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“I want an annulment.”

No. His whole body recoiled at the thought.

He wasn’t only in love with Belle. He had seen Daisy at the masquerade and gone directly to her side. He had looked for her everywhere, even after Lady Wharton declined his proposal. He may have refused to acknowledge his emotions, but his actions spoke for themselves.

He wanted to give his wife the world—but not an annulment. Never that. He raked his fingers through his hair, thinking hard about what to do next.

Lady Wharton would be unsympathetic, so Daisy had surely gone to Frederick—who was desperately in love with her.

Miles had never considered himself a possessive man; jealousy suggested an unbecoming level of sentiment. But thinking about Daisy in distress, fleeing to Frederick?

He took a deep breath. Then he threw himself back down the stairs and out the door before Hobbs could produce his greatcoat. A half hour later he sprang from his carriage in front of a townhouse so old that it leaned over the street like an aging spinster who’d misplaced her cane.

“Good afternoon, Oates-Plagitt,” he said, greeting the butler.

“Good afternoon, Lord Devin. We have been expecting you. Your wife is in the library.” Rather than escort him, Oates-Plagitt stepped back and gestured toward a huge oak door.

“Where is Belle?”

The butler smiled. “She has charmed everyone below stairs and is currently taking a nap in the arms of our cook, who has announced that supper will be delayed.”

Miles entered the library silently, his eyes going directly to the sofa. Daisy was lying on her side, cozied up against Frederick’s shoulder, rumpled hair spilling over his chest. Frederick’s arm was wrapped around her, anchoring her against his side.

Jealousy gnawed at Miles’s gut. His teeth clenched as he fought a wave of anger and betrayal. Daisy was his. She had vowed—only this morning—to be his.

Except he had left her first.

He had walked out, leaving her unclothed and unloved.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a fool’s cap?” Frederick asked in a hushed voice, glancing up from his book. “I haven’t got around to trimming one with diamonds, but for you, I could make an effort.”

Miles walked over and looked down at the two of them. Daisy was pale with exhaustion, her golden lashes dark against her cheeks. The way her hand clung to Frederick’s lapel sent a piercing ache through his heart that hurt as much as the fact that she was lying beside another man.

“Fool’s cap?” he muttered, collecting himself enough to remember the long-ago conversation in the ballroom. “I suppose so.”

Frederick lay his open book down on his stomach. “I’m not sure a hat would sufficiently signal your idiocy, given that you apparently concluded that this darling girl had a virgin birth.”

Miles sat down opposite them. “May I please take my wife home?”

“No,” Frederick said pleasantly enough. “Just how did you think that Daisy managed to carry a child for nine months without you or anyone else noticing? Didn’t you scold her for riding too fast in Hyde Park—during the period when she would presumably have been heavy with child?”

“She said Belle was hers. I believed her.” His voice came out gritty with emotion. Obviously, he was an idiot.

“You wanted to believe her. There’s a difference.”

Miles absorbed that, nodding. “Please stop embracing my wife.”

Frederick didn’t move a hair. “I suppose your pride stung when you found her gone. But I gather you left first, rashly dashing out of the house to attack her buffoon of a father. And yet you accused Daisy of impulsivity? Leave her alone. She’s exhausted.”

Despite himself, Miles’s hands curled into fists. “Frederick.”

“Exhausted,” Frederick repeated.

“I will carry her to the carriage.” His words grated like rocks on a dry riverbed.

“No, you will carry your daughter after Daisy wakes up.” Frederick squinted at him. “Do you have any bloody idea how lucky you are?”

“I am learning.”