The second she heard the door open, Daisy feigned a coughing fit and then draped her arm across her forehead with a dramatic moan. With her eyes still shut, she kicked at the covers, trying to give off the impression that her nap had not been restful and furthermore she was coming down with an illness. Her faking worked. Papa rushed to her side and placed a hand upon her cheek.

“Daisy? Little girl? What’s wrong? Please wake up. Papa’s here.”

She opened her eyes and peered into her handsome papa’s concerned gaze. An immediate surge of guilt caused her stomach to tighten. Oh, how she despaired making him worry, especially when she was perfectly healthy. But with the hour of the dreaded garden party at the Hamiltons’ fast approaching, she had little choice but to resort to desperate measures.

“Papa?” she said in a faux sleepy voice. “Papa is that you?”

“It’s all right, little girl. Papa is going to take care of you. What exactly is ailing you, my sweet?”

She moaned. “I feel feverish, Papa, and so very tired. I fear I am coming down with a horrible case of the sniffles. But I would hate to make us miss the Hamiltons’ garden party. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to it.” She pretended to try to sit up, only to collapse back on her pillows in a slump of utter exhaustion. “What time is it? I should probably start getting ready. I was hoping you would help me with my hair, Papa, and…”

“Little girl,” he said, pushing her down when she tried to sit up once more. “You are not going anywhere. I care not about missing the Hamiltons’ garden party. I care about you. I’m going to send for a physician. I’ll be back shortly, my sweet.” He kissed her hand and stood up.

“No, Papa!” Alarm rushed through her. What would happen when the doctor showed up and examined her, only to say she was perfectly well? “Please, Papa, you can take care of me. I promise I’m not sick enough to need a physician. I’m sure my fever isn’t even that high, perhaps it was just all the covers piled atop me.”

Her heart hammered in her chest as she awaited Papa’s response. He stood above her, staring down at her with a concerned and contemplative look.

“I’m going to take your temperature myself, little girl. If your fever is high, I will be calling for a doctor.”

Daisy almost gasped, but thankfully was able to play off her surprise as a hiccupping cough.

“You seemed perfectly fine this morning,” Papa commented as he continued to stare at her, and his inquisitive gaze set off flutters in her tummy. What if he discovered she was faking? A quiver raced across her bottom and nerves set her pulse racing faster.

Indeed, she had given off every appearance of feeling fine earlier in the morning. They had enjoyed a pleasant breakfast, followed by some time spent in Papa’s library. While he had busied himself with catching up on his correspondences and managing his estate, she had devoured one of the romance novels she’d found in the library, which he’d told her were left behind by his mother. He’d at first seemed reluctant to allow her to read the books, as he thought the material too risque for a proper young miss such as herself, but after she had started reciting bawdy passages from prior books she’d read while at Talcott House, he had sighed deeply and relented, much to her delight.

After the library, he had guided her upstairs for a session with the plugs, deciding she was finally ready to accept the third largest plug in her bottom hole. She had worn the plug for an hour, during which time Papa had kissed her all over, including putting his mouth on her kitty—oh what an absolute delight that had been!—concluding with a deliciously rough session of lovemaking. It was the first time Papa had claimed her while her bottom hole was filled with a plug, and she’d found the sensation of having both holes filled quite wondrous. Her release had taken her breath away, and Papa had seemed to enjoy it as well, for he’d been panting and sweating in the aftermath of claiming her.

“Daisy, did you hear my question?”

She glanced up at her papa, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming. “Sorry, Papa, what did you say?”

“When did you start feeling ill?”

She gave a slight shrug. “Well, I guess perhaps I was extra tired before you put me down for my nap, though I had assumed it was simply due to our most recent, um, activities.” She couldn’t resist a small smile as she once again recalled what had happened in Papa’s bedchamber only a few hours ago.

“I see. I’ll be right back, little miss. Stay in bed.” Papa looked skeptical for a moment, and her stomach promptly flipped. But he started to move toward the door and she breathed a sigh of relief once he departed her bedchamber.

Oh dear. Her lies were accumulating and she was truly starting to feel sick. She hated lying to her kind, loving papa. He didn’t deserve to be lied to and her heart hurt because she was beginning to realize she could not avoid the Hamiltons forever.

Years ago, as a child she had been annoyed when Lady Hamilton had forbidden her from ever playing with the neighbors’ children, but now she was in a way thankful for the awful lady’s strict rules, for at least Papa would have no way of suddenly recognizing her. Whenever Millicent had gone to visit her friends, Daisy used to watch her leaving with her heart filled with sadness, wishing she could leave Hamilton Manor for a little while and go on an adventure, even if it was simply to another house down the street. But both Daisy and her mother had had to follow Lady Hamilton’s harsh edicts, and therefore even though Daisy had once lived a short walking distance from her papa’s estate, she had never met him or his beloved sister.

Visitors had rarely come to Hamilton Manor, and Daisy now realized Lady Hamilton had probably wished to keep Daisy and her mother hidden from society, lest anyone realize Daisy and Millicent were actually half-sisters. Oh, what a scandal that would have been. Daisy mostly favored her mother in appearance, but she had the same large brown eyes Millie had. The same dark brown eyes their father had. Her heart ached as a fresh wave of sadness swept over her.

Disaster was rushing toward her. No matter how many lies she told, no matter how fast she ran, she could not escape utter calamity forever. Oh, but what would she do without her papa? Tears burned in her eyes and she blinked hard. If Papa saw her crying while she was sick, he would most definitely become worried enough to call for a physician.

The door opened and Papa strode in with a small black bag that resembled the one Nurse Lister sometimes carried around. A phantom pulse in her behind hole caused her bottom cheeks to clench. Though Papa had put his fingers as well as the plugs into her pucker before, he had never taken her temperature and the very idea of it made her hot and tingly all over. It was a new form of intimacy between them, a new shared experience as papa and little girl. Except it was all wrong, because though he was showing her tender care, she didn’t deserve his attention during this moment. She deserved a spanking or worse for all of her many lies.

“On your tummy, little girl,” Papa said, sitting on the bed beside her. He opened the medical bag and she watched in awe as he pulled out a thermometer and a jar of salve. He had been very prepared to be a good papa before she arrived at his grand home, she thought.

He opened the jar of salve and set it on the bedside table, then gave her a pointed look.

“On your tummy, Daisy. Don’t make me ask again.” Though his words were stern, his tone was gentle.

“Yes, Papa.” She obediently turned onto her stomach as Papa pulled the covers fully off her.

Next, he lifted her nightgown up, revealing her bare bottom. She felt his hands prodding between her thighs as he urged her to spread her legs. He gave her behind two gentle swats.

“No clenching these cute little cheeks, young lady. It’s time to take your temperature. Relax your bottom for Papa.”

“Sorry, Papa.” She somehow forced herself to relax, at least outwardly, however inside she remained a bundle of nerves and worry. She turned her head to face away from her papa and her gaze caught the glimmer of gold on her wrist. The lion bracelet. It was supposed to protect her from those who would do her harm, but would it protect her from herself and all the lies she kept telling? Would it keep her papa from learning the scandalous truth about her past?

The cool air of the room wafted against her puckering hole as Papa spread her cheeks wide apart. A second later, she felt the coolness of the salve on her rosebud as he prodded her tight entrance. Despite herself, a wave of heated arousal stole through her, making her ninnies ache and her privates throb with longing for Papa’s hands to venture lower. Her face flamed with mortification. Oh, she desperately hoped her cunny wasn’t getting wet right now. What would Papa think? Would he decide she must be faking illness if she was still able to become so thoroughly and shamefully aroused while he pumped one finger into her bottom hole?

“Mm.” She couldn't restrain the moan from escaping her throat, and she hoped Papa had not heard it.

Finally, he withdrew his finger from her pucker and replaced it with the tip of the thermometer. He pushed the slim object slowly into her tightness and it was all she could do to keep from moaning again. It felt so, so nice to have Papa taking care of her like this, but at the same time she felt absolutely rotten for her deception.

Once the thermometer was seated fully in her bottom, Papa rubbed her behind cheeks all over, allowing several minutes to pass until he was able to get a good reading on her temperature. “Daisy,” he said, “it would appear that you don’t have a fever, not even a slight one.”

“Are you sure, Papa?”

He twisted the thermometer around in her bottom hole, causing a most delicious sensation to unfurl within her. “Yes, my dear, I am quite sure.” He pulled the object from her pucker and set it aside. “Turn around and sit up, young lady. We need to talk.”

Her stomach dropped to the floor.

* * *

As sure as Edward had not been born yesterday, Daisy was faking an illness.

His dear sister had been known to fake the occasional illness when she had wished to escape her lessons or a social engagement that wasn’t to her liking, leaving him overly familiar with the tactics Daisy was attempting to employ. Suspicion had lit within him the moment Daisy had mentioned the Hamiltons’ garden party in the midst of her dry, overdramatic coughing fit.

Something was amiss with his little girl, and he intended to get to the bottom of it. He stared down at Daisy, making sure she could see the displeasure in his face.

“Little girl, I want you to tell me what is truly amiss with you, and I expect honesty.”

Her eyes went wide. “Whatever do you mean, Papa? I am ill, as I have told you. This isn’t the most common time of year to come down with a serious case of the sniffles, but I certainly cannot help it if I’ve caught some illness.”

“You look fine. You don’t appear flushed or fevered, and your temperature is perfectly normal. Furthermore, you were fine all day until it was time to wake up from your nap and start getting ready for the Hamiltons’ garden party.” He paused, trying to decide how best to tell her he suspected there was also more to her visit to Lady Miselda the other day than she had claimed, without coming out directly and calling her a liar. He settled on, “This sudden illness, of which you are displaying no outward symptoms, combined with your trip to the fair to see the fortune teller, are rather odd to occur in the space of a few days, do you not think?”

All the blood drained from her face, and he finally had his answer. She had not been entirely truthful about her reasons for visiting the fortune teller. It wounded him that she had lied to his face. He had promised to always take care of her. He expressed his love for her on a daily basis. He showered her with attention and praise and had tried his damndest to make her feel welcome in his home as his little lady. Yet she was holding something back from him. Some kind of secret. He would not rest or relent until she made a full confession.

“Daisy,” he said. “Look at me.”

When her eyes met his, her face crumpled. She looked positively guilty and heartsick over something, and though he knew she was faking illness and lying to him, he could not deny her comfort in this moment. She was his little girl, his sweet bride, and as her papa he would always comfort her when she needed it. He opened his arms and beckoned her to enter his embrace.

But she didn’t lean forward and fall into his arms. She simply sat there and cried. “I am sick, Papa, and it upsets me that you would accuse me of lying.”

For a moment, he felt a surge of guilt. What if he was reading her all wrong and she truly was sick and had been telling him the truth all along?

But no, he decided, as he again reminded himself of how vague she had been about her past. Little oddities had been adding up here and there ever since he had met her, painting the picture of a young lady with a secret.

“Daisy, what was your given name before you arrived at Talcott House? You told me Miss Wickersham gave every girl a new name, the name of a flower, upon arrival at Talcott House, yet you have never told me your name.” He should have asked her this question before, but he’d held back, figuring she would speak of her childhood in the north country once they were married for a while longer.

“Papa, what does it matter? I was so young when I arrived at Talcott House, I can hardly remember being called by another name.” She sniffled and looked down, as if unable to hold his gaze for a moment longer. Was it because she was telling another lie? His heart broke. He loved her. He wanted all of her. All the truths that made up this sweet little girl whom he adored, even if some of the truths were dark. God knew he had his fair share of darkness, his own secrets which he had once wished to keep hidden from not only Daisy, but the entire world.

“No matter who you were before Talcott House,” he said in a gentle voice, “I will still love you. Now tell me, what was your name?”

“Papa, I must get some rest. Please.” She glanced from side to side, appearing panicked, and he realized he had struck a nerve and was headed toward the truth. He was a bit confused and didn’t quite understand how her name, her childhood, the fortune teller, and the Hamiltons’ garden party all tied together, but he felt if she uttered her name the entire truth might come pouring out of her.

“Your name,” he said, grasping her upper arms. “Tell me your birth name now, Daisy.”

Then, it was as if something inside her snapped. Her gaze shot up and she glared at him in anger, no longer crying. “Charlotte!” she screamed. “Miss Charlotte Smith.”

“It’s a pretty name,” he said, “but you will always be Daisy to me. Unless, of course, you prefer I call you by your given name?”

Silent tears started rolling down her face. She shook her head. “It won’t matter what you call me soon.”

Alarm bells pealed in his mind and he tightened his hold on her arms. “What do you mean by that, my love? Tell me. Tell me what you are hiding,” he said. She had to be hiding something. He felt it in his bones.

“My mother worked as a governess,” she began, “for a prominent family in London.”

“You told me you had never been to London before,” he replied.

She gave him a regretful look before continuing her story, and he decided to keep quiet for the remainder of her confession, lest his pointing out of her individual lies frighten her into falling silent. “I lived in London until the age of sixteen, when my mother passed away from an illness,” her voice cracked with emotion. “The lady of the house never liked me or my mother, so after my mother died, she tried to send me away to-to a workhouse when her husband and daughter were both away. I-I was very ill at the time and did not quite understand what was happening. However, her husband’s steward, whom the lady had instructed to carry out her plan, had pity on me and instead dropped me off at Talcott House, against the lady’s orders.”

Edward caressed Daisy’s cheek and gave her an encouraging look, urging her to finish her story. She stared at a point on the wall behind him with a faraway look, as if she were reliving the darkness in her past.

“I later found out the lady of the house told her husband and daughter that I died.” A shudder ran through her body, and Edward shifted on the bed to sit directly beside her and draped an arm around her. His heart ached for her, but he kept quiet, sensing there was more.

But suddenly she pushed away from him and jumped off the bed, pacing the room frantically as if searching for something. He followed her into her closet and was stunned to see her throwing clothing items—only the items she had brought with her from Talcott House—into the small trunk she had brought with her upon their marriage.

“Daisy,” he grabbed for her, but she tried to fight him off, struggling and twisting violently in his arms. He didn’t let her go. “Daisy, for God’s sake, tell me the rest. And tell me how you would think I would ever wish you to go, let alone allow you to leave,” he said, his voice taking on a dark note as he spoke the last few words. “You belong to Papa now, and you are not going anywhere, young lady.”

She finally stilled in his arms. “Fine. You want the whole truth? Why I snuck off to see Lady Miselda? Why I don’t wish to go to the Hamiltons’ garden party?” Her voice became nearly hoarse as she yelled.

“Yes!” He gave her a slight shake and peered into her eyes. “By God, yes!”

“Very well, but I know you will wish me to resume packing my things upon hearing the whole truth.”

“I ought to take the strap to you for even suggesting such a thing,” he said in exasperation, giving her another shake. “You are never leaving me.”

Anger and fear and desperation flashed in her eyes as she held his stare. “Upon her deathbed, my mother told me the truth about who my real father was. The lord of the house was my father, and she had once been his mistress. He had moved her into his home, directly under his wife’s nose, to be the governess for their child. The lady of the house was no fool, however, and she eventually realized the truth. I had started to suspect he was my father before my mother’s confession, but with her confirmation of my suspicions the lady’s awful treatment of me and my mother over the years suddenly made sense. I am a bastard!” she cried, her entire body trembling.

He tried to console her, but she would not have it. She pressed her hands between their bodies, not wishing for him to hold her, though all Edward wanted to do in this moment was hold her forever and promise that he still loved her, he still wanted her. He cared not that she had been born an illegitimate child. If he had cared for such things, he would not have sought out a bride from Talcott House, where all of the girls in residence had had difficult childhoods. But even Edward could not have predicted the next words that flew out of her mouth.

“I am Lord Hamilton’s bastard daughter!”