Page 21 of Sweet Duke of Mine

RUNNING OUT OF TIME

W hen Daisy awoke, it was to the sounds of her brother and Alastair downstairs in the kitchen. She ought to rush down to join them, ask Gilbert about his day at school, but she remained lounging in her bed, the covers rumpled around her.

She wanted to draw out the afternoon—a few stolen hours she never could have imagined.

After they’d made love, she’d barely slept a few minutes before waking to Alastair’s touch. “I want you again,” his voice had rumbled near her ear.

She smiled sleepily, recalling his hand between her legs, his mouth tasting her everywhere.

He’d rolled onto his back, shifting her legs so that she straddled him.

He’d told her to take what she wanted, to move how she wanted, and she’d done just that. Had it been too good ?

She shivered even as an unexpected vise squeezed her chest. Was it fear? Understandable, yes. But for now, Daisy refused to acknowledge it .

But it did get her moving, washing up and changing into a different gown than the wrinkled one on the floor.

Downstairs, she didn’t immediately announce herself, but waited at the threshold, watching her brother chop vegetables while Alastair sautéed slices of meat on the stove.

And the sight, it brought a massive lump to her throat. Her brother had barely known their father, and seeing him enjoying the companionship of another male figure was bittersweet.

“Don’t forget the salt. And garlic. Daisy always adds at least four cloves of garlic.”

Alastair was cooking her recipe. With her brother.

Dash it all, if she didn’t shake this off, she’d turn into a puddle of sentimental treacle. So she pushed herself away from the door and stepped inside. “Supper smells like it’s going to be delicious.”

Alastair glanced over, sending her a look that further weakened her knees. Her brother halted the movements of the knife and studied her with concern.

“I’ve never known you to sleep in the day. Are you unwell?”

“Just lazy, I’m afraid. But I’m well enough.” She most certainly couldn’t tell her younger brother that, although her muscles ached, her body was a giant lump of satisfaction.

Alastair raised a brow.

“Quite well, actually,” she added. She would not blush.

She donned her apron and went to work dicing an onion and again found herself melting inside as the conversation flowed around her.

All of this felt too natural— too perfect.

In no time at all, the stew had thickened, and the three of them sat down to eat dinner together.

Gilbert, as per usual, enthusiastically shared the more interesting facets of his lessons that day. Alastair encouraged him with astute comments and challenging questions .

And Daisy sat and listened with half an ear, quieter than usual, reeling from all that had happened that day.

“Have you remembered anything yet—who you really are?” Gilbert asked toward the end of the meal. It was the first thing Gilbert had asked her every morning since Alastair arrived. Who is he?

But the answer was far more complicated than a simple name.

Was Alastair her friend? Her lover? More than that?

Her past.

Her future?

“Not yet. Just a few images, unfocused, though.” They’d decided that until Alastair knew all of the truth, they would keep his identity to themselves. “Interesting that I’ve retained the benefits of my schooling. The brain, young Gilbert, values education.” He laughed, meeting Daisy’s gaze as he took a bite of stew.

She dipped her chin in an almost imperceptible nod.

She didn’t want to bring Gilbert into any of this. It was all too new. Too… fragile.

And possibly dangerous.

When they finished eating, Daisy shooed her brother off to finish his homework while she and Alastair remained behind to clear the table together.

The quiet between them felt heavier than it should have. And, inexplicably, she wasn't sure what to say.

“You don’t have to help me, you know.” Her voice came out softer than intended, almost uncertain. You’re a guest.

She suddenly felt stiff in his presence, acutely aware of the newness between them—this fragile, unspoken thing that had formed in the wake of that afternoon.

Had she allowed herself to hope for too much? No. She hadn’t reached, she assured herself. She had only dreamed .

Alastair didn’t seem to notice her tension. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close, warming her with his touch until she exhaled and melted against him.

“I told you,” he murmured against her temple. “I refuse to be a burden.”

“I know,” she whispered, tilting her head to rest against his chest. But what happens now?

She turned in his arms, lifting her gaze to his, searching for an answer she wasn’t sure she wanted. “I just…”

“I need to speak with my uncle.”

The words sliced through the moment.

Daisy stiffened. “But?—”

“Until I figure out who tried to kill me, every day spent in your home puts both you and your brother in danger.” His voice was steady, determined.

Resolved.

She shook her head. “But your injuries?—”

Alastair silenced her with the brush of two fingers against her lips. “Physically, I’m fine. And with most of my memories returned, I need to seek out the truth.”

The truth. Meaning, the identity of whoever had tried to kill him.

And just like that, the delicate world they’d built between them was slipping through her fingers.

Again.

“But what if… what if it was your uncle?”

Alastair shook his head. “My father’s brother would never harm me. There was too much love between them.” He touched his hand to his heart. “It’s impossible.”

Daisy didn’t completely agree, and she couldn’t help remembering times in the past when he’d been optimistic—when he’d assured her they could be together. Forever…

But… How could she argue ?

How must Alastair feel to hear someone suggest that his uncle would try to kill him?

She could be wrong. She wanted desperately to be wrong.

Something that was entirely possible.

Especially when the articles she’d saved suggested Alastair had, in fact, cultivated more than one powerful political enemy.

“It would be good,” she spoke cautiously, stepping out of his arms, “If your uncle could help. When will you go?”

But she already knew.

“First thing in the morning.”

She dried a dish, placed it on its proper shelf, and then turned around to meet his stare. “Will you come upstairs?” she asked. “Later?”

She didn’t want to risk her brother discovering the two of them, but she felt… afraid.

Desperately afraid for this man.

Alastair had been in her life once and then disappeared for what could have been forever. She would never take him for granted again.

“If you’ll have me,” he said.

“Oh, yes.”

“But you’ll have to be quiet.”

Her brows shot up. “I am quiet!”

But he shook his head. “More than once this afternoon, I feared the lovely Mrs. Farley might come knocking, demanding you show your face to prove that I wasn’t murdering you.”

“She wouldn’t!” But Daisy vaguely recalled a few particularly intense moments… “Perhaps I was a little loud.”

“Don’t worry.” He stole a kiss, cradling her breast with one hand, sliding his knee between her thighs, and holding her there with the other. “I’ll take care of that mouth of yours.”

She gasped as he nipped at her lips, sparking every inch of her skin to life. When had she become so sensitive ?

She dropped her hands over the wool of his breeches.

“I have a few ideas,” she whispered.

“Daisy?” They jumped apart at the sound of her brother calling from upstairs. “Do you have an extra pencil?”

“I’ll be right there!” But her gaze dropped to where she’d been touching Alastair. He wanted her again.

Would this ever be enough?