“I’ve made my life a mess,” I said. “I’ve been vulnerable, and embarrassed and ashamed. My mother is a criminal, my father is probably dead. You’ve seen me at my worst. And I still don’t know your name.” His arms tightened around me. “Yes, you do.” I shook my head. “Not the one that comes with your title.” “It’s Somerset,” he said softly, his breath brushing against my cheek. “But I never want you to call me that.”
