Page 1 of Sweet Duke of Mine
FIRST LOVE
“ I am going to speak with your father tomorrow morning, Daisy Montgomery.” Alastair William Frampton, the future Duke of Lovington, inhaled the fresh scent of Daisy’s hair as he tightened his arms around her. My Daisy.
A hint of vanilla from the pastries she’d baked earlier competed with the grass and trees surrounding them, but there was also something warm and floral.
Moving closer, he inhaled the subtle scents of the latest oil she’d mixed.
“I like this blend.” He nuzzled his face along hers. “A new one?”
Her answer was a relaxed, lazy hum as she rubbed her bare foot up his leg.
Together, they lay entwined on a wool blanket in the shade of the remote woods on his father’s property.
“I used honeysuckle with clove and sage…” she answered.
“It’s my new favorite. You drive me mad, you know.”
“I hope so. Because I feel the same.” Daisy hummed again. “Let’s never move from this spot—just stay here forever.”
Cradling the supple weight of her breast with one hand, Alastair settled the other over the intimate flesh between her legs—sweet and inviting, tempting him to throw caution to the wind.
Today, they had very nearly taken matters too far.
Alastair could still taste her on his lips, feel the warmth of her hands in his hair, as if she might anchor them in this moment forever. His pulse thundered with each soft sigh. And he’d never felt more complete than when her breath mingled with his in the cool evening air.
But they were not engaged. They were not betrothed. And no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise, the brutal truth remained—he lived in the main house, and she in one of the tenant cottages.
If either of their parents knew what they had been up to, there would be hell to pay.
And yet, despite the risk, despite the chasm of class and consequence stretching between them, Alastair could wait no longer.
He would not—could not—stand idly while the world decided their fate for them. Daisy was not some passing fancy, not some fleeting infatuation he would simply outgrow. She was in his blood, in his bones. And if loving her was a sin, then he was already damned.
Three years ago, when he had first met the girl who would become the center of his world, she had been all wide blue eyes and sharp wit, hovering at the cusp of womanhood. He hadn’t meant to care. Hadn’t meant to notice the way she laughed, the way she challenged him with her clever tongue, or how her smile could undo him with a single glance. And yet, he had.
Somewhere between stolen hours and whispered confidences, their friendship had evolved. Affection had deepened into longing, a desire so fierce it stole his breath. He had fought against it— they both had —but now …
Now, they stood at the edge of a cliff. One more kiss, one more touch, and there would be no turning back. The past, the expectations, the impossible divide between them—all of it would cease to matter in the face of the only truth that did.
They were on the verge of embracing forever.
Alastair would act with honor, would claim her as his wife—protect her as he was meant to.
His father would disapprove, of course. That much was inevitable. And his uncle, Lord Calvin, who oversaw Woodland Priory in his father’s absence, would undoubtedly forbid the match.
But none of that mattered.
Alastair would make a personal appeal to his father, a man who’d loved his wife dearly. The duke would eventually relent. There was no other option. Alastair was not going to allow anyone to change his mind.
His heart already belonged to her.
Life would not be worth living without his sweet Daisy, with her curly blond hair—ringlets so tight he could barely run his fingers through them—and her large blue eyes and cherry red lips. He loved seeing the world through the unique lens she shared with him, listening to her laughter, teasing a blush to her heart-shaped face. But his love went beyond all of that. She was his best friend, his confidante, and soon…
She would be his lover in every sense of the word.
But first, he needed to make her his wife.
On the last few occasions they’d met in secret, kisses had turned heated, touches had lingered, and tasting her had become both a torment and a necessity. It was no longer enough—never would be.
Each time he left her, he ached, body and soul, for more. And if they continued on this path, if they allowed their desires to follow nature’s course, he would endanger not only her reputation but her future .
Their future.
Alastair had never considered himself reckless, but where Daisy was concerned, all reason abandoned him. He could not bear the thought of causing her harm, of forcing her into ruin because of his own selfish need to love her fully, completely.
He would not let her suffer for loving him.
Lying beside her now, he stared at the few wispy clouds visible through the branches, his mind full of the life they could have. A life together, where he would never have to steal moments with her, never have to pretend she wasn’t the most important person in his world.
Daisy nuzzled closer, her breath a warm whisper against his neck, and his chest tightened.
Yes, it was time. Not just because it was the honorable thing to do, not just because it was right—but because he loved her.
And that wasn’t going to change.
Ever.
He plucked a sprig of flowering clover from the grass above her head and brushed it over her forehead, tracing the delicate line of her brow before sweeping it down around her mouth. “So sweet.” His voice was little more than a whisper, reverent, as if the words themselves were a vow.
Then, with a boyish grin, he sprinkled the blossoms in her hair, letting them fall like tiny blessings before claiming her lips in a kiss—soft at first, then lingering, as if he could bind them together in ways that no one, not even their families, could undo.
They were soulmates—it was a concept Alastair knew his father would ultimately understand, even if his uncle would scoff at it.
Daisy sighed against him but did not let go. “My father will say no,” she murmured. “Even if mine approved, your father will never allow it.” A small, bittersweet laugh escaped her. “Especially if your uncle has a say. ”
They had spoken of this often, in hushed tones beneath the cover of trees, in hurried whispers when they could steal a moment alone.
Daisy, having grown up on the estate, knew his family’s dynamics better than most. She had seen firsthand the rigid traditions that ruled their lives, the weight of duty pressing down upon Alastair since the moment he was old enough to understand what it meant to be his father’s son. She knew that his uncle, Calvin, wielded more influence than he ought to, that he spoke as though the title were his to command rather than merely borrowed in his brother’s absence.
But Alastair refused to be bound by the ways of the past.
“My uncle will not have the final word,” he said, his voice low but firm. “He is not the duke. Nor is he the heir.”
His jaw clenched. Sometimes his uncle needed reminding of those facts.
Alastair hadn’t yet achieved his majority, but he was his father’s son.
In less than two years, his father’s younger brother could no longer pretend he was Alastair’s master.
“My father loved my mother,” he insisted, his grip tightening around Daisy as if sheer will alone could shape the world to his liking. “He will not stand in the way of true love.”
At his words, Daisy stiffened. Then, shifting in his arms, she turned to face him.
“Love?” she echoed, her voice uncertain.
This was not how he had intended to tell her. Not like this, spoken in the heat of a promise, as though love were a shield that could ward off every obstacle in their path. And yet, he met her gaze head-on.
“You know I love you,” he said simply. “I have for years.”
She was his anchor—his one unshakable truth in a world that often felt too rigid, too confining.
Now that his school days were behind him, and with his father spending more time in London than at Woodland Priory, Daisy provided light in his life… a special joy he’d never known with anyone else.
She was the reason he could see beyond the cold, impersonal weight of duty and obligation. With her, he was more than a name, more than an inheritance.
She made him believe his worth wasn’t measured by the blood in his veins—but by the thoughts in his head.
She made him believe there could be more—that he was more.
And in her, he saw something greater than birthright or station. She was proof that there was truth in the writings of John Locke—that every soul entered this world as a blank slate, shaped not by the accident of their birth, but by their choices, by the fire in their spirit.
And his soul, his heart, his very being… had already been shaped by her.
“You must know I have loved you from the beginning,” she said softly.
Her lips curled into a smile—genuine, open, holding nothing back. But then, just as quickly, a shadow of doubt flickered behind her eyes.
“But… you know that you cannot marry the daughter of a tenant. It’s impossible.” She grimaced, squeezing him tighter, as if she could soften the blow. “Let’s just enjoy what we have now.”
Alastair shook his head. Not in denial—because, of course, what she said was true. By every expectation, by every rigid rule ingrained in them since birth, marriage between them was unthinkable.
But that did not mean he would accept it.
Dearest Daisy had always been the practical one. A little too practical sometimes.
But on this—on them—she was wrong .
Not because he was blind to reality. Not because he was some reckless, lovesick boy who did not understand the weight of what he was asking.
But because he refused to let archaic customs dictate his future.
Such rules were obstacles meant to be outmaneuvered—walls that could be climbed if one was clever enough. And if there was one thing Alastair had always been, it was clever.
Since childhood, he had found ways to bend circumstances to his will, to charm and cajole and push until the world shaped itself to his liking. Why should this be any different?
The notion that something was impossible, to Alastair, had always felt more like a challenge. Especially when he wanted something.
And he had never wanted anything— needed anyone —the way he wanted and needed Daisy.
Daisy Montgomery would be his duchess. And he would prove to the world—and to her—that love was stronger than tradition.
On more than one occasion his uncle had suggested a betrothal between himself and the Marquess of Waterbury’s daughter, but such a match would never come to pass.
Because Alastair was in love with Daisy.
And their love, he knew, would conquer all.