Page 70 of A Temporary Bride for the Duke

“Am… am I ruined?” she asked Edmund, while staring up at the star-filled sky.

Edmund did not answer at once. He was still trying to catch his breath. Still trying to place himself back inside the bounds of sense.

When he finally looked at her, she was disheveled in a way that made something in him tighten sharply. Her hair had come loose. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she had forgotten how to compose herself again.

He licked his lips and sat back.

“No, Daisy,” he said at last. “You are not ruined.”

Her eyes searched his face, as though that answer might not be enough.

He shifted away from her, sitting back properly. The effort cost him more than he wanted to admit.

“I should not have let it go that far,” he said.

The words were not entirely true in the way they should have been. That was the difficulty. He could tell himself it had been a lapse, an error of judgement, something contained and corrected. But his body still remembered her too clearly for that to sit comfortably as the whole truth.

Daisy sat up slightly, her fingers curling against the grass. “What?”

It would be easier if this were simple. If he could place it into a category and leave it there.

Mistake. Temptation. Something to be avoided.

But nothing about their relationship felt that orderly.

“This cannot continue,” he said. “This arrangement,” he added, more steadily, “was never meant to become this. You understand that.”

“Oh,” Daisy breathed.

Her soft response, full of gloom and rejection, made him feel horrendous.

You hard-hearted fool. Look at what you did to her. She will never forgive you for acting like such a rogue.

He stood, needing movement more than air.

“I am sorry,” he said finally. “For what I have done. For putting you in this position.”

Her breath caught slightly at that, though she still did not answer him.

He nodded once, as if confirming something to himself rather than to her.

His hand flexed at his side. He did not trust himself to say more.

If he stayed any longer, he knew the boundaries he was trying to rebuild would not hold.

“I should go,” he said.

Daisy remained still.

“Daisy…” he added, softer now, “this is not about you doing anything wrong.”

That, at least, he needed her to understand. Even if nothing else could be resolved.

Then he turned and left before she could answer.

In the morning, Edmund stretched, feeling the ache in his bones from sleeping so awkwardly.

He stood up, crossing over to the armoire to wash his face with the warm water from the jug that someone must have left here at some point before dawn.