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“Will you mind living in the country?”
“I’ll return to the city after a week. I have a number of cases coming up to trial in the House of Lords.”
“You can’t,” Daisy said, straightening. “We are supposed to be desperately in love, remember? Major FitzRoy took Livie with him to war. A besotted man wouldn’t leave his bride after a mere week.”
Her bottom was maddeningly lush, so Miles was having trouble keeping his mind on the conversation. “Besotted,” he repeated.
“That means people have to believe that you are in love with me, just as I am with you.”
“A week isn’t good enough?” Miles shifted his legs, thinking of how much he wanted to carry her upstairs to his bedchamber. In fact, now he thought of it, seven days may not be long enough to sate himself. “I could stay longer on the estate,” he offered. “I could …”
He could tell Lord Paget that he didn’t want to investigate any more crimes. The idea felt like a glass of cold water on a blisteringly hot day.
“I could stay at least a month,” he decided.
“Excellent,” Daisy said, huddling back against his chest.
He was starting to feel quite content. Really, this was an excellent solution. Marrying Daisy meant having her in his bed, night after night.
Every night.
What’s more, he liked Belle. She was a cheerful scrap of humanity, and he would be happy to father her.
He brushed the hair back from Daisy’s cheek. “Feeling better?”
“More or less.”
“We share something far more important than temporary infatuation,” he said, making no attempt to hide the heat in his gaze.
She glanced up at him. “Oh?” Her eyelids flickered, and the corner of her lush mouth curled up.
Taking that as an invitation, Miles bent his head and licked into her mouth, her taste instantly igniting his body. He arrowed his fingers into her silky, messy curls so he could kiss her more deeply.
Daisy curled an arm around his neck, kissing him back. He could feel her nipples through her light gown, through his linen shirt, as her breasts pressed against his chest. A deep groan caught in his throat.
“Do I feel dazed because I’m in love with you, or because you kiss so much better than my other suitors?” she whispered after he pulled away just enough to breathe.
He registered the fact that Belle’s father was apparently as unskilled in bed as he was worthless, but pushed the thought away. “We should stop,” he managed sometime later, fighting the fact that his blood was on fire.
Daisy’s eyes were still swollen, but she looked far happier. “I have one requirement for our marriage. I didn’t think of it until now, but it’s important.”
Miles had the sudden realization that he didn’t want her to fall out of love with him. He wanted her to be happy. “Yes?”
“No more Rothingale. No mistresses. No affairs with Russian dancers.”
He traced her generous lower lip with one finger. “Are you saying that you and I will cleave unto each other—to use the Biblical phrase—til death do us part?”
Daisy took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“No more kissing other men.” The words jumped from his mouth without conscious volition. “Your very last impulsive act, as far as the male sex is concerned, was walking to my house.”
Her lips curved. “I promise. No kissing anyone except my husband. The same for you.”
Fidelity was obviously a worthy goal.
More to the point, Miles hadn’t desired anyone since … He realized with a shock that he hadn’t looked at a woman lustfully since the Rothingale masquerade. Not that it had anything to do with Daisy.
“I haven’t had a mistress or a lover in some years,” he told her. “I have a feeling that you, Lady Devin, will keep me busy.”
