Page 68 of A Temporary Bride for the Duke

“That’s why I do not speak of her often,” he said. “I do not know how to tell Harry about her,” he admitted.

Daisy considered him for a moment. “You do not need to tell himeverything.”

His brow tightened slightly.

“He only needs to know her,” she said. “Not every detail. Not how she died, or the difficult parts. Just… who she was to you. That she loved him. That she wanted to have a child. That she was happy he existed.”

His expression shifted at that, though he did not speak immediately.

“She did,” he said finally. “Love him.”

“I’m sure she did, Your Grace,” Daisy replied gently.

“Edmund,” he whispered.

Daisy stiffened as the Duke turned to look at her squarely.

“Please,” he breathed. “Call me Edmund.”

“Very well.” Daisy licked her lips. “I know that your wife loved Harry, even before he was born. And I can see that you cherish every moment you get to spend with him still…Edmund.”

The Duke leaned back slightly. His gaze drifted toward the moon. “You listen well,” he said after a while. “Has anyone told you that?”

Heat rose in Daisy’s cheeks before she could help it. “Not particularly. Perhaps it is the hour. Everything feels more significant at night.”

His mouth curved faintly. “Or perhaps it is simply that people speak more freely when they are not watched so closely.”

“That may be true,” she said.

He did not look away from her this time.

The silence stretched out, growing heavier with every passing second. Daisy could hear the steady rhythm of Edmund’s breathing, deep and slightly uneven.

He shifted his weight, turning his torso more fully toward her. The formal, rigid posture he usually maintained seemed to have completely vanished.

“It is not just the hour, Daisy,” Edmund said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly tone that vibrated straight through her chest.

Daisy swallowed hard, her fingers tightening into the fabric of her skirts. “No?”

“No.” He leaned in closer, his broad shoulder brushing against hers. The scent of him, that sandalwood cologne, wrapped around her senses. “I find myself speaking freely because it isyouwho sits beside me. I have spent weeks trying not to think about you… about the kiss we once shared. Yet I cannot seem to stop.”

A heavy tremor of heat rippled down Daisy’s spine.

Hehasthought about our kiss.

Her heart began to hammer against her ribs, loud enough that she feared he might hear it in the quietude. “Your Grace?—”

“Edmund,” he corrected softly, his gaze dropping to her lips before rising back to her eyes; the intensity in his honey-warm stare was scorching.

“Edmund,” she breathed, the name feeling like a forbidden secret on her tongue.

He let out a low, ragged breath at the sound of his name. He reached out then. His large, warm hand hovered over hers for a fraction of a second before he covered her fingers, pressing them gently against the cold stone bench. His skin was incredibly hot against her cool hands.

“I should be a gentleman,” he murmured, his face moving closer, tilting down toward hers. “I should send you back to your room. But I have been standing next to you at events, sitting across from you at dinner, watching the way you smile, and it has been tormenting.”

Daisy’s breath hitched. Her body felt flushed. A heavy, liquid warmth pooled in her belly.

She lifted her chin slightly; her eyes locked on his. “A torment?”