Page 25 of Daisy and the Duke
She let out a little gasp.
Tristan kept teasing her, but moved from where he was sitting opposite, to kneel in front of her. Daisy took a ragged breath as he finally let her finger go, his mouth curving into a sensual smile, made crooked by the scar on his cheek that pulled one corner down. But Daisy was already learning to read his particular expressions, and this one was pure pleasure.
On his knees, Tristan still commanded her attention. He trailed his fingers along her jaw. “That’s a thank-you for possibly the nicest thing I’ve heard in a year and half.”
“It was just truth,” she whispered.
“Well, I liked it.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. He said, “Do you know how tempting your lips are?”
She shook her head, feeling far out of her depth. “How…how tempting is that, your grace?”
He lowered his mouth to her own, and suddenly Daisy got a taste of what temptation meant. All her clandestine reading did not measure up to the intense swirl of feeling from Tristan’s kiss. His lips on her hand earlier was enticing, but this was astonishing.
She needed more, so she raised her head and pressed her mouth to his, demanding greater contact. She parted her lips and felt a jolt through her whole body when his tongue grazed hers.
“Christ, yes,” he moaned, the blasphemy sounding sweet in her ears. She put her hands on his upper arms, feeling the muscles ripple beneath her touch.
Then she felt him press against her, his hands running along her thighs. She realized that she’d parted her legs to allow him closer, and their entwined position was now far more scandalous than anything they’d done before. If anyone saw them now, Daisy would be ruined.
Would it really be so bad to be ruined?Daisy thought. She was unmarriageable as it was. She was poor and no man wanted to take on a dowry-less woman. Why not enjoy one night of pure abandon? It was all she’d ever get.
Daisy kissed him back hungrily, her brain swirling with conflicting arguments. Why argue when she could simply enjoy the moment?
Unfortunately, the carriage came to a halt then. Daisy gave a startled little moan of protest, and glanced outside to see the familiar sight of Rutherford Grange. She was home.
“I wish you lived farther away,” he murmured, then released her. “Or much closer. You’re a little distracting.”
“I don’t mean to be.” She quickly set her gown to rights and pulled her glove back on— why did the removal of one glove somehow feel as naughty as removing everything?
“That’s part of your appeal.” He smiled as he moved to help her out of the carriage. As she stepped out, he said, “Good night, Miss Merriot.”
“Your grace…if you like, you could call me Daisy.”
He smiled slowly. “I would like that very much. But I will only do so if you call me Tristan.”
“Oh, your grace, that would be far too forward…”
“After what we just shared?” He smiled lazily. “Besides, I want to hear you say my name.”
“Tristan,” she whispered, trying it out.
“There. Was that so difficult? Don’t forget our next meeting…Daisy.”
Daisy would certainly not forget that. As she drifted asleep later that night, she imagined that she could still feel Tristan’s lips on her own.
Chapter 7
Dear Daisy,
I was recently looking through my trunk of old school things, and I pulled out nothing less than the Crown! Can you believe it? I forgot that I had it, but I must have been the last Fairy Tale Queen before we all left Wildwood Hall. I remember when you first made the Crown out of the old pasteboard hatbox and the glass beads. How carefully you sewed them in, and I teased you the whole time, thinking that the thread would rip through that pasteboard in a fortnight. Well, the joke is on me, for all these years later, the Crown’s “jewels” are holding fast. I put it on my head and looked in the mirror, and how I laughed at my silly image. And then I wanted to cry, because you didn’t get enough chances to wear it yourself, leaving school so soon. I still say it was cruel of your stepmother to keep you there. You missed too many turns as Fairy Tale Queen, being able to tell us others to pick up your plates and to fetch you more tea. I may send you the crown in the post, so you can wear it. Or perhaps I’ll send it to Poppy first, for sprucing up. She’s got the millinery connection now, and though the beads are still on, the silk is looking a bit worn! I suspect Poppy would have a scrap or two to spare.
Write to me soon and tell me all the excitement in Gloucestershire, for I assure you there’s none here, hence my pawing through the old trunk….
Much love,
Heather
Daisy chuckled as she read the rest of the letter, remembering the funny old “crown” she’d created for make believe. The girls had dreamed up a whole kingdom to go with it, and they took turns playing Queen, rotating every Saturday. Whoever had the crown could order the others about, directing them to perform small tasks and silly tricks. But one had to be very careful and not abuse the power, for another head would wear the Crown soon enough!
