And that love could fill the real world with magic.

Matthew was everything she had ever wanted. And she’d had so little time with him.

The mantel clock rationed quiet little ticks with miserly slowness. As Daisy leaned against the settee half-drowsing, she heard the door creak. Her sluggish gaze followed the sound.

A man had entered the room.

He paused just inside the doorway, contemplating the sight of her on the floor with all the discarded books around her.

Daisy’s eyes lifted jerkily to his face. She froze with longing and fear and terrible yearning.

It was Matthew, dressed in rough, unfamiliar clothing, his vital presence seeming to fill the room.

Afraid the vision would disappear, Daisy was as still as death. Her eyes stung and watered but she kept them open, willing him to stay.

He approached her with great care. Sinking to his haunches, he contemplated her with immeasurable tenderness and concern. One of his big hands moved, shoving aside some of the books until the space between their bodies was clear. “It’s me, love,” he said softly. “Everything’s all right.”

Daisy managed to whisper through dry lips. “If you’re a ghost…I hope you haunt me forever.”

Matthew sat on the floor and reached for her cold hands. “Would a ghost use the door?” he asked gently, bringing her fingers to his scratched, battered face.

The touch of his skin against her palms sent a dance of painful awareness through her. With relief Daisy finally felt the numbness thaw, her emotions unlocking, and she tried to cover her eyes. Her chest seemed to break open with sobs, the sounds raw and unrestrained.

Matthew took her hand away and pulled her firmly against him, murmuring quietly. As Daisy continued to cry he held her more tightly, seeming to understand that she needed the hard, almost hurtful pressure of his body.

“Please be real,” she gasped. “Please don’t be a dream.”

“I’m real,” Matthew said huskily. “Don’t cry so hard, there’s no—oh, Daisy, love—” He gripped her head in his hands and pressed comforting words against her lips while she struggled to get even closer to him. He eased her to the floor, using the reassuring weight of his body to subdue her.

His hands clasped with hers, fingers interlaced. Panting, Daisy turned her head to stare at his exposed wrist, where the flesh was red and welted. “Your hands were tied,” she said in a rough voice that didn’t sound at all like hers. “How did you free them?”

Matthew bent his head to kiss the tear-slicked surface of her cheek. “Pen-knife,” he said succinctly.

Daisy’s eyes widened as she continued to stare at his wrist. “You managed to get a pen-knife out of your pocket and cut the ropes while floating down the creek in a s-sinking carriage?”

“It was a damn sight easier than goose-wrestling, let me tell you.”

A watery chuckle escaped her, but it quickly turned into another broken sob. Matthew caught the sound with his mouth, his lips caressing hers.

“I started to cut through the ties at the first sign of trouble,” he continued. “And I had a few minutes before the carriage rolled into the water.”

“Why didn’t the others help you?” Daisy asked angrily, scrubbing the sleeve of her gown over her dripping face.

“They were busy saving their own skins. Although,” Matthew added ruefully, “I would have thought I merited a little more importance than the horses. But by the time the carriage started moving down the current, my hands were free. Debris was knocking the vehicle into matchsticks. I jumped into the current and made it to the shore, but I was bit pummeled in the process. I was found by an old man who was out searching for his dog—he brought me to his cottage, where he and his wife took care of me. I lost consciousness and woke up a day and a half later. By that time they had heard of Westcliff’s search, and they went out to tell him where I was.”

“I thought you were gone,” Daisy said, her voice cracking. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“No, no…” Matthew smoothed her hair and kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her trembling lips. “I’ll always come back to you. I’m dependable, remember?”

“Yes. Except for the—” Daisy had to take an extra breath as she felt his mouth move down to her throat. “—the twenty years of your life before I met you, I’d say you’re so dependable you’re almost pre—” His tongue had dipped into the pulsing hollow at the base of her neck. “—predictable.”

“You probably have a few complaints about that little matter of my assumed identity and grand larceny conviction.” His exploring kisses moved up to the delicate line of her jaw, absorbing the vagrant tear.

“Oh, no,” Daisy said breathlessly. “I f-forgave you before I even knew what it was.”

“Sweet darling,” Matthew whispered, nuzzling the side of her face, caressing her with his mouth and hands. She held onto him blindly, unable to get close enough. His head drew back and he looked down at her with a searching gaze. “Now that the whole business has reared its ugly head, I’m going to have to clear my name. Will you wait for me, Daisy?”

“No.”

Still sniffling, she applied herself to unfastening the wooden buttons of his borrowed clothes.

“No?” Matthew half-smiled and looked down at her quizzically. “Have you decided I’m too much trouble?”