Page 88 of A Temporary Bride for the Duke

A faint, humorless exhale left him. His hand slid down to curl around the back of her neck, holding her close.

“It turns out,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “I was only delaying what was already inevitable. I was trying to fight the sun from rising.”

Daisy’s hands lifted instinctively, pressing against his broad chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thudding of his heart beneath his coat. “Edmund…”

He looked down at her, his honey-warm eyes burning with a certainty so fierce it stole the remaining breath from her lungs.

“I love you,” he said.

There was no grand flourish in his delivery. No poetic ornament. It was delivered with the same absolute, unshakable certainty as a law of nature.

Daisy went entirely still, the words echoing in the quiet space of her heart.

A trembling breath escaped her, a sob of pure, cathartic release.

“I love you too,” she whispered against his chest, the words pouring out of her like a dam breaking. “I love you, Edmund.”

He studied every inch of her face, his eyes dark with a hunger that was no longer just about protection, but about a deep, desperate need to be near her.

Suddenly, Edmund sank down from the leather seat, dropping to one knee on the floor of the swaying carriage. The tight space forced him close, his broad frame nearly filling the gap between her knees.

Daisy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared down at him.

He took both of her trembling hands into his large, warm palms. The raw vulnerability in his eyes made her throat tighten.

“I don’t want to just ask you to stay, Daisy,” Edmund said, his voice thick with emotion, striking with a gravity that shook her to her core. “I want to give you a foundation that nothing can shake. I want to spend the rest of my life protecting you, loving you, and making sure you never feel alone or abandoned again. I want you to be my wife.”

Daisy’s heart leaped into her throat, a fresh wave of happy tears blinding her. “Edmund…”

“Marry me,” he pleaded softly, his fingers tightening around hers with a fierce, possessive need. “Let me give you my name, my home, and everything I am. Be my Duchess, Daisy. Be Harry’s mother and be my dearest love.”

A beautiful, definitive smile broke through Daisy’s tears. The shadows of the past, of Dulforth, and of her own doubts completely vanished in the warmth of his gaze. She nodded quickly, squeezing his hands back.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice ringing with absolute certainty. “Yes, Edmund. I will marry you.”

A profound wave of relief and pure joy washed through Daisy’s soul. Edmund rose from the floor, pulling her up with him, and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. He lifted her slightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she held onto him, laughing softly through her tears.

When he finally pulled back to look at her, his eyes were darker, burning with a scorching heat that made her skin tingle. His thumb brushed across her bottom lip, his breathing turning shallow.

And before she could breathe another word, he closed the final distance, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was deep, fiercely possessive, and thick with the promise that he would never let her go again.

Chapter Twenty-Three

As Daisy and Edmund entered the parlor of Claymore House, the heavy, suffocating scent of stale brandy hit them immediately. They found the Earl slumped near the hearth. Daisy’s heart sank like a stone into her stomach; she could see even from the doorway that her father was three sheets to the wind.

He blinked thoroughly, swaying on his feet as he processed their sudden entrance, his eyes tracking the way Edmund’s hand rested protectively at the small of Daisy's back.

“Your Grace,” the Earl muttered, thick-tongued and leaning heavily against the mantle. “We haven’t seen you around here for quite some time.”

Edmund didn't answer immediately. He simply glared, a dark, dangerous heat radiating from him so intensely that Daisy felt compelled to slip her hand onto his wrist. Beneath her palm, his pulse raced, hard and erratic. She squeezed gently, an unspokenplea to keep his temper in check. Her father’s bloodshot eyes followed the movement, his eyebrows rising in sluggish surprise at the intimacy of the gesture.

Without a word to the master of the house, Edmund led Daisy directly to the sofa, waiting until she was seated before taking the spot right beside her, his thigh brushing against hers in a quiet show of solidarity. Her father staggered over a few moments later, his expression shifting from drunken confusion to sudden, sharp inquisitiveness.

“So… what’s going on here?” he asked, looking between them.

“Please take a seat, Lord Claymore,” Edmund said. His voice was entirely leveled, but it carried the absolute weight of a command.

The Earl’s brow furrowed, his aristocratic pride bristling. For a second, he looked ready to demand why a guest was dictating terms in his own parlor, but some lingering spark of reason prevailed. He shut his mouth and dropped heavily into the velvet armchair opposite them, staring.