Page 19 of Sweet Duke of Mine

brEAKING POINT

A lastair’s world had tilted on its axis.

The brain was a peculiar thing—locking away crucial memories one moment, offering fleeting glimpses of the inconsequential in the next. It allowed him to function, to speak, to reason, all while withholding the very moments that should define him.

On one hand, Alastair knew himself. Or at least, he thought he did. He knew the kind of man he was, the principles he stood for. Yet on the other, entire stretches of his life—recent events that should have been crystal clear—remained maddeningly out of reach.

But standing outside his townhouse in Mayfair, something had shifted. The curtain had lifted, just slightly.

And Daisy…

She had been there, not just in the present, but in his past. The realization left him breathless.

A flood of emotions followed. Longing. Regret. Something deeper, more complicated.

He remembered that they had begun as friends. And just as Daisy had told him, their friendship had blossomed into something more.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been set apart from other boys his age—too privileged to be one of them, too isolated to form true bonds. Then he’d stumbled across her on his father’s land, this fierce, golden-haired girl who didn’t care about titles or expectations. She had seen him for the person he was, not the duke he was meant to become.

She had given him something to look forward to, a reason to anticipate life beyond the stiff, preordained existence laid out before him. He’d imagined a future with her—Daisy as his lover, as his wife, bearing his children, laughing with him as they carved out their own place in the world.

Oh, but along with being head over heels in love, he had been painfully na?ve.

Unfortunately, the memory that still escaped him—what his mind had locked away—was why he had abandoned her.

Why would he have left someone who had meant the world to him?

The question gnawed at him. What could have been so insurmountable, so impossible, that he had not returned to claim her? Never written? Never followed through with his promises?

And why would his mind allow him to recall the tenderness, the passion—but not the betrayal?

“You’re quiet,” Daisy said, breaking into his thoughts as they walked side by side back to her house.

Alastair blinked, dragging himself back to the present.

The district she lived in wasn’t even a mile from Mayfair, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world.

That was something he hadn’t understood when they were younger. He’d thoughtlessly failed to comprehend the barriers between them, the walls society had built to keep them apart. How had he not seen it? How had he been so blind ?

And worse—why hadn’t he fought harder? Why hadn’t he tracked her down?

“I remember you.” His voice emerged thick, rough with emotion.

Daisy’s steps faltered, but she kept walking. “Everything?”

“Mostly. The beginning.” And the middle.

Not the end.

They reached her door, and when she lifted the key, her hands were visibly shaking. Not just her hands—her shoulders, her chest. Her breaths came unevenly, betraying the turmoil she tried to hide.

Alastair reached out, his fingers brushing hers as he took the key and unlocked the door for her.

“When was the last we were together?” he asked.

“The day you were called back to London—because your father was ill.”

She had told him this before, he was certain, but it held a new weight now. The day he was summoned. A decade ago. And he had never returned for her.

Again, the emptiness clawed at his chest. The more he uncovered, the more the gaps tormented him.

He had never believed in fate, but of all the places in London they could have left him to die, why had it been the alley behind her house?

His entire body ached with the need to know.

“When you brought me into your home, are you sure you didn’t recognize me?”

She hesitated before answering.

“I didn’t think I did. But now, I can’t help wondering if, on some level, part of me suspected. I just… I knew I couldn’t let you die.” Her voice softened. “I was desperate to keep you alive.”

She turned away from him, putting space between them, her arms wrapping around herself before she continued .

“I think I knew the moment you woke up. When I looked into your eyes.” A short, humorless laugh escaped her. “Seeing you without the beard only confirmed everything.”

Then, suddenly, she spun to face him, her eyes flashing, her voice sharp with old betrayal.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” Her throat bobbed, and she let out a slow, shuddering breath. “I thought I understood… but I deserved… something.”

Before he could answer, she shook her head. “Never mind. You don’t need to explain. I understand.”

But she didn’t.

“No. You don’t understand,” he said, his voice hoarse with frustration. “Because I don’t understand. I don’t have the answers—to give you, or myself.” His hands curled into fists. “Didn’t I write to you? I would have written. I would have missed you—desperately.”

Daisy frowned. “I never received anything…”

A cold certainty settled over him. “Someone didn’t want us together.” His jaw clenched. “Your father?—?”

“None of this was my father’s fault.” She stared up at him defiantly. “Yes, he warned me away from you, but only because he feared for me, for our family, and he was right to do so.” She narrowed those captivating blue eyes at him. “It was your uncle who found us together. After you left, he made it clear to me that I was why we were turned off the estate.” She dropped her gaze and swallowed hard. “I was too ashamed to tell my father. And he blamed himself. For all of it.”

When she lifted her gaze again, this time, it was haunted and filled with guilt. “But I couldn’t tell him. Sometimes… I wonder if it would have changed anything. If I’d told him the truth, maybe he wouldn’t have spent his last years thinking he had failed. Maybe he wouldn’t have started drinking, sending himself into an early grave…”

Alastair stood frozen, his stomach twisting into knots .

Christ.

A decade ago, he had been so certain, so reckless in his belief that love alone would be enough. But now, standing before Daisy, hearing the raw pain in her voice, he saw the depth of his betrayal.

His uncle had sent her family away.

And Alastair—whether through blind trust or willful ignorance—had let it happen.

His throat closed, bile rising. “Daisy…” He reached for her, but she took a step back.

“I’ve lived with that guilt,” she said, her voice steady now, though her hands still trembled at her sides. “I can’t change the past. Neither can you.” She met his gaze, resolute. “What matters now is keeping you safe. Finding out why someone tried to kill you.”

And just like that, the conversation was back to the troubles at hand.

Alastair wasn’t sure he could move on so easily. But…

“You still think my uncle is behind the attack,” he said.

She nodded. “I think it would be a mistake not to.”

Alastair’s pulse pounded. “My uncle ran the dukedom until I came of age.” He rubbed his temples, frustration mounting. “I can’t remember those months—those years. But by the time I returned to Woodland Priory, you were gone. And I was told you had married.”

Daisy didn’t flinch. She only nodded, her expression unreadable, as if she had already come to terms with this long ago. “The new estate manager sent us away shortly after your father passed.”

“You never married.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Timelines, memories, words, tumbled around his head, almost as confusing as the emptiness had been.

“No.” A wry, brittle chuckle escaped her lips. “I never married. ”

The backs of Alastair’s eyes burned. He had loved Daisy. He was certain of it. Even now, even after everything, the pull toward her was stronger than gravity.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Worthless words.

Meaningless words.

He stepped forward, slowly, carefully—like approaching a wounded animal. When he placed his hands gently on her shoulders, she didn’t pull away.

When he had first woken in her pantry, his mind blank, his body weak, his heart had somehow known her.

And now, he saw all of her—the woman she was today and the girl she had once been.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she murmured.

“But I do.” His grip firmed. “And I swear to you, I will find out why.”

And once he did?

He’d spend a lifetime making it up to her.

As though exhausted suddenly, Daisy tucked her head under his chin. “You remember our time together,” she murmured. “And that it was special.”

Alastair understood why she needed this. She hadn’t lost her memory. No, she remembered everything, but he had left her in a different kind of darkness.

A darkness filled with unanswered questions, loss, and… betrayal.

“You were the light of my life.” Alastair buried his face in her hair. “I remember the first time you let me kiss you. Do you remember? I’d just returned from school, and yours was the only face I wanted to see.”

“You said you hated school that first year.”

“And you scolded me for that.”

She let out a tinkling laugh. “You liked when I scolded you. ”

“Not at first.” He exhaled. Not until I realized she scolded me because she cared . “You made me read to you.”

She tilted her head, and Alastair kissed her neck.

“I liked that,” she whispered.

“I remember feeling like you were a part of me.” Her pulse fluttered beneath his lips. “We made love,” he said.

She let out a soft, broken cry and reached up, her arms locking around his neck as if afraid he’d vanish the moment she let go.

“ Daisy.”

Alastair crushed his mouth to hers.

It was impossibly perfect. A dream. A memory. A homecoming.

The kiss ignited fathomless longings, the ache of lost years, the despair of a decade spent apart. The dam had held for too long, and when it broke, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, consuming—an urgent need to reclaim what had been stolen from them.

Nothing existed but her. The taste of her, the feel of her, the heat of her pressed against him.

“I missed you so much,” she murmured against his jaw.

Alastair’s insides clenched. “Too long,” he rasped, lifting her into his arms.

Daisy gasped but didn’t protest, her fingers tangling in his hair as he carried her effortlessly toward the staircase. He took the steps two at a time, his body charged with a new, electric kind of energy. A certainty.

Was this what they’d had before? This all-consuming, demanding, insistent need for one another?

He kicked her door open, pausing only long enough to take in the small, tidy room—a modest wardrobe, a desk, a carefully made-up bed. The air was thick with honeysuckle and her.

Daisy.

His Daisy .

Alastair stepped inside and shut the door, sealing them in a world that belonged only to them.

Before he even set her on her feet, she was working the buttons on his shirt, her fingers quick and determined while he hastily unfastened the ties of her gown. Of all the questions in his life, she was the only answer.

His gaze roved over her delicate features, memorizing every curve, every breathless expression. Then he bent his head, pressing his lips to the soft, fragrant skin along her neck.

Sweet. Smooth.

Mine.

Desire tore through him in a way that was both achingly familiar and utterly new. There had been women in his life—beautiful, practiced lovers—but none had consumed him like Daisy did.

Because Daisy…

Daisy was the other half of his soul. She held his heart in her hands.

How did a man begin to comprehend feelings that spanned both past and present? That eclipsed time itself?

A sudden, desperate need overtook him. He dragged the thick material of her borrowed disguise down past her shoulders, past her waist, until it pooled at her feet. She pushed off his jacket, fingers trembling, and then lifted his shirt over his head. He all but tore her chemise, desperate to rid her of the barriers between them. She wrestled with his boots, cursing softly, and he huffed a breathless laugh before helping her.

And then?—

Nothing stood between them.

She was pink and creamy, soft and strong, and infinitely more beautiful than she had been even in his most fevered dreams.

He took a step back, reverent, awestruck.

She was glorious .

No woman in all his life had ever left him so shaken as she did. Despite the gaps, he knew this to be true on the most basic level.

Because no one else was Daisy.

He could almost believe she had been made for him.

Her lush curves and contours celebrated feminine strength. Curves and contours…

“I never saw you…” he remembered.

In the meadow, they’d remained partially clothed. She had been shy and concerned they’d be found.

She’d been right to worry.

“This is not the first time I’ve seen you,” Daisy admitted, her voice quiet, but steady.

Alastair’s breath hitched. When?

But even before he could ask, realization struck.

“While I slept,” he murmured.

She nodded. “I had no choice. But I…” Her teeth caught her lower lip, and his gut clenched at the sight. “I didn’t avert my eyes like I probably should have.”

Sweet, funny, alluring, and delightfully naughty— Daisy.

He huffed a laugh, low and rough. “You are forgiven.” He took a step closer, his voice dipping. “Because, if it had been you…” He shrugged.

Understanding flared in her gaze, something knowing and just a little wicked.

She reached behind her nape, fingers deftly loosening the knot that kept her hair pinned up. With a single shake of her head, the thick, silken braid unraveled, slipping over one shoulder, draping down between her breasts—plump, high, and so maddeningly tempting that his hands clenched at his sides.

“Daisy…” His voice was raw, thick with longing. “You are sure?”

She stepped closer, tilting her chin up, her expression wide open. “Tomorrow is never guaranteed. ”

God help him, he couldn’t argue with that.

For an instant, he thought he caught a flicker of something—doubt, fear—dancing in the depths of her eyes. But then, her lips curved into a slow, sultry smile, melting away the shadow before he could grasp it.

Locking his gaze with hers, he tackled her onto the bed, his body caging hers, bracing his weight so she was safe beneath him. “That day, in the meadow,” he murmured, his breath teasing her lips, “I remember thinking you were the most beautiful person to walk this earth.”

Her fingertip traced a slow, languid path along his arm. “And now?”

The question held the air of teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something fragile.

His jaw tensed, and he forced her to see the truth in his eyes. “Even more beautiful.”

And then he kissed her—deeply, thoroughly—before abandoning her lips to slide lower, his mouth mapping her throat, her collarbone.

“Alastair,” she gasped, trying to pull him back up, but he had other plans.

Today, he would remind her—remind them both—that she had always been his. And he would always be hers.

Alastair was a man on a mission, one he would not abandon until he had mapped every inch of her, until she knew—body, mind, and soul—that he belonged to her.

He moved lower, settling his chest between her thighs, resting his chin against the soft dip of her belly.

A single fingertip trailed downward, featherlight, teasing the most sensitive part of her.

The only time they had made love before had been their first—rushed, urgent, fueled by youth and longing. He’d been too eager, more than a little clumsy.

Not this time .

This time, he would worship her.

He pushed himself up, kneeling on the bed, drinking her in. The sun coming through the window kissed her bare skin, painting her in gold.

“Open for me, sweet Daisy.” His voice was a low command, edged with reverence.

She hesitated, her breath hitching—but then, trusting him, she slowly parted her knees.

His breath left him in a rush.

“God help me,” he rasped, palms sliding reverently up the soft skin of her thighs.

“Plump and pink and perfect.” Alastair growled and fingered her opening, which was already wet, ready for him. His cock stiffened almost painfully, but he ignored it.

As much a man could, anyway.

Because this time, he was determined to make this perfect for her.

No rush, no stolen moments with the fear of discovery pressing down on them. No lingering innocence, no clumsy hands or whispered promises made in desperation.

This time, he would cherish her.

He would take his time, learn every reaction, every sigh, every delicious shiver. He would tease and taste and drive her to the edge—again and again—until she understood, truly understood, that she had never been forgotten.

He explored her everywhere, using his fingertips to explore the circumference of her wrists. The strength in her shoulders. The allure of her ankle. Her calves.

Her thighs.

He wanted to know her everywhere—more, even, than he needed to know the secrets in his own mind.

Nothing mattered but Daisy.

He palmed a breast with one hand, circling the intimate flesh between her legs with the other .

Tiny dust motes swirled and shimmered in the air, stirred by each soft, uneven breath she released. “Ala—Alastair.”

He crawled lower, kissing the indent of her belly and then tasting the skin around her hip bones. She cried out, and he dragged his whiskers from one side to the other.

Her hands clutched his head now, her fingers practically tearing out his hair.

“I don’t…” she gasped.

He paused, lifting his gaze to see her face—flushed, lips shining, her eyes sparkling beneath heavy lids. “You don’t…?”

“I don’t remember it being… like this.”

“Ah, Daisy.” Alastair felt the weight of guilt because he’d been such a?—

“It was perfect.” She cut off his thoughts. “But… so is this.”

And then she sent him a smile that cut to his very core. She shouldn’t trust him. She shouldn’t forgive him. He didn’t deserve her. And yet…

“Don’t stop.” She licked her lips, looking a little worried.

“Never.” He’d remove his heart and hand it over in that moment.

Humbled, Alastair lowered his chin again. Overwhelmed to be here, to be with her again, he kissed her opening and inhaled.

He could do this forever.

“I like…” She was thrusting herself against his mouth. “I like that.”

Alastair couldn’t quite stifle his chuckle, because his sweet Daisy was a cautious woman, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t adventurous.

“You taste like heaven.” And honeysuckle, and sugar…

Alastair circled his tongue around her bud. He drew it into his mouth and then scraped the tender skin with his teeth.

He lapped his tongue along the seam of her sex. Not enough. Not nearly enough .

Greedy to know all of her, he dipped his head lower and delved inside.

Her body jerked, and he added a finger, listening so that he could learn her signals. Pants of pleasure. Signs of what she liked, what she needed, what she loved.

“Argh…” She wiggled her hips. “Oh. Yesssss.”

With the scent of her essence filling his nostrils, on his lips, his tongue, he struggled not to get ahead of himself.

Heaven. Daisy. A stream of foolishly romantic words hammered him.

His.

Not just a dream…

He felt her hands tugging his hair, and then her entire body tensed as she reached for a feeling… the sensation…

Alastair savored her satisfaction when her legs tensed on his shoulders, when her fingernails dug into his scalp as she clutched the sides of his head.

And then… A violent shudder ran from her core to her limbs. Completion rolled through her, again, and again, and yet again…

Alastair stayed right where he was, still, patient, with feelings—so tender, so protective, that they nearly broke him.

She trembled beneath him, her breath hitching, and then—a few short, breathless sobs escaped, raw and unguarded. The sound sliced through Alastair, lodging in his chest like a blade. His own breath hitched, his body suddenly too tight, too wound.

He’d wanted her, he knew he had feelings for her, but this had unraveled into something far deeper—something almost too vast to name. It wasn’t just desire; it was need. It was connection.

It terrified him.

He forced himself to hold steady, to give her space to catch her breath. Only when he felt her body soften beneath him did he push himself up, crawling up the bed to take her in his arms.

He brushed his lips over hers, featherlight. And when he reached up to smooth a few damp curls of hair from her face, his hand trembled.

“Are you all right?” His voice was rough, low.

She let out a slow exhale and opened her eyes, locking onto his with such intensity that his stomach clenched.

“Very much so,” she whispered. Then, with quiet, aching certainty, she touched his face, her fingers tracing the sharp edge of his jaw. “But Alastair, I want all of you.”