Daisy stopped at the bottom of the steps and stared up at the old house that had been turned into the Gatewell School for Orphans of the Sea. Her nervous heart jumped into her throat.
She’d been putting off this visit to the school for as long as possible. Heavens…children. Oh, she wasn’t ready for this!
“Don’t be nervous,” Whitby urged as he tugged at her hand to cajole her inside with him. “They’re going to love you.”
She doubted that. “I’m not good with children.” Ha! That was the understatement of the year. She was absolutely terrible with them, treating them like short adults.
“Yes, you are.” He slid her a sideways grin. “You’re good with me, and I’m the biggest kid I know.”
She heaved out an exaggerated sigh. “That is true.”
He nudged her with his elbow. “They’re wonderful children who crave attention—”
“Also like you.”
He ignored that and leaned over to whisper into her ear, “And they’ll like you a great deal.”
This time, she whispered with a smile through her nervousness, “Also like you?”
He placed a quick kiss to her cheek. Then he put his hand at the small of her back to start her up the stairs before she could stop again.
Whitby had insisted that they visit the school today. He wanted her to see the school, meet the staff, and learn of all the support they offered those children connected to the docks who had lost their fathers. He’d wanted it to be nothing more than a social visit, but Daisy had insisted on bringing her notebook. She wanted to talk with the children, to find out what they wanted in a home and why the project was so important to them.
She also wanted the chance to see Whitby interact with the children. He gave so much of his money and time to them, so much of himself. They meant a great deal to him, and he was coming to mean a great deal to her.
But then he’d gone and thrown her for a complete loop by asking her father for permission to formally court her. Papa thankfully left the decision completely up to her. And she…well, she’d turned cowardly. She liked Whitby, a great deal, but she had no idea if she wanted more. If she were ready for more with anyone, let alone someone so vivacious. After all, at twenty-five, she’d never had a season the way society misses did, knew nothing of flirtations between men and women, and never been seriously courted before by anyone. What if she made a giant mess of it all?
So she’d agreed to spend time with him but not yet publicly reveal their courtship. After all, she had no idea what kind of future she wanted with him—if any. Friendship only? A meeting of minds? Perhaps—dare she consider it—romance? Going slowly proved the only option. Very slowly. Whitby had agreed, although he wasn’t able to hide the disappointment that had darkened his face, but with the condition that she give him a firm answer by the time the house was finished—to let him publicly pursue her or break off.
She had no idea what her answer would be.
“Whitby’s here!” The shout went up as soon as they stepped into the house. It echoed through the floors and rooms, passed along from one child’s lips to the next in a hue and cry that surprised the daylights out of her.
She slid him a bewildered look. “Do they always do this when you arrive?”
“Usually.” Used to their boisterous greetings, he shrugged and admitted, “Because usually I bring them treats.”
Ah, so that was it. “And what did you bring to bribe them with this time?”
He grinned. “You.”
Before her face could flush at that, half a dozen girls and boys charged down the stairs; another half dozen burst out of the ground floor rooms deeper in the old house-turned-school. All of them flooded into the entry hall and began to crowd around him, all receiving hugs and affectionate rubs on their heads. Whitby greeted each child by name and asked if they were behaving; every child assured him they were.
“I’ve brought you a special guest.” He nodded toward Daisy. “Miss Daring, may I introduce you to the children of the Gatewell School?” His eyes sparkled. “Children, this is the very special Miss Daring.”
They all bowed or curtsied, as they were undoubtedly instructed to do. Daisy bit back a smile as she gave a low curtsy in return.
“I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Bright smiles answered her.
“Let’s go up to the schoolroom,” Whitby told the children, “and you can all show Miss Daring and me what school work you’ve been doing.”
The children, of all ages and sizes, ran up the stairs with the noise of a trampling herd of elephants. Daisy stared after them, a bit shocked.
“Goodness,” she whispered.
Misunderstanding her surprise, Whitby took her arm to escort her upstairs. “I know that you were expecting to meet more of them.”
Not at all! The dozen who’d greeted her were more than enough.
“But the others are in workshops in the afternoons, where they’re learning trades they can use to find future employment.”
“How many others?”
“About three dozen or so at any one time, but it fluctuates.” He shrugged as they rounded the first-floor landing and continued up toward the schoolroom. “We’re not a boarding school. We only take in children during the day so their mothers can earn livings without leaving their children home alone or letting them run wild on the streets. And here they’ll receive a meal and instruction, and not just in reading, writing, and math either. That’s what the workshops are for. We also teach them skills, like carpentry and cooking, so they can become apprentices when the time comes or find other employment for them.”
“You give them a proper chance at life,” she whispered.
“Well, we try.” He reassuringly squeezed her elbow and said quietly, “Some are still grieving for their late fathers. The school gives them a safe place to do that, too.”
That was why Whitby loved this place so much and why he was so certain she would love it, too. Because the children here were just like them, still suffering over losing a parent.
Wordlessly, unable to find her voice around the knot in her throat, she slid her hand down to his and reassuringly squeezed his fingers.
They entered the large room that had once served as the house’s nursery. It had been changed into a schoolroom with rows of small desks, a chalkboard behind the teacher’s desk, shelves filled with books, pencils, slates— Even a globe sat perched on the shelves, just waiting for someone to play with it.
The children darted into their seats, all of them smiling conspiratorially at Whitby and a few stifling their giggles.
“They have a surprise for you,” Whitby told her as he led her to the front of the room, then sat back on the corner of the teacher’s desk. His grin was just as bright and bubbling with excitement as the children’s.
She wasn’t fond of surprises. “Oh?”
He nodded and clapped his hands. At the signal, the children lifted up their chalk slates to reveal the flowers they’d drawn for her. Every last one of them was a daisy.
Her eyes stung. “What beautiful flowers you’ve made! That was so kind of you to think of me.”
The children beamed with pride and raised the slates even higher.
She turned toward Whitby and mouthed, This was your idea.
He winked at her, and her heart melted.
As if he knew he’d knocked her speechless, he pushed himself off the desk and addressed the children. “Miss Daring has come to visit our school and meet everyone here. But first she wants to talk to us about the new house we’re building for the school.”
“Will we get to help build it?” one of the boys piped up. His freckles reminded her of her younger brothers.
“No,” Whitby answered. “Miss Daring and her father have hired workers to do that.”
The boy’s face fell, and he slumped over his desk. “Oh.”
“But you’ll be able to help with the service yard and gardens, which will need lots of attention and work once the house is finished,” Daisy interjected quickly. “And with building shelving for the basement storage rooms, the attics, perhaps even the pantry. Oh, there will be lots you can do.”
The boy gave her a happy grin that revealed two missing front teeth. “Deuces, that’ll be grand!”
“Robert,” Whitby scolded. “Young boys shouldn’t talk like that.”
“You do,” the boy protested in a confused half-pout. “You say ‘deuces’ all the time.”
Daisy lifted a brow and murmured low enough that only Whitby could hear, “He’s got you there.”
“I am not a young boy,” he countered, yet when he crossed his arms to punctuate that, the gesture resembled a fit of childish pique.
“No, of course not.” The mocking exaggeration sounded clearly in her voice.
“I am a grown man who is soon to have a beautiful new house where some of you will come to live with me.” Pride flashed over his face at bringing the conversation back to the reason they were all there. “So, let’s tell Miss Daring what we would like to have in it, all right?”
The children fell silent. Not one of them dared to speak up.
Daisy smiled. “Well, you had a treat for me—such beautiful flowers! And so I’ve brought a treat for you.” She reached into her reticule to call upon her secret weapon and held up the brown paper-wrapped bundle. Holding it in sight for all of them to see, she untied the string and opened the wrapper. “Peppermints!”
That brought all twelve children bolting upright in their seats, all two dozen eyes glued to the bundle of candies.
“So…” She reached into the wrapper and held up one of the mints. “Who wants to tell me what they think should be in their dream house and earn yourself a peppermint?”
Over half a dozen arms shot high into the air. Their sudden excitement warmed through her. She gave the bag of peppermints to Whitby to hand out while she wrote their suggestions in her notebook.
“What color would you like your bedroom to be?” she asked and was inundated by a rainbow of colors. “Would you like shelves to put your belongings on or in chests of drawers?”
Each time a child answered, Whitby raced through the rows of desks to give each one a peppermint in reward. She smiled at him over the children’s heads. His face lit up as he momentarily held her gaze before darting off again to deliver more candy.
“What kind of furniture would you like to have in the parlor?”
More answers…some good, some rushed out only to gain a piece of candy. But she nodded to each one no matter how unrealistic the child’s suggestion to encourage their participation.
“What color should the dining room be?”
Hands eagerly shot into the air, although some of them didn’t wait to be called upon before blurting out their choices.
But one of the girls didn’t join in. She sat in her desk in the middle of the room, slumped low in her seat with her arms folded over her chest and her big eyes downcast. Instead of being excited to earn a peppermint, she looked as if she were on the verge of tears.
Daisy gestured for the others to be quiet for a moment and approached the girl. She knelt beside her desk and waited for her to flick a glance at her. When she did, Daisy smiled.
“I’m Daisy,” she told her. “What’s your name?”
“Martha.”
“My, what a pretty name!”
The girl’s lips twitched as if wanting to smile but not finding the conviction. Her glum expression immediately screwed itself back into place.
“What’s wrong, Martha?”
Her bottom lip quivered. “I can’t earn any peppermints!”
Daisy gestured for Whitby to stay back as he rushed forward to offer Martha a piece of candy from his rapidly depleting bag. “Why not? All you have to do is tell me what you think about the house.”
“I can’t give any answers.” She hugged herself more tightly and slumped impossibly lower in her seat. “I’m not a boy.”
“That doesn’t matter.” When the girl shot her a look as if she were a bedlamite, Daisy added, “Your opinion is just as valid and important as any boy.”
“That’s not it,” she whispered.
“Then why does it matter if you’re a girl? I’m a girl, and I have all kinds of—”
She angrily shot out the answer, “Why should the boys be the only ones to get to live in the new house?”
The girl’s words pierced her. That little Martha should feel the injustices of being a woman in this world at such a tender age—
Daisy blinked hard and nodded, then reached to fuss with the girl’s untied pink ribbon. “I know it’s unfair, sometimes, to be a girl when boys receive so many opportunities that girls don’t,” she said softly. “Like this house.”
Martha sniffed and nodded.
“But while this first house is just for Mr. Whitby and the boys,” Daisy told her, sharing her secret, “there’s going to be a second house, and that one will be only for the girls. A very special house, I promise.”
That secret didn’t appease her. “Why can’t us girls be first? Why are we always second?”
A very, very good question. And not just about the houses. “Well, because Mr. Whitby plans on living in the first house with the boys, to watch over them and make certain they’re safe and cared for. There’s no one right now to live with the girls. Mr. Whitby needs to find someone, which means that your house comes second.”
“Would you live with us?” Hope lit her face. “Just us girls?”
“I wish I could.” She smiled sadly and dropped her hand away from the ribbon with a tap to Martha’s upturned nose. “I have my own house where I live with my Papa and little brothers. They need me to watch over them and make them behave.” She patted the girl’s leg. “But I’ll make certain that when the girls’ house is built that you’ll have a beautiful room in it, bright with flowers and sunlight. Maybe even a canopy bed and shelves filled with dolls. Would you like that?”
Martha threw herself into Daisy’s embrace and flung her arms around her neck to hug her tightly. “Oh, thank you, miss!” she whispered into Daisy’s ear. “Thank you!”
Daisy closed her eyes against her tears and nuzzled her cheek against the girl’s hair. Then she released her and shifted back, choking out, “How about some peppermints now, hmm?”
Without having to signal to Whitby, he came forward and held out the bag to Martha. He encouraged her to take more with a second nod of the bag toward her. A teary smile broke across the little girl’s face as she looked down at the pink and white peppermints in her hand. She pinched one and put it into her mouth, letting it slowly melt on her tongue.
“That’s why I put so much work and time into the school.” Whitby leaned over to speak softly into Daisy’s ear. “I’d work for weeks for a hug and a smile like that.”
Daisy swallowed down the knot in her throat and managed to whisper, “Me too.”
With an affectionate squeeze of her arm, he handed out the last of the peppermints randomly to the children, although Daisy noticed that the girls received twice as many as the boys. That little gesture earned him even more space in her heart.
He crumpled the paper wrapper and tossed it onto the teacher’s desk.
“That’s it then,” he announced as he wiped his hands. “Go on down to the kitchen now. I’m certain that Mrs. Smith has a special treat waiting for you.” He paused, stirring impatience in the children. “Cinnamon biscuits!”
A cheer went up from the children as they raced from the schoolroom. All of them wore bright smiles, including Martha. In their wake, a quiet stillness fell over the room, as if it were pausing to catch its breath before they all came charging back in again for class tomorrow morning.
“Did you get all the answers you needed?” Whitby asked as he slowly approached her between the desks.
She scanned over the pages in her notebook where she’d scribbled down the children’s suggestions. “More than enough.” Her lips twitched the start of a smile. “Although I don’t think we’ll be putting a rope swing in the stair hall.”
He feigned disappointment as he slipped his arms around her. “But I thought that idea was especially brilliant.”
He wanted to kiss her, she could sense it, so she slid her arms around his neck to give him permission. She’d come to appreciate his kisses and wouldn’t deny herself a few moments of a stolen embrace.
“Hmm,” she conceded. “Perhaps I can be persuaded to put one in the courtyard.”
A grin lit up his face, and she couldn’t help but laugh even as he tenderly kissed her. He tasted of affection and joy, all those wonderful things she’d come to associate with him.
When the kiss ended and she pulled back just far enough to gaze up into his bright blue eyes, her laughter faded. She somberly brushed her fingertips through the soft hair at his nape. “But let’s get that second house for the girls built quickly, all right?”
“Count on it.”
When he leaned in to kiss her again, she stopped him with a glance over her shoulder at the door. “We really shouldn’t—not here—the children might come back and catch us.” And how on earth would they explain that? Or ever live down the embarrassment?
“Those stairs creak like an old ship.” He lowered his head and nipped at her jaw. “A cat can’t sneak up them on velvet paws without alerting the entire house. Our own built-in burglar-proof hue and cry. We’ll hear them coming from two floors down.”
She wasn’t at all certain of that, yet she didn’t stop him when he kissed her again. Her breath fled when his mouth captured hers in a kiss that turned from affectionate to heated in a matter of seconds. But then, didn’t he always do this to her—make her lightheaded and breathless with his kisses, which were always so unexpectedly wonderful? If only the rest of the world could know him the way she did, she’d have no hesitations about letting him court her formally and openly. But when he drew so much attention to himself with the way he dressed and laughed, she couldn’t risk that the same attention would also fall onto her.
At that moment, though, all she cared about was the way he was kissing her.
With a soft sigh, she melted against him and parted her lips, inviting him to kiss her in that wonderful way he had of swirling his tongue inside her mouth. He made her tingle and ache and long for his mouth to kiss other parts of her, just as his hands sliding down her back to cup her bottom made her long for his hands to find other ways to please her. When his tongue slipped between her lips in a delectably silken glide, a soft sound that was part sigh, part whimper, and all need rose from the back of her throat.
He pressed her hips against his as the tantalizing swirls and licks of his tongue became pulsating thrusts, relentless in their desire to ravish her mouth. She eagerly let him and tightened her arms around his neck. She could feel the ridge of his manhood pressing against her lower belly, and shamelessly, she rubbed herself against him in wanton curiosity. He groaned an incomprehensible warning.
With a devilish suck of his tongue, she rasped out a playful laugh and wiggled herself against him again. He squeezed her bottom in teasing retaliation.
Her book and pencil dropped to the floor with a soft clatter, and she clasped tightly to his neck as he turned her in a circle and stepped her backward against the teacher’s desk. She leaned back over the desk, and he followed down on top of her. His hands swept up her body to her bosom to caress her through the layers of her clothing as he’d done before. This time, though, he lowered his head and brushed his lips over the top swells of her breasts.
She arched beneath him, lost to the glorious feel of his mouth on her upper chest. But when he tugged down her neckline and slipped his hand inside her bodice—
“Hugh!”
She shivered when he freed her left breast from its stays and placed a soft kiss to her exposed nipple, only for his name to fade into a moan when his lips closed around it and sucked.
Oh, the sensation was exquisite! Each hard pull that took her deeper into his mouth was accompanied by a teasing swirl of his tongue around her nipple, and she grasped the back of his head to pull him down even tighter to her. When he finally lifted his head for breath, her breast slid from between his wet lips with a soft pop that shot an ache straight out the top of her head.
“You have no idea how wonderful you are,” he whispered, staring at her breast while he circled his fingertip around her nipple, which was wet and warm from his mouth. The wanton woman he was awakening inside her wanted his mouth back on her.
“I’m…truly not,” she panted out with an excited tremble when he placed his hand on her leg and began to slowly move his way higher.
“The most wonderful woman I’ve ever known.” His hand stopped on her hip, and the heat of his palm seeped through her dress and into her flesh beneath. He lifted his gaze to stare deeply into her eyes. “You make me feel so happy whenever I’m with you.”
He made her happy, too. When they were alone. It was when they were around others that he made her nervous and uncertain. If only it could be just the two of them, just like this, she would have no doubts.
“You have so much life and brilliance inside you.” He placed a kiss so tender to her nipple that she shivered beneath his lips. “Let me share that with you.” His hand slid down between her thighs and rested there. “Please.”
“Yes,” she whispered, knowing she was agreeing to far more than this touch.
He kissed her as his hand began to caress her, and she relaxed against the desk with a deep sigh. The layers of her clothes prevented him from touching bare flesh, with no way to circumvent her skirt the way he’d done with her bodice unless he pulled it up to her waist, which he would never do. Not here. Not like this. But the muslin gave just enough to allow him to stroke down between her thighs and tease over that aching place at her core, just enough for him to press his palm hard against her.
The heat of his hand seeped deliciously into her, and she whimpered softly against his mouth in protest when he didn’t move to stroke her again.
“If we continue,” he warned, knowing what she wanted, “I’ll wrinkle your skirt.”
Her decision came easily. “Then wrinkle it.”
She wiggled her pelvis beneath his hand, cajoling him with her body to continue. She felt his happy smile against her mouth as his hand began to stroke between her legs.
She gasped, not at how intimately he was touching her but at the delicious pleasure. No man had ever done this to her before, and that Hugh Whitby was the man she’d given permission to touch her like this stunned her. But she wanted his touch—no, she craved it, just as she craved his mouth back on her breast and longed for his hand to somehow explore even deeper between her legs.
His caresses grew in intensity, slowly and affectionately, and each one came harder against her until she was panting and trembling. He massaged her breast with one hand while continuing to stroke between her legs with the other, and the dual sensation spun through her like a whirlwind until all she could do was cling to him and let the mounting ache blossom inside her.
“I only want to make you happy,” he murmured against her cheek as he moved his lips away from hers to catch back his own breath. “To bring you pleasure and joy however I can.”
As if reading her mind and knowing what she craved, he ground the heel of his hand against her, exactly at the place that ached the most. Pleasure shot through her, and she felt her body begin to throb wantonly beneath his hand. For a fleeting heartbeat, she worried that he’d be able to feel it, and an embarrassed flush began to heat her cheeks—
Until he did it again, and she no longer cared.
His lips returned to hers. He whispered so softly against them that she barely heard him, “I want to be part of you.”
But her heart understood every word, and the foolish thing soared with happiness.
“I want you to be part of me, my beautiful Daisy.”
This time when he ground the heel of his hand between her legs, his thumb fluttered against her most sensitive spot, and the aching sensation jolted through her, clenching her toes and making her clasp her fingers in his hair. Heavens, it was wonderful! Yet she felt oddly empty…right there, right beneath where his fingertips rested against her through her skirt. She couldn’t explain the unsettled feeling, but she knew there was more pleasure he could give her, more of himself to share that would make the emptiness go away and let joy fill her to overflowing. A delightful and exciting yet comforting pleasure that only Whitby was capable of giving to her.
“Hugh,” she whispered and traced her fingertips over his cheek. “I want…” More. So much more…with you…
Misunderstanding what she was about to say, he placed a kiss to her lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll do that again to you, I promise.”
His words struck her speechless.
He lifted his head to gaze down at her. Instead of the bright grin or laugh she’d expected, he looked more serious than she’d ever seen him.
“Daisy…” His lips parted thoughtfully, as if he were about to ask her something incredibly important. Something that—
A commotion went up downstairs. The sound of the front door flinging open echoed through the house, followed by hurried steps into the entry hall. Every sound swept up through the house to the schoolroom, just as Whitby had said it would, followed by the especially loud creaking of the stairs.
He quickly moved away from her, and she scrambled to pull up her bodice and straighten her skirt—blast it, it was wrinkled! As she breathed deeply to gather herself, Whitby simply stood there, looking completely calm and collected. Not one piece of colorful clothing or lock of his ginger hair was out of place. But the dark look of desire in his gleaming eyes couldn’t be hidden.
She touched her lips, still hot and wet and undoubtedly tell-tale red. All the implications behind his heated stare spun through her in a roiling knot of confusion.
“One of these times when I kiss you,” he warned, his voice thick, “there won’t be anyone to interrupt us.”
A tremble swept through her at the promise behind his words. A promise she shamelessly wanted him to keep.
“Miss Daring!” Mrs. Jones shouted with shrill excitement as she hurried up the stairs, each step reverberating with the noise of a herd of cows. Daisy made a mental note to give the stairs at the new house the same creaks and cracks of warning. “I have news!”
The housekeeper finally reached the upper landing and paused in the doorway to sag against the frame and catch her breath.
“Mrs. Jones—goodness!” Daisy raced to her side and put her arm around her waist to help the woman into the room and into the nearest chair. She knelt beside her, snatched up her dropped book, and began to fan her with it. “What’s wrong? Why are you here?” Dread seized her. “Is it Papa? Did something happen to him?”
The older woman shook her head. “Good news…I hope…” She woman beamed as she rested her hand on Daisy’s shoulder and struggled for breath. “I didn’t want you…to have to wait,” she panted out. Then she pulled in a deep breath. “So I took a hackney…but ended up running the last mile…when we were stuck in traffic along the river…”
Guilt squeezed Daisy’s chest at how breathless and exhausted Mrs. Jones was. “Just sit and rest now.”
She shook her head. “You have a special message.”
“From whom?” Whitby frowned as he came up behind her. One of the school workers had followed her up the stairs, and Whitby signaled to the woman to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen.
“His Majesty the king!”
Daisy rocked back on her heels, stunned. “The—the king?”
Nodding emphatically, the old housekeeper reached into the wicker basket she carried over her arm and fished beneath the yard of folded fabric that hid its contents from prying eyes. “It arrived at the house barely an hour ago, brought by special messenger from St James’s Palace. Not just some dandified footman in powdered wig either, but a real palace administrator.”
Good heavens. Daisy bit her bottom lip. What would the palace want with her?
Mrs. Jones pulled a letter from her basket. The envelope was wrapped with gold paper and tied with a red satin ribbon. It shimmered like foil in the sunlight.
Daisy darted a nervous glance over her shoulder at Whitby, who nodded reassuringly. She took it with trembling fingers and carefully removed the satin ribbon, still not convinced that the palace messenger came to the correct house. She removed the gold envelope and unfolded the linen paper.
She caught her breath when her eyes fell to the signatures at the bottom—John Nash and George IV, in large and commanding handwriting. “It’s from the architecture committee,” she whispered. “They’ve written about the contest.”
Whitby placed his hand on her shoulder as she sat back onto the floor. “Then you’ve won. Oh, Daisy, this is marvelous!”
Hot tears filled her eyes as she read the letter. “Not marvelous at all,” she choked out and swallowed hard to keep the tears from spilling freely. She read in a weak and shaking voice, “‘Although we find your plans possessing of merit and ingenuity, we regret to inform you that we cannot accept your entry.’”
“Why on earth not?” He knelt down beside her, just as confused as she was, if for a completely different reason. “Those plans were brilliant.”
She handed him the letter so he could read it for himself and whispered, “Not brilliant enough to overcome being a woman.” She swiped the back of her hand at her eyes. All of her hopes had been dashed, and the excitement that had bubbled inside her at receiving the letter changed into acute embarrassment and disappointment. “They’re not accepting entries from women. Only from serious architects.”
“But you are a serious architect.” His eyes scanned over the letter. “You’ve studied under your father. Elias Daring is one of the best architects England has produced in the last fifty years.”
“I know, but—”
She froze. She did know that. That was part of the reason she’d signed her father’s name to the plans, why she’d carefully crafted the application letter to make herself seem like nothing more than his assistant and interior designer. With her head spinning in confusion, she took the letter back from him and read it again, carefully absorbing each word.
“This letter is addressed only to me, not to Papa,” she murmured. “If they didn’t want women to assist the architect, they would have sent this to him and told him that. But they didn’t. They sent it to me. They never mentioned him at all.”
The only way they would have known that she’d created the house plans was if…
She looked up at Whitby. When she read the guilt on his face, a horrible realization flooded through her. It felt like ice water freezing in her veins. She knew…
“What did you do?” she whispered, barely louder than a breath.
“I only wanted to help you.” He reached for her shoulder again. “To show everyone how amazing of an architect you are.”
She batted his hand away. “What did you do, Whitby?”
He dropped his gaze to the letter. “I removed Elias’s name from the entry and attached yours,” he admitted quietly. “But I only did it because I wanted you to have all the recognition for—”
“And ruin me!” She scrambled to her feet, clenching the letter in her fist. She shook it as her humiliation turned into anger. “Everyone will know now that I’ve been creating house plans—I’ll never be able to build a house again in Papa’s name without being suspected. All of our current clients—Baron Hansen and his wife, Mr. Shockley, Mrs. Bean—they’re all going to demand proof now that it was Elias Daring that created their plans and not his daughter. And how do I prove that to them when he didn’t?”
He stood and reached to take her shoulders in his hands, but the last person she wanted to touch her at that moment was him. The man who had just ended her world. “It won’t be like that. Your clients won’t care if—”
She laughed bitterly. “You know society better than that! Names matter to them. Reputations matter more than actual skill.” She stepped back because if he reached for her again she would scream! Unable to stand still, she began to pace, and with every step her heart pounded brutally in her ears. “They’re all going to ask for their money back at best. At worst, they’ll sue us for fraud. Everything my father has worked his entire life to build will be destroyed.” She dropped her hand to her side as powerlessness and dread coiled into a knot in her belly. A terrible whisper fell from her lips, barely louder than a breath, “We’ll be penniless…homeless. Destroyed.”
Mrs. Jones paled. Not saying a word, she slipped off the chair and hurried from the room.
“Daisy, I promise you—I won’t let that happen.”
“It’s too late to stop it!” A sob tore through her as the first tear fell down her cheek. “Do you think Nash and the others on the committee are going to keep silent about this? You think they won’t take this chance to destroy a man who has been one of their staunchest critics and competitors for the past three decades?” With a sound of anger and anguish, she threw the crumpled letter at him. “It’s all your fault!”
He let the paper smack him in the chest, not moving to dodge it, not looking away. A dark look of grief and regret gripped his face, and for once, there was no trace of grins or laughter visible anywhere in him.
“You have exposed my deepest secret to the world, and they—” She choked, forced to swallow down the knot of emotion in her throat as she struggled to keep from letting the mounting sobs overtake her. “They laughed at me.”
The tears came freely now, sliding down her cheeks in rapid succession. She swiped at them in anger and was unable to stop the feelings of betrayal from overwhelming her. “I trusted you, and I thought…I thought you cared about me.”
“I do.” Pain poured from him so intensely that he shook, and a wounded expression darkened his face. “Daisy, I love you.”
The confession shattered something deep inside her. “If you loved me,” she countered, biting back her anguish, “you wouldn’t have done this. Even if Papa’s reputation somehow survives this, even if we don’t fall into the poorhouse—my dream is over.”
“No, it’s not. Listen to me. We can—”
“I’ll never be taken seriously as an architect now. I’ll never be able to plan another house or—” She broke off to battle down the scream that rose up at the back of her throat. Keeping careful control, she sucked in a deep and ragged breath that shuddered through her. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
He staggered a step back in surprise as if she’d physically struck him. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered.
“I do.” She nodded jerkily and scooped up her notebook, cradling it against her bosom like a baby. Or a shield. “Never again.”