His eyes were wild, and he was licking his fingers.

“May I take you home to bed?” he growled.

Daisy’s mind felt as blank as a field in the grip of a winter storm. Her eyes moved slowly from the possessive hunger in her husband’s eyes to the exquisite plane of his cheekbones to his lower lip.

“Daisy?”