Page 25 of Sweet Duke of Mine

THE STATEMENT

T he officer turned to Alastair. “Your uncle’s statement is being taken as we speak, but we’ll need your account as well. Start from the beginning, if you will.”

Alastair hesitated.

Daisy saw it—the flicker of restraint in his posture. He exhaled, slow and measured, then looked at her.

Where had it all begun?

“This is Miss Daisy Montgomery,” Alastair finally said, his voice steady, sure. “We were engaged but forced apart a decade ago—when my father fell ill.”

Daisy’s breath caught. Engaged.

He turned to her then, and she saw the weight of memory settle over him.

“I was called to London for his final hours, but then I, too, fell ill.” His breath a little shallower now. “Over the course of my illness, I wrote to Miss Montgomery—letters explaining everything. But they never reached her.”

Daisy’s pulse thrummed. He had written.

She could barely think over the rush of emotions colliding inside her—the pain, the years lost .

Alastair’s voice dropped, low and cold. “My uncle confessed to me that he’d had them intercepted.”

Of course they were.

All those years of silence. The unanswered pain. And now, at last, the truth.

“You were ill?” she turned, searching his eyes. Until she’d read about him in the newspapers, there had been times she’d wondered if he was still alive.

“Cholera—my father succumbed to it, but I had youth on my side.”

This time, it was Daisy who squeezed his hand. She’d come so close to losing him forever. More than once.

“How bad was it?” She didn’t want to know, and yet, she needed to know everything now.

“I was out of my head for weeks, bedridden for months. It felt like a lifetime.”

The inspector cleared his throat. “But you recovered, obviously, and have since reunited.” His gaze flicked meaningfully to where Daisy’s fingers were laced with Alastair’s, the way she unconsciously leaned into him, as though needing the reassurance of his presence. “What does all of this have to do with my officers?”

But Alastair turned to Daisy, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles over the back of her hand.

“The fact that I was behind your shop was not a coincidence. It was not fate.” His voice was low, rough.

Daisy barely managed to draw breath. “But how?—”

“Honeysuckle.” His mouth tipped into a small, wry smile, but his gaze was intense. “ Your soap .”

From the corner of her eye, Daisy noted the inspector’s puzzled expression, but she couldn’t look away from Alastair, not when his fingers traced along the inside of her wrist as if committing the feel of her to memory.

“I don’t understand. ”

“I caught the scent while dancing with one of your clients at a ball,” Alastair explained. “The Countess of Grassley mentioned you, and… I wasn’t certain, but I had to find out.” His voice softened, his gaze searching hers. “I was coming here that day—when they stopped me.” He lifted a hand, hesitating, as if resisting the urge to touch her cheek. “I was on my way to you, Daisy.”

Her breath hitched.

“Accosted?” The inspector prompted.

Alastair’s hand dropped, and he curled it into a fist.

“By your two officers,” he addressed the inspector again, gesturing toward the kitchen where one man lay dead and the other was having his hands and feet bound. “Both Mr. Giles and Brown were on my uncle’s payroll, whom I’d made the mistake of trusting.” When he turned to meet Daisy’s gaze, the green in his eyes was almost black. “You were right about him all along.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, but Daisy didn’t waver. She lifted her chin.

“I know,” she murmured.

And just like that, he was touching her again—fingers brushing over her knuckles, trailing up her arm, as though he couldn’t stop himself. As though he needed the connection just as much as she did.

But Daisy still had questions.

“Those men said Lord Calvin believed Gilbert was your son.” She forced her voice to stay even, though her mind raced to make sense of it all. “But what I don’t understand is… even if he was— which he is not!— Gilbert wouldn’t have been legitimate.”

Heat crept up her cheeks.

God help her, was she actually discussing this ?

It wasn’t just the absurdity of the claim—it was the implication. The fact that she’d had to assure Alastair he wasn’t a father meant that anyone listening could easily infer that they had?—

“The marriage certificate,” Alastair cut through her spiraling embarrassment. “I saved that damned certificate you drew up.”

He let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face.

Daisy’s brows pulled together in confusion. “From when we?—?”

“From our secret ceremony.” His voice was low, weighted with meaning.

Her stomach flipped. “When we were practically children?”

Alastair’s expression darkened. “But… we weren’t.”

The realization hit like a bolt of lightning.

“He believed it was authentic?” she asked, her pulse hammering.

Before Alastair could respond, Gilbert, who had been listening intently, suddenly paled all over again. “Wait—you’re my sister… aren’t you? Please, don’t tell me?—”

Daisy whirled around, immediately reaching for Gilbert’s hand. “I am your sister,” she said firmly, squeezing tightly. “I was there when Mother gave birth to you. If you don’t believe me, ask Mrs. Farley.”

Gilbert stilled, his shoulders slumping slightly in relief, though his wary eyes remained locked on hers.

Daisy swallowed hard. Yes, she had loved Gilbert as if he were her own. She had raised him. But…

“Mother and Father loved you. Never doubt who you are.” She met his gaze, willing him to believe her. “You are my brother.”

But Gilbert, ever inquisitive, wasn’t done yet.

“Are you and Alastair secretly married?”

“It was only a pretend ceremony—a game we played when we were young.” The memory softened something inside her. She glanced at Alastair, and despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile. “You picked wildflowers for my bouquet, and one of the stable cats played vicar.”

Alastair’s half-smile wasn’t just amused—it was fond, nostalgic… and a little sad. “You insisted we say proper vows,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers as if the past had suddenly become just as vivid to him. “And you wore your mother’s lace handkerchief as a veil.”

Daisy’s chest constricted at the memory. “You said I looked beautiful.”

Alastair’s expression softened further. “Always.” His voice was quieter now.

He let out a breath, shaking his head as if the moment had caught him off guard. “I saved the certificate as a memento… but it wasn’t real.”

Yet, at the time, it had felt real.

Alastair’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “My uncle believed I had replaced him as heir—with a son who, in his eyes, would tarnish our family’s bloodline. He didn’t approve.”

Daisy met the inspector’s stare, swallowing the anger rising in her throat. “Your bobbies tried to kill His Grace weeks ago,” she added, her voice shaking. She explained what she’d overheard the morning she’d found Alastair near death—their talk of reporting to a lord, how they’d stolen a ring from his hand. “If you press Mr. Giles during questioning, I have no doubt he’ll confirm it.”

Alastair stiffened beside her. “My uncle was wearing that ring when I confronted him earlier,” he said, his voice low, vibrating with restrained fury.

Inspector Barrington’s brows shot up. “A ducal ring?”

Alastair’s jaw tightened. “My ducal ring—the one I’ve worn since my father passed. ”

The inspector let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Nasty business whenever nobs are involved. Your uncle is under house arrest for now, but it looks like I’ll have to bring him in.”

Daisy’s stomach lurched. “He hired men to abduct his own nephew—and then ordered an innocent boy killed.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

The inspector’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “True. And we mustn’t let disgruntled heirs get away with this sort of thing, now can we?” He sighed. “Is there anything else you wish to add to your statement?”

Gilbert, who had been silent until now, lifted his chin. “You need better bobbies if you want people to trust the police,” he said. “That uniform ought to mean something.”

The inspector’s expression flickered—whether with shame or frustration, Daisy wasn’t sure. “I couldn’t agree with you more, young man, but I’m afraid you’ll have to take that up with the commissioner.”

Alastair straightened. “We’ll be sure to do that.”

“Thank you, inspector,” Daisy added.

“If we think of anything else, we’ll send for you,” Alastair said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

And with that, the inspector was effectively dismissed.

As the man approached the door, Alastair slid his arm around Daisy’s shoulders.

“I’ll help with the dead one,” Gilbert announced, far too eagerly. “I’ll bet I’m the only boy at school to see one get shot.”

The inspector, visibly taken aback, froze mid-step and gave Gilbert a long, assessing look. “That won’t be necessary.”

Daisy couldn’t allow herself to dwell on the body in her kitchen—not now. Too much had happened in what should have been a simple, ordinary morning.

Which reminded her?—

“School!” She turned to her brother. “You’re terribly late, aren’t you?” Her voice faltered, thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

It was because of her that he had been in danger.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dais. And I’m perfectly fine.” Her brother straightened his shoulders, clearly proud of how he’d handled himself. “Besides, I have that test on Locke this afternoon. Drat, the book has blood on it now. How am I going to explain that to my professor?”

Alastair smirked. “Tell him you saved your sister’s life with it. That ought to earn you extra credit.”

“Yes, tell him the truth,” Daisy added, still too overwhelmed to think of anything more creative.

Gilbert was already on his feet, and the inspector rushed after him, leaving Daisy and Alastair alone.

Daisy exhaled slowly, wrapping her arms around herself as if that might steady her.

“It wasn’t fate,” she finally said after the door clicked shut. “Finding you that day.”

Alastair’s gaze held hers. “Not fate.”

He said it with certainty, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Fate hadn’t delivered him to her doorstep—circumstance had. A carefully plotted crime, one that should have taken him from her forever, had instead brought him back.

“Fate’s overrated,” she eventually said.

Alastair pulled her onto his lap, and she went willingly, draping her legs over his thighs as if this was where she belonged. His arms came around her without hesitation, holding her close, his grip firm—certain.

He exhaled against her temple. “You were right about my uncle,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. One hand roamed up her back. “I hate that I failed to see what he was doing.”

Daisy softened against him, threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You couldn’t have known. ”

But he shook his head, jaw clenched. “I should have.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, but he didn’t let her go far. Instead, his forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling, their bodies impossibly close. Whatever distance had been between them before had vanished entirely.

All those years, she’d secretly strolled past his townhouse, imagining he’d forgotten her—imagining he had found some other woman to love.

But he hadn’t.

“This is better than fate,” she said.

“This?”

“Love,” she answered. “Because with fate, we’re at the mercy of chance, but when it’s love, our future depends on us.”

Slowly, he lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re right,” he murmured, his lips warm against her skin. “I was careless with love once. I didn’t guard it the way I should have. But never again.”

The boy she had once loved had been passionate, full of reckless certainty. But the man before her now—this man—was steady, resolute.

A shiver ran through her, but not from fear. This was different. This was trust, anchoring her to him like the roots of an ancient oak.

“Love is not something to leave to chance,” he continued. “It’s something to fight for, to protect—always. And I swear to you, Daisy, I will protect ours with everything I am.”

Her breath caught, the words stealing past all the hurt, all the years, and settling deep inside her heart.

She had spent so long holding herself together. So long believing she had to do everything on her own.

But now… she wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.