Page 52 of Daisy and the Duke
“They wouldn’t dare. And anyway, you can announce whatever you like.”
“Can I?” His lip quirked. “In that case, I should—”
A sizzling, shrieking sound cut him off. They turned and watched the first streak of light soar upward above the water. It burst into a bright orange flaming flower and then dissolved into golden sparks, which fell into the pond like stars.
“Oh, how beautiful!”
Tristan stood stiffly by her side. “Is it?”
“Yes, it is! And here’s another!”
A new pinwheel of color dazzled their eyes, then another and another. Vibrant reds, glowing yellows, and vivid silver-whites exploded in the air. The guests cried out and applauded as each one burst above them.
Tristan didn’t say anything, but Daisy put her hand on his, which still gripped the railing. She ached to think that such a pretty display would be hateful to him because of his experience in the war.
He finally moved, shifting so that his left hand came up as if to take her own away. “You’re holding my scarred hand,” he said, in a voice so low, she could hardly hear it.
Alarm ran through her. “I didn’t think about that. Did I hurt you?”
Paradoxically, as soon as she started to lift her hand away, he stopped her from doing so. “It’s long past hurting. But you wouldn’t like to… That is, you shouldn’t have to…”
Daisy took a moment to register what he was trying to say. “You think itbothersme?” How could he think that mattered to her? She pursed her lips in anger, but then an especially large firework distracted her, drawing her gaze to the pond again. She settled for keeping her hand firmly on his, actually tightening her grip. “After all we’ve done…how I’ve seen you and touched you… If you think that any part of you, inside or outside, repels me, your grace, you’re…you’re a…an idiot!”
He said nothing for a long moment, as an explosion drifted into silver snowflakes on the surface of the pond. Then he said, “I am an idiot.”
“No, I should not have said that.”
“I’m glad you did. At least a few people need to tell me what’s actually happening, instead of what they presume I want to hear.”
“I don’t want to upset you,” she said, feeling the familiar urge to smooth things over, to be the voice of calm.
“You’re the party who should be upset. I expect that if not for the allure of the fireworks, you would have slapped me and stormed off.”
She looked at him curiously, her pique fading. “Are the fireworks affecting you at all?”
“No. I don’t think so. I’m not sure,” he said, looking less certain with every moment. “Perhaps I need to think of something else entirely.”
Wordlessly, Tristan pulled Daisy close enough so she could feel the lines of his body next to hers. She could step away—he gave her plenty of time to do so. She chose not to.
But she was also sure it was very lovely to be held like that, and to feel his arms enfolding her. He was so warm, especially with the cool autumn air all around. She seemed to smell a tingling, sweet warmth like cider and honey. Except more delicious than that, and somehow surprising despite the fact that she ought to be used to his touch now, after what they’d done only moments ago in the bedroom.
And why did she think she might fly apart when he bent his head to kiss her gently, his tongue grazing her lower lip. It felt meltingly right, and why was she now touching him, with her hands on his chest and now twining around him as if she feared he might let her go to breathe…
Daisy had no idea why people invented fireworks. Why bother, when there was this other thing?
“Tristan,” she breathed.
He bent his head closer. “I do love to hear you say my name, my Daisy.”
Delicious little shivers coursed down her spine.HisDaisy.
He smiled and kissed her again. Knowing what his kiss did to her in no way lessened the effect. She sighed with pure happiness when she finally pulled away.
“I must tell you something, sweetheart,” he said then. “I’m ashamed to tell you, but you have to know.”
Daisy’s heart contracted, painful and sudden and horrible. He was going to tell her that he was about to propose to another woman, probably her own stepsister.
“Not long ago,” he began to explain, “I received a letter from an old friend, who I count as one of the most good-hearted men I know. I saved his life once, he saved mine once. Well, John wrote and told me that he was in India and had got involved with a mining venture. Diamonds. He wanted me to invest.”
