Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands #3)(66)

He did not, damn it all, put all his years of training and loyalty in jeopardy for the sake of one golden-haired American woman, even if his stubborn heart loved her, and even if she made him laugh and even if being in her presence reminded him of the life he wanted, the one that was just beyond his grasp. He couldn’t be selfish now, even if every part of him wanted to tell Carlisle to go to the devil so that he could stay right where he was, familiarizing himself with the lovely enigma he’d married.

No, it wasn’t meant to be.

Perhaps Daisy wasn’t meant to be, and he’d only been fooling himself to imagine this would end any differently. With grim intention, he handed off his reins to a groom. He would return to his chamber, write a note to Daisy, and leave before she even knew he’d gone. In the end, a clean break would be easier for them both. Far preferable, it seemed, than facing her and delivering a protracted lie. Carlisle could bloody well stuff his cholera nonsense up his meddling arse.

Love and duty didn’t bloody well mix, and he was hopelessly adrift.





aisy slept far longer than she ordinarily would have. When she woke, the day was bright and bold, shining through her window dressing in a pointed reminder that she ought not to have lazed about as long as she had. Part of her expected Sebastian to be lying next to her in bed, but that same part was destined for disappointment, for the side of the bed he ordinarily occupied was empty.

She rolled onto her side, swiping a leg and an arm over the place where he should have been. It was cold, which meant Sebastian had been gone for some time. Had she expected him to linger? Had she expected him to reciprocate after her embarrassing declaration yesterday?

The mere thought of what had occurred was enough to make her slap the back of her hand to her forehead. Sebastian had… good heavens, she couldn’t even form words in the privacy of her own thoughts for what he’d done to her. During the midst of dinner. On the table. With the servants likely aware of just what he’d been about.

And what had she done? Not only had she reveled in it, but she’d brought the entire, deliciously wicked interlude upon herself by not wearing drawers. She still hadn’t enough undergarments. It was silly, and she felt utterly ridiculous, but when she’d sent for her wardrobe from her father’s home, not all of her undergarments had arrived. As it was, she was frightfully short on drawers. She did need to acquire more, and last night had been ample proof of that.

Then again, if eschewing drawers meant that her husband would treat her to such decadent lovemaking, she might be tempted to leave them off every night. She could grow accustomed to such treatment.

The wanton thought made her cheeks go hot.

That was it. Time to rise and see to her day.

She wished she hadn’t embarrassed herself by telling Sebastian she loved him. In a weak moment, the words had escaped her, one big rush, before she’d been capable of tamping them down. There had been no calling them back.

Lord have mercy. They’d been married a fortnight. What had she been thinking? Daisy threw back the bedclothes and forced herself from bed, into the chill morning air. Of course, she knew what she’d been thinking. Here was a man who was capable of great kindness and gentleness, who kissed and touched her as if she were precious to him, who laughed with her, who took the time to know her.

He paid attention to the smallest detail where she was concerned. Before him, the only other man she’d ever been close to in the same sense had been Padraig, her betrothed, and that had not ended well. Padraig too had been kind and gentle. He’d made her dream of a world in which she didn’t live beneath her father’s thumb.

Then had come the day when her father had decided that her marriage to Padraig was no longer beneficial to him. Daisy crept across the carpet to the bell pull, yanking to summon her lady’s maid as she shivered into the morning air. Why was she thinking of it now, when her happiness with Sebastian filled her heart to near bursting?

It was silly, really, but for some odd reason she recalled the day her father had told her she would not be marrying Padraig McGuire. Her father had called both her and Padraig into his office, and he had given Padraig an ultimatum: marry my daughter or run my empire. Of course, Padraig had chosen the latter. Who wouldn’t have? Her father owned half of New York City and enough factories to start his own country. Any man would have chosen the empire.

Those old hurts had healed, as a bruise, with time. Now, she was fiercely glad to have discovered the sort of man Padraig was before binding herself to him. No, Padraig’s choice didn’t bother her any longer, even if her ribs recalled every moment of what had happened after that awkward interview when her heart had been broken. For her defiance, she had received her father’s wrath. Broken ribs, as it turned out, were a great deal more painful and infinitely more difficult to recover from.

But recover, she had. She didn’t regret her past, for all of it—the good, the bad, the painful, the sad—had fashioned her into the woman she’d become. Her past had made her strong, had shown her that in spite of everything, there was still good in the world. There was still a dashing rake who had rescued her, who laughed with her, who knew she didn’t like strawberries, who made love to her with such tenderness that the mere thought sent an ache straight through her.

Her door opened to reveal Abigail’s familiar form bustling into the chamber, and Daisy was once again glad that she had been able to retain her lady’s maid. Her father had dismissed her from her post without reference following Daisy’s elopement, and she’d found her way to the duke’s residence where Daisy had instantly hired her.