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The raw pain in his eyes lanced through her, curling her heart into knots. She knew that agony—too well.

He drew a breath as if to steady himself, his chest rising with the effort. “What Evangeline did shattered my trust in anyone, so, aye. I ken how scared ye are. And I cannae blame ye.”

His gaze caught hers, fierce yet tender, and he cradled her face between his strong hands. Davina bit her lower lip to still its trembling, her breath shallow beneath the weight of the moment.

“We may no’ be able tae fully trust each other now,” he said, his voice a rasp of hope and uncertainty, “but if ye’re willin’ tae give us a chance, mayhap we can start learnin’ how tae trust again, at least in each other.”

Fighting back tears and the dangerous bloom of hope unfurling in her chest, Davina wrestled with herself. If they were truly going to attempt this fragile truce, she had to take a step. Better to confess now—risk his rejection, his manipulation—before she tumbled too deep.

Davina stepped away, turning her back to him. Her fists clenched against her ribs beneath her folded arms. “Then I’ll start by telling you what I was hiding when you first tried to get me to open my thoughts to you.”

When he didn’t answer, she risked a glance over her shoulder to gauge his mood. His arms were folded, his jaw taut as the muscle worked beneath his skin.

“I…” She forced herself to meet his gaze, no matter how fear clawed at her chest. “I think Cailin might be your daughter,” she confessed, her voice scarcely louder than a breath.

But Broderick heard her. Oh, he heard her well enough. His eyes widened, and his arms dropped to his sides as though struck. “What?”

“Just shy of three months after we… at the inn in Aberdeen, I knew I was with child.” There. She’d said it. The truth lay bare between them. She waited for the blow, real or metaphorical.

“Did ye an’ yer husband no’ have any relations after we were together?”

His response caught her off guard. No anger, no triumph in his tone. Just stunned bewilderment. A glimmer of hope flickered in her chest, even as her heart pounded against her ribs.

“Aye, we did, but…” She turned away again, her voice faltering. “Mayhap—”

“I cannae.”

Her heart twisted painfully. She pivoted to face him fully. “Do you not like children?”

“Oh, Blossom, I…” He sighed heavily. Broderick approached her with compassion softening his features, and his large, warm hands gripped her shoulders. “There’s nothin’ I want more than tae be Cailin’s father, but I cannae father children.”

Stunned, Davina retreated and stumbled to the settee, collapsing onto the cushion as her knees gave out beneath her. She closed her eyes, bracing against the crushing weight of his words. All this time, she had dared to hope…nay, she had believed Broderick was Cailin’s father. She couldn’t bear to think of Ian, that devil, as the sire of her precious angel. Yet—

Broderick’s fingers slid into hers, warm and steady, grounding her spinning thoughts. He knelt before her, emerald eyes darkened with earnest longing.

“That night ye went intae the nursery tae feed Cailin? I didnae mean tae intrude, but I couldnae help myself. I watched ye feed yer wee bairn, and it damn near brought me tae my knees. More than anything, I’ve wanted a family, Blossom. And the sight of ye—”

“Please don’t.” She slammed her eyes shut. “Don’t say such things unless you mean them, Broderick. Don’t you dare give mehope. Don’t make me fall in love with you only to rip—”

Broderick captured her mouth in a kiss that was both tender and desperate.

The rest of the world fell away.

She clung to him like he was the only solid thing in her world—because he was. Her fingers tangled in his thick hair, holding him there, keeping him from slipping away. Their mouths fused, and his kiss wasn’t careful, wasn’t controlled. It was wild and desperate, like he’d been starving for her his whole life.

Fire streaked across her skin, but it was more than heat. It was the proof she’d been too afraid to see. Proof that this wasn’t just hunger. This wasn’t just lust. He kissed her like she mattered, likeshe was the only thing that mattered.

His knee parted hers, and his hands curved around her back, hauling her closer until she straddled his thigh, until there wasn’t an inch of space between them. His breath broke ragged across her lips as he groaned into her mouth, like just having her against himhurt.

God, she felt it—felt him. His need wasn’t polished or practiced. It was raw, messy, and real.

Broderick worked the laces of her bodice with rough, impatient fingers, like a man tearing down the last wall between them. And she couldn’t stop herself. Didn’t want to. She fumbled with his sporran, her hands unsteady from the terrifying realization sinking into her chest.

Hewantedher. All of her. Not just her body—her fire, her fight, her heart.

As soon as he freed her bodice, he shoved her shift aside and took her breast into his mouth, his tongue teasing and tasting like he’d die if he didn’t have her. She cried out, arching into him,her breath stolen by the way he worshipped her with every desperate flick of his tongue.

This wasn’t about power or conquest. This was a man drowning in her. A man unraveling for her. And Davina shuddered at the power, the revelation, the freedom.