Page 15 of Sweet Duke of Mine

LOVINGTON

T his was still the same man—the same Alastair—who had once left her behind so that he could take on his father’s dukedom.

She hadn’t blamed him. She’d blamed his uncle, his father… even, at times, her own dear father.

But now, for the first time, she was angry with him.

Not because he’d accepted the stark divide between their stations in life. No, she had always known that was inevitable.

She was angry with him.

For leaving her behind without a word.

For never coming back.

For moving on so easily while she had been left to pick up the broken pieces of her heart.

And she was angry, too, for all the people he had abandoned—not just her, but the families his uncle had turned off Woodland Priory. Families who had worked that land for generations, who had trusted in their noble protector, only to be cast aside like they were nothing.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. She had spent years pushing that pain down, convincing herself she had imagined what they had shared, that she had been nothing more than a childhood folly for a boy destined for greatness.

This moment felt like the cruelest of tricks.

But standing here now, his nearness wrapped around her like a force she could not fight—God help her, it was as if no time had passed at all.

And that terrified her.

She wanted to rage at him, to demand why he had never checked on her, why he had never cared enough to come back.

And the worst part? The man before her didn’t even know he had wronged her.

He didn’t remember breaking his promises. Didn’t remember choosing his title, his responsibilities, his entire life over her.

Even if she screamed all the pain in her heart, even if she let it tear free like a wounded animal, he would only look at her in confusion.

He could not answer for sins he did not remember committing.

And that realization…

It left her feeling utterly powerless.

Because once again, she had no choice but to swallow it all down—again.

“As much as I want you…” He continued, unaware of the storm raging inside her. “In good conscience, I can’t… We cannot…” His fingers found her chin, tipping her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “ Ah, hell .”

She had lost him once before, and now, even without his memories, he was pushing her away again.

It wasn’t fair! Because now, she was angry with herself.

“I want nothing more than to do… so many things with you.” His voice was rough, and his jaw flexed as though the words cost him dearly. “But we need to wait. ”

Wait.

Like she had waited for him all those years ago?

Because, as pathetic as it was, she had waited.

Even when she’d told herself to move on. Even when she had forced herself to face reality, to accept that they had no future. Somewhere deep inside, she had still waited.

She had clung to the foolish hope that he would come back for her.

But he never had.

And now, after all these years, here he was, asking her to wait again.

He dragged a hand through his hair, completely unaware of the way he was ripping her heart to shreds. “I know there’s no evidence that I ever wore a wedding ring, but that doesn’t guarantee I’m not married. Until I know…”

Daisy exhaled, steadying herself against the crushing ache in her chest.

Until he knew.

Until he remembered who he was.

And when he did? If he had a wife waiting for him? If he had a life where she had no place?

She would lose him all over again.

Her warring emotions left her speechless.

Helpless.

He lowered his head, resting it against hers, his breath unsteady, his hands fisting at his sides as though he wanted to hold her but wouldn’t allow himself.

“I’m so damn sorry, Daisy.” His voice was hoarse, raw. “Someday, maybe… but until I have answers, I can’t promise anything.”

Someday.

Maybe.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to crumble.

She had once believed in someday-maybe .

And it had nearly destroyed her.

Enough.

Enough!

Daisy stepped back and reached shaking hands into her apron pocket. “T-t-this might provide a few answers.” She handed over the folded article, pretending she was fine.

Pretend you’re fine.

Pretend it doesn’t matter.

“This is from last week’s Gazette.” Her voice came out too even, too calm. “I can’t afford a subscription of my own, but one of my clients passes them to me after her husband has read all the articles,” she explained a little defiantly, lest he think she had kept the information from him.

He took the paper, his fingers brushing against hers—warm, rough, real.

She almost pulled away too quickly, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, watching her. And then, slowly, he unfolded the article.

Daisy braced herself.

“Duke of Lovington Missing, Presumed Dead.” His voice was quiet, but the words echoed between them.

A furrow formed between his brows.

“That is you,” she said, barely hearing her own voice over the sound of her heartbeat. “You are the Duke of Lovington.”

He didn’t react. Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

The silence stretched, thick with tension.

“How do you know this?” he finally asked, looking up at her with narrowed eyes.

Daisy wasn’t quite ready to answer with the truth, so instead she stated the obvious. “The timing,” she said. “The description. Your accent, your clothing. Everything adds up.”

He glanced down at the article again and she forced herself to ask, “Does the name mean anything to you? ”

Alastair shook his head but kept reading until he’d finished the entire article, absorbing every word with a grave expression.

Daisy already knew what he was learning—most notably that, although he worked diligently to promote his progressive ideas in Parliament, he had avoided other responsibilities, such as marriage and securing an heir.

“I am Lovington.” He spoke as though testing the words.

Her stomach clenched. “Yes.”

His gaze skimmed over the page once more. “Alastair Frampton, the Duke of Lovington. Unmarried,” he murmured. “No sons.”

Daisy’s throat tightened. “Your uncle is your heir presumptive. Lord Calvin. Do you remember him?”

Alastair shook his head again, his frown deepening.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to remain calm when all she wanted to do was shake him—to beg him to understand that beyond her little shop, something terrible awaited.

She didn’t know where, or why, but she was sure of it.

“With the little information we have, your attack may have been ordered by your own people, perhaps even… your uncle.” Her voice hardened. “Your estate is one of the most valuable in all of London.”

His jaw tensed, but before he could speak, she pressed on, her voice thicker than usual. “Until you remember what happened, you aren’t safe. You were not attacked randomly. Someone deliberately ordered you dead. And that person was a lord . You cannot show your face in public until you get your memory back. It would be…” She swallowed, her voice breaking. “You would be putting yourself in too great of danger.”

Oddly enough, his shoulders seemed to relax at her passionate plea, as though her worry steadied him instead of burdening him .

“Any of that is possible.” He glanced around thoughtfully before wincing. “But I can’t hide forever.”

The tears stung before she could stop them.

She had no right to care this much. No right to feel this desperation clawing at her ribs. But the idea of him being taken from her—from this world!—made it impossible to breathe.

Then, before she could recover, he stuffed the article into his pocket and very much surprised her.

By taking her into his arms.

And oh, it felt perfect. Too perfect.

His warmth surrounded her, and she could almost believe that he would share her burdens, her worries…

His breath stirred her hair, his voice a quiet rasp. “Damn myself for involving you in this.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Daisy swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to study her face. “You knew it might be dangerous,” he said, his voice quieter now, rougher. “But you still helped me.”

She let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. “Of course I did.”

She had known the moment she heard those men outside her garden that they were doing something cruel. She had known the decision to bring him into her home had been a perilous one.

But she had brought him into her home anyway.

Still, hearing him say it—knowing he recognized the risk she had taken—it made something in her chest go tight.

His fingers flexed against her back. “You saved me.”

“You don’t even remember what you were saved from.”

“I’ll remember—eventually.” He exhaled, long and slow, then drew her close again, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Will you think me a selfish bastard for not being sorry fate brought me to you?”

“No.” If he was selfish, then what was she ?

Daisy squeezed her eyes shut, holding him tighter despite herself. “At least no one knows about you.”

“Except your neighbor.”

She let out a shaky laugh, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “True. But not even Mrs. Farley could imagine I was secretly harboring a duke. I think we’re quite safe.”

But even as she said it, fear licked at her heart.

Because she was eventually going to lose him.

Even if she kept him safe, even if she protected him from whoever wanted him dead, she would still lose him in the end.

Because he would remember.

And then he would leave.

And yet, if anything happened to him before then, she would never forgive herself.

She didn’t want to hold on, but she couldn’t let go.

“Promise you won’t leave until you remember.” She nearly choked on her own words. “Don’t go home until you know who your enemy is.”

A sad smile curved his lips. “What if my memory never returns?”

“Then you stay here with me.”

Her smile was just as sad. Just as foolish.

And before she could pull away, this time, it was Alastair who kissed her.