Page 1

1

D aisy Carlyle’s partner had another woman in their bed.

Daisy froze in the doorway of their small rented apartment, her eyes snapped wide and unseeing, her heart battering against her ribs. While her ears desperately strained to listen, to catch the warmth in Lew’s low muffled laughter, and — yes, oh gods — the tinkling trill of a woman’s laugh in return.

“Oh, Lewie ,” came the woman’s distant, teasing voice. “ That feels so — eep !”

Lew laughed again, the sound easy and genuine and painfully familiar, scraping like sharp vicious quills up Daisy’s back. And she only distantly noticed her hands were shaking, and she thrust down her bag of food onto the counter just in time, before it dropped and smashed all over the floor.

Because — Lew had known she was coming back before sundown. Right ? He’d known . And not bringing third parties home into their bed was one of the most fundamental rules they’d agreed upon. One of the rules Lew had agreed upon, when they’d first decided to open up their relationship the year before.

It’s the civilized thing to do these days, Daisy , Lew had told her, with his usual authority ringing through his voice. Humans were never meant to be tied down to one partner for our entire lives, were we? But this way, we can benefit from the best of both worlds. A committed partnership, and a bit of variety on the side.

Of course, it had been far easier for Lew to blithely propose such an arrangement, since he was the one with the coin. He was the one with the prestigious position at the realm’s most renowned university. He was the one who published the books and papers, who led all the latest botanical research, who had all the colleagues and contracts, while Daisy was…

Lew’s illustrator. His quiet, awkward illustrator, with middling education and prospects. And being hired to illustrate the Lewis Wallace’s first published botanical compendium — a critically acclaimed triumph — had utterly transformed Daisy’s previously mundane life, hurling into her a world of light and wonder and possibility. Especially once the handsome botanist’s interest had begun to extend in a more… personal direction.

You’re absolutely brilliant, Daisy , Lew had told her late one night, after she’d spent hours drawing a rare amaranth just the way he’d wanted it. Brilliant , and beautiful.

No one had ever called Daisy beautiful before, what with her average build, baggy secondhand wardrobe, and messy, brassy hair. But that fateful night, as she’d gasped and begged in Lew Wallace’s strong, capable arms, she’d almost, almost , believed it. Almost believed she was a beautiful, desirable creative, an artist of skill and talent, worthy of attention and devotion.

And in the four years since, with that dazzling dream still dangling before her, Daisy had gone on to become Lew Wallace’s constant companion in life, in bed, and in work. Researching with him, learning with him, travelling around the realm with him. Including this particular weeks-long sojourn in Dusbury , staying in this small rented apartment, and…

And listening to Lew make love to another woman in their bed.

“Lewie!” came the woman’s squeal, twisting in Daisy’s gut. “ Oh , no, no, no — ohhhh, yes —”

Daisy gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and willed her trampling heartbeat to slow. This didn’t have to mean anything, or change anything. Lew cared for her . He’d chosen her . And he’d reminded her of that again and again, holding her gaze with his beautiful brown eyes.

You’re still my partner, Daisy , he would say. I chose you, remember? My heart is forever yours.

Daisy silently repeated that marginally comforting thought as she groped for her sketchbook, and then for the little bouquet of bright, colourful wildflowers she’d picked on her way home. Red trillium, purple coneflower, buttercups, even a few daisies. The kind of banal, in-your-face flora Lew always rolled his eyes at, but they were still lovely to look at, and fun to draw. And Daisy needed a distraction, needed something, anything, to block out those warm, intimate sounds still emanating from her bedroom.

But once she’d arranged the flowers, and plunked herself down at the small table with her sketchbook and pencils, she soon found that her hand wouldn’t stop trembling, or streaking sweat on the paper. And she couldn’t even get the coneflower’s simple stem right, couldn’t draw a single straight line, the perspective was wrong and everything, everything was wrong —

She flipped the page, began anew on a fresh sheet — but this time it seemed even harder, her lines stiff and flat, the flowers’ cheerful, vivid beauty gone dull and lifeless on the paper. And the more she kept at it, trying to fix it, to salvage it, the more hideous it became, as if in dreadful competition with the sounds still grating into her ears.

“Oh, yes , darling,” Lew was groaning now, over the rhythmic creaks of the heavy wooden bed. “ That’s good. Just like that. Mmmm .”

Daisy’s heartbeat spiked, her breaths sharp and shallow — and before she’d even realized it, she slammed down her pencil, and stalked toward the bedroom door. Rapping on it with a loud, echoing knock, even as her hand kept shaking, and fresh misery roared and raged in her chest.

“Lew, I’m home,” she called out, as steadily as she could. “ And I need to — talk to you. Now , please.”

Her voice was followed by a sudden, stilted silence, broken only by the thunder of her galloping heartbeat — and then, finally, a cough, low and discreet. Lew’s cough.

“Yes, of course,” his familiar voice called back, though it sounded distinctly breathless. “ Just a moment.”

For an awful, agonizing instant, Daisy thought he was going to make her listen while he finished, while he emptied himself out into this laughing, moaning stranger in her bed — but then, thank all the gods, she could soon hear the rustle of clothing, and the sound of footsteps. Until finally, finally, the bedroom door swept open.

And there, standing before her, was Daisy’s tall, handsome partner. His eyes sparkling, his cheeks flushed, his short brown hair falling in becoming curls over his forehead. The sight of him still enough to catch Daisy’s breath, except for… the woman. The woman standing just behind him, her hand curving light and easy around his arm.

And this woman was — beautiful. Truly stunning, with shiny, raven-black hair, high cheekbones, and large, long-lashed eyes. And her dress, while obviously thrown on with haste, was sleek, stylish, and perfectly fitted to her graceful, willowy form.

“Ah… hello,” she said to Daisy , in a low, pleasing voice, before angling a wary glance toward Lew . “ And this is…?”

There was another instant’s horrible, scraping silence, but then Lew coughed again. “ This is Daisy ,” he replied, his voice creditably smooth. “ Daisy Carlyle .”

The new woman’s eyes cleared at once, and a bright smile flashed across her lovely face. “ Oh , your artist !” she said, in tones of deep relief. “ Your work is absolutely stunning, Miss Carlyle . I was just telling Lewie earlier, I’ve pored over every one of your publications until they’re all dog-eared and tattered. No one brings flowers to life the way you do! You even make vegetables look interesting.”

What? In the midst of the clamouring confusion now screaming through her brain, Daisy somehow refrained from making the irrelevant, irrational point that plant organs weren’t vegetables — an amateur error that Lew had always considered an unpardonable offense. But Daisy’s narrow glance at Lew found him smiling warmly back toward this woman, without even a glimmer of judgement in his eyes.

It left Daisy standing there slack-jawed and staring, while the furious disbelief churned ever higher in her chest, and a dozen possible responses spewed across her thoughts at once. How dare you. That bedroom is supposed to be mine. I’m not just his artist, I’m his partner. I don’t want empty compliments. Stop touching him. Stop looking at me. Get the hell out.

But none of them would come. Not a single word. And instead, Daisy’s face was burning hot, and something was stinging behind her eyes — and suddenly she was sharply, horribly aware of how she must look, standing here silent and plain and unstylish, gaping at Lew and this beautiful, graceful woman. This woman who Lew had just touched, and kissed, and made love to. The woman who’d just had Lew inside her.

“Why don’t we say goodnight for now, Sybil ,” Lew finally said, around another quiet, subtle cough. “ I’ll see you out, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

The churning chaos screamed even louder through Daisy’s skull, because of course this lovely woman was named Sybil , rather than being named after a common, overrated herbaceous plant that Lew would never deign to include in any of his books. And what the hell did Lew mean, he was talking to this Sybil again tomorrow? After she’d apparently read all his books, and yet still called plant organs vegetables ?!

This Sybil looked perplexed, but she allowed Lew to guide her toward the door, and usher her out into the hallway — now with his hand on her back, damn him. And when Lew finally came back in and shut the door, Daisy found that she still hadn’t moved from beside the bedroom, and she still couldn’t breathe properly, and her heart was still thundering in her ears.

“There was no need to be so rude, Daisy ,” Lew said, as he strode past her toward the counter, and began unpacking the supper she’d bought at the market. “ I only lost track of time, that’s all.”

That’s all . He spoke so calmly, so rationally, even coolly raising his brows toward Daisy , as if in full expectation of an immediate and profuse apology. While Daisy still couldn’t think, couldn’t find air, couldn’t even feel her furiously trembling fingers.

“It’s against our rule, Lew ,” she finally ground out, in a hoarse, ugly croak. “ We agreed on the rules. No one else in our bedroom.”

Lew’s brows snapped higher, his expression radiating frank, surprised innocence. “ But this isn’t our house, Daisy ,” he countered, as though this fact might have somehow slipped her notice. “ This is an entirely unrelated rented apartment, provided by my employer.”

There was a faint stress on the my , just a subtle reminder to Daisy of who was footing the bill for all this. And while it usually worked — she knew very well who held the purse-strings in their relationship — this time it only launched her miserable rage higher, kindling like rotten, oily tinder in her belly.

“It doesn’t matter, Lew ,” she snapped back. “ I don’t want other people in my — in the bed I’m sleeping in. The bed that’s supposed to be ours . And I made that very, very clear to you when I agreed to all this!”

Lew kept looking at Daisy with that cool disapproval, even as he continued calmly unpacking her bag. “ Well , forgive me for not understanding your unilaterally revised definition of ‘your’ bed,” he said curtly. “ I’ll refrain from bringing Sybil here, going forward.”

From bringing Sybil here . As if he was fully planning upon seeing Sybil again — of course he was — and Daisy’s miserable fury surged even higher, so strong she could taste bile in her throat. “ Does she even know who I am?” she demanded. “ Does she know I’m your partner and lover of four years, and not just your artist ?”

Lew’s answering shrug was just a shade too nonchalant, his eyes fixed on his unpacking. “ She knows it’s not exclusive,” he said smoothly, as he turned toward the icebox. “ But I don’t feel the need to go around announcing all the details to everyone I meet, either. I thought keeping our outside encounters impersonal was another one of your rules ?”

Daisy’s mouth fell open — they’d created those rules together , Lew had written out the damned list himself — and she dragged down a long, bracing breath. “ I want you to tell Sybil the truth about me,” she replied, too quickly. “ And actually” — was she going to say it, she was — “actually, I want you to break it off with her. Permanently .”

Lew betrayed a brief, almost imperceptible twitch, and his eyes sharpened, narrowing on Daisy’s face. But he wasn’t speaking, and she drew down another breath, deeper this time. “ I want you to stop seeing Sybil ,” she repeated — and yes, even the thought of it was settling the frantic chaos in her chest, just a little. “ As per those rules we made — together — either of us has the right to veto the other’s… attachments . At any time, for any reason.”

Her voice came out sounding too loud, almost triumphant, because that particular rule had been what had finally swayed her into this whole arrangement in the first place. Not because she’d wanted to inspect or approve of Lew’s bed-partners — in truth, she wanted to know as little about them as possible — but because of the position it had given her. It had meant she was still the most important, that she still occupied an inviolable place of honour — or even power — in Lew’s life, and his bed. My heart is forever yours.

But the expression on Lew’s face had turned decidedly sour, his mouth pinched and thin. “ Good gods, Daisy ,” he snapped back. “ What possible reason do you have for disapproving of her? She was polite, she left without a fuss, she even praised your work! It was a very generous compliment, and one that you returned with entirely unwarranted rudeness!”

The misery curdled deeper in Daisy’s belly — someone praising her work was a very generous compliment , now? — and Lew lifted his chin, his lovely eyes gone cold, condescending, imperious. “ We’ve discussed this at length, Daisy ,” he added. “ I’ve offered you countless solutions and reassurances. I even gave you that ring as a sign of my affections, though it seems you can scarcely be bothered to remember it, let alone actually wear it!”

Daisy grimaced and glanced downwards, toward the familiar large, glittering ring on her left hand. A gift she’d badly wanted, yes, and she knew it had been costly and custom made — but it was also heavy and cumbersome to work around, and often ended up spattered with paints and ink. And on days like this, it almost felt like a mockery, like a shiny toy tossed to distract an annoying, misbehaving pet.

“Yes, because I’m your partner , Lew ,” Daisy insisted, too shaky, too late. “ And as your partner, I don’t want you to see Sybil anymore.”

Lew’s mouth twisted, and he slammed down a loaf of bread onto the counter. “ Why are you doing this, Daisy ?” he demanded. “ Because you’re jealous?”

Jealous . Daisy’s throat spasmed, and it took far too much effort to keep breathing, to hold herself upright. Yes , yes, she was jealous. She was so jealous she felt sick with it. She’d been able to handle their arrangement when she couldn’t see it, when Lew had been discreet about it — but he’d been less and less discreet lately, hadn’t he? Less often at home with her, and more often out with… whoever. And Daisy had just kept going, fighting to keep her focus on that shimmering vision of magic, of the dream. On her work, on her art, on their next book. On this free eight-week stay in Dusbury , entirely paid for by…

“You are jealous, Daisy ,” Lew’s implacable voice continued, his eyes glinting with cold certainty. “ Which is foolish and immature behaviour, and you know it. We’re all consenting adults here, and we should be capable of managing our emotions without resorting to childish manipulations and ultimatums like this. Did I work myself into a jealous frenzy when you went off with that grimy painter? Or that geologist ?”

He couldn’t hide that familiar curl of his lip — he’d always nursed a deep dislike of geologists — and Daisy fought down the sudden, irrational urge to break into high-pitched laughter. She’d seen two other people since the start of this last year — two — and while they’d both been nice enough, with intriguing careers, Daisy could admit they’d also been… uninspiring, especially in the bedroom. And while she knew she should have gone and sought out other partners instead, the entire ordeal had been tedious and exhausting, and Lew had still been there. And he’d always been confident and compelling in bed, generous with his coin and collaboration, and excellent at managing all the tiresome schedules and deadlines Daisy often struggled with. And until now, it had still been enough. Until …

“Look, it’s not just that I’m jealous,” Daisy managed, over the ever-rising din in her thoughts. “ It’s also — how do you know this Sybil ? Are you working with her on the project? She looks… familiar.”

That distant nagging felt more certain, now — Daisy had always had a very good memory for faces — and Lew’s shifty sidelong look confirmed it. “ Yes , she’s from the city, too,” he said, a little too blandly. “ She’s also here on the project.”

Oh, of course . So not only was this Sybil sharing Lew’s bed, but she knew about the damned top-secret project. The project that had brought Lew and Daisy all the way down here to Dusbury , which was deep in Sakkin , the most southwestern province in the realm. And while Sakkin did boast some intriguing flora and fauna — not to mention the huge, highly notorious Orc Mountain , only a day’s journey to the south — most of it had already been thoroughly catalogued, and a trip here didn’t align with Lew’s previous research interests in the slightest. It had made no sense, but Lew had told Daisy nothing, and now — now this?

“I thought we were supposed to keep these things casual, Lew ,” Daisy shot back, too late. “ Professional colleagues should be entirely off-limits. Although , wait” — something new surged in her rioting belly — “how the hell is this Sybil a colleague of yours, if she thinks I draw vegetables ?!”

Lew couldn’t quite hide his wince, but shook his head. “ Sybil’s not a botanist,” he snapped back. “ And you were my colleague at first too, weren’t you, Daisy ? Which apparently was perfectly fine and acceptable for you , but now that it’s someone else, it’s suddenly a problem?”

Daisy fought another wild urge to laugh, because in no world had she been anywhere near Lew’s level, when they’d first met. He’d been a well-born, well-established academic, educated at the realm’s finest university, while she’d been a poor, orphaned, nineteen-year-old artist, living in a tolerant painter friend’s cellar, and sinking ever deeper into debt. She’d only been scraping by on commissions — usually of wealthy women’s children or pets — when Lew had seen one of her commissions at a party, and had taken particular note not of the plump-faced baby, but the detailed philodendron she’d drawn in the foreground.

You have some true potential in this field , he’d told Daisy , when he’d first shown up at her door, like a beautiful rescuing angel from on high. You must come and do some sketches for me.

But that glorious day suddenly felt very far away, and Daisy swallowed down the lurking lump in her throat. “ It wasn’t the same, Lew ,” she replied, her voice thick. “ And it’s petty and self-serving of you to pretend that it is. Especially ” — she drew in a shaky breath — “when you’re apparently able to share the top-secret details of this project with your new woman, and not with me!”

And if she was honest with herself, maybe that was what hurt the most about all this. No matter how many other people Lew had shared his body with over the past year, Daisy had always had exclusive access to his mind, and his work. She’d eagerly embraced his academic world, his enthusiasm for his field — perhaps because it had so closely echoed her devotion to her own chosen discipline, her commitment to applying and improving her art to the best of her ability. And Lew had seen that, and recognized that, and rewarded it by intimately involving Daisy in his projects, his passions, his research — until these past few months. Until … this.

“So how about this, Lew ,” Daisy added, her voice harder, steadier than before. “ You can either stop seeing this Sybil — permanently — or you can tell me everything you’ve been keeping from me about this project. Who hired you. What you’re researching. What outcomes you’re supposed to achieve. And ” — she raised her chin, clenched her teeth — “why you need to be down here in the backwoods of the realm for eight weeks to do it!”

Her voice rang through the small apartment, shrill and demanding — but Lew didn’t immediately reply. Instead , he just kept gazing at her, while his throat betrayed an almost imperceptible swallow, his jaw flexing in his cheek.

And as Daisy stared at him, waiting, waiting, it slowly, distantly occurred to her that Lew was… refusing. He was… saying no.

He… wanted this Sybil . He wanted this secret project. More than he wanted Daisy . More than he wanted their partnership, their shared passions, their successful books, their four years working and living together.

And how long had Lew felt this way? At least for a year, surely, back when he’d first proposed they open their relationship? And why hadn’t he just dumped Daisy , why hadn’t she dumped him, why had he kept stringing her along, what had he wanted…

But then Daisy’s blinking, stinging eyes dropped to the table. To her sketchbook. Which was still lying open and abandoned, with those empty, ugly flowers still shouting at her from the page.

Oh. Oh . Of course.

She’d been a fool. Such a stupid, stupid fool.

And before either of them could say it, before the water started streaming down her cheeks, Daisy silently, frantically snatched for her sketchbook, and left.