Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (18 page)

‘Practical. Tea, please. Do you have Earl Grey?’

‘Lemon or milk?’

Seating herself gingerly in one of the velvet chairs, the dusty book still in her hand, she raised an elegantly arched eyebrow. ‘Lemon? How civilised. Could I just have hot water and lemon, please?’

‘Of course.’

It only took a minute to make the drinks but the time out was needed. It was unsettling, having her here in his private space, the light floral scent
of her, the long legs, the red, red lipstick drawing attention to her wide, full mouth. The problem with burying yourself with work twenty-four-seven, Seb reflected as he sliced the lemon, was that it left you ill prepared for any human interaction. Especially the feminine kind.

Which was rather the point.

‘A proper cup and saucer. You have been well brought up.’ She held up the delicately
patterned porcelain as he handed it to her and examined it. ‘Wedgwood?’

‘Probably.’

Seb seated himself opposite, as if about to interview her, and sat back, doing his best to look as if he were at his ease, as if her unexpected reappearance hadn’t totally thrown him. ‘How’s peddling ridiculous dreams and overblown fantasies going?’

Daisy took a sip of her drink, wincing at the heat.
‘Business is good, thanks. Busy.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ He eyed her critically. ‘Engagement shoots, fifteen-hour days, blogs. When you work out your hourly rate you’re probably barely making minimum wage.’ Not that he was one to talk.

‘It’s expected.’ Her tone was defensive. ‘Anyone can get a mate to point a camera nowadays. Wedding photographers need to provide more, to look into the
soul of the couple. To make sure there isn’t one second of their special day left undocumented.’

Seb shook his head. ‘Weddings! What happened to simple and heartfelt? Not that I’m complaining. We are already booked up for the next two years. It’s crazy. So much money on just one day.’

‘But it’s the happiest day of their lives.’

‘I sincerely hope not. It’s just the first day, not
the marriage,’ he corrected her. ‘Romantic fantasies like that are the biggest disservice to marriage. People pour all their energy and money into just one day—they should be thinking about their lives together. Planning that.’

‘You make it sound so businesslike.’

‘It
is
businesslike,’ he corrected her. ‘Marriage is like anything else. It’s only successful if the participants share goals.
Know exactly what they are signing up for. Mark my words, a couple who go into marriage with a small ceremony and a robust life plan will last a lot longer than fools who get into debt with one over-the-top day.’

‘No, you’re wrong.’ Daisy leant forward, her eyes lit up. ‘Two people finding each other, plighting their troth in front of all their friends and family, what could be more romantic
than that?’ Her voice trailed off, the blue eyes wistful.

Seb tried not to let his mouth quirk into a smile but the temptation was too much. ‘Did you just say plight your troth? Is that what you write in your blogs?’

‘My couples say my blogs are one of the most romantic parts of their special day.’ Her colour was high. ‘That’s why I do the engagement shoots, to get to know each couple
individually, know what makes them tick. And no.’ She glared at him. ‘Even with the extras I still make well over the minimum wage and no one ever complains. In fact, one couple have just asked me to come back to document their pregnancy and take the first photographs of their baby.’

‘Of course they did.’ He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. ‘The only thing guaranteed to waste more
money than a wedding is a baby.’

Her already creamy skin paled, her lips nearly blue. ‘Then you probably don’t want to hear that you’re going to be a father. I’m pregnant, Seb. That’s what I came here to say.’

As soon as she blurted the words out she regretted it. It wasn’t how she’d planned to tell him; her carefully prepared lead up to the announcement abandoned in the heat of the
moment. At least she had shaken him out of the cool complacency; Seb had shot upright, the green eyes hard, his mouth set firm.

‘Are you sure?’

Oh, yes. She was sure. Two tests a day for the past week sure. ‘I have a test in my bag, I can take it here and now if you like.’ It wasn’t the kind of thing she’d usually offer to an almost stranger but the whole situation was embarrassing enough,
another step into mortification alley wouldn’t hurt.

‘No, that won’t be necessary.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘But we used... I mean, we were careful.’

It was almost funny—almost—that she and this man opposite could have spent a night being as intimate as two people could be. Had explored and tasted and touched. Had teased and caressed and been utterly uninhibited. And yet they
didn’t know each other at all. He couldn’t even use the word ‘condomʼ in front of her.

‘We did.’ Daisy summoned up all her poise and looked at him as coolly and directly as she could manage, trying to breathe her panicked pulse into submission, to still the telltale tremor in her hands. ‘At least, we did the first and second time. I’m not sure we were thinking clearly after that.’

Not
that they had been thinking clearly at all. Obviously. It was easy to blame the snowfall, the intimacy of being alone in the fairy-tale landscape, the champagne. That he had come to her rescue. But it still didn’t add up. It had been the most incredible, the most intense and the most out-of-character night of Daisy’s life.

A muscle was beating along the stubbled jawline; his eyes were still
hard, unreadable. ‘How do you know it’s mine?’

She had been prepared for this question, it was totally reasonable for him to ask and yet a sharp stab of disappointment hit her. ‘It has to be yours.’ She lifted her chin and eyed him defiantly. ‘There is no one else, there hasn’t been, not for a long time. I usually only do long-term relationships and I split up from my last boyfriend nine
months ago.’ She needed to make him understand. ‘That night, it wasn’t usual. It wasn’t how I normally behave.’

‘Right.’

‘You can check, have a test. Only not until after it’s born. It’s safer that way.’

His eyes locked onto hers. ‘You’re keeping it, then?’

Another reasonable question and yet one she hadn’t even thought to ask herself. ‘Yes. Look, Seb, you don’t have to decide
anything right now. I’m not here for answers or with demands. I just thought you should know but...’

‘Hold on.’ He stood up with a lithe grace, hand held out to cut her off. ‘I need to think. Don’t go anywhere, can you promise me that? I won’t be long, I just, I just need some air. Come on, Monty.’

‘Wait!’ It was too late, he had whirled out of the door, the spaniel close to his heels.
Daisy had half got up but sank back down into the deep-backed chair as the heavy oak door closed with a thud.

‘That went better than I expected,’ she murmured. She was still here and, okay, he hadn’t fallen to his knees and pledged to love the baby for ever but neither had she been turned out barefoot onto his doorstep.

And wasn’t his reaction more natural? Questioning disbelief? Maybe
that should have been hers as well. Daisy slid her hand over her midriff, marvelling at the flat tautness, no visible clue that anything had changed. And yet she hadn’t been shocked or upset or considered for even a nanosecond that she wouldn’t have the baby.

Its conception might be an accident in most people’s eyes but not in Daisy’s. It was something else entirely. It was a miracle.

One hour later, more hot lemon and three pages of a beautiful old hardback edition of
Pride and Prejudice
read over and over again, Daisy admitted defeat. Wait, he had said. How long did he mean? She hadn’t promised him anyway; he had disappeared before she could form the words.

But she couldn’t leave without making sure he had a way of getting in touch. She hadn’t thought last time, hadn’t
slipped her card into his hand or pocket with a smile and invitation. Had part of her hoped he would track her down anyway? Perform a modern-day quest in pursuit of her love. The hopeless romantic in her had. The hopeless romantic never learned.

But this wasn’t about challenges. It was more important than that. Rummaging in her bag, Daisy pulled out one of her business cards. Stylish, swirling
script and a daisy motif proclaimed ‘Daisy Photos. Weddings, portraits and lifestyle.’ Her number, website and Twitter handle listed clearly below. She paused for a second and then laid the card on the tea tray with a hand that only trembled a little. It was up to him now.

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing her shoulders to sag under the weight of her disappointment. She had been
prepared for anger, denial. Naively, she had hoped he might be a little excited. She hadn’t expected him to just
leave
.

* * *

Her car was where she’d left it, parked at a slant just outside the imposing gates. If she had swallowed her pride and accepted the Range Rover her father had offered her then she wouldn’t have been snowed in all those weeks ago.

Daisy shook her head trying
to dislodge unwanted tears prickling the backs of her eyes. It had all seemed so perfect, like a scene from one of her favourite romantic comedies. When it was clear that she was stuck, Seb had ransacked the leftovers from the wedding buffet, bringing her a picnic of canapés and champagne. And she had curled up on the shabby sofa in his office as they talked and drank, and somehow she had found
herself confiding in him, trusting him. Kissing him.

She raised her hands to her lips, remembering how soft his kiss had been. At first anyway...

Right. Standing here reliving kisses wasn’t going to change anything. Daisy unlocked her car, and took one last long look at the old castle keep, the grim battlements softened by the amber spring sun.

‘Daisy!’

She paused for a moment
and inhaled long and deep before swivelling round, trying to look as unconcerned as possible, and leaning back against her car.

Her heart began to thump. Loudly.

He wasn’t her type at all. Her type was clean-shaven, their eyes didn’t hold a sardonic gleam under quizzical eyebrows and look as if they were either laughing at you or criticising you. Her usual type didn’t wear their dark
hair an inch too long and completely unstyled and walk around in old mud-splattered jeans, although she had to admit they were worn in all the right places.

And Daisy Huntingdon-Cross had never as much as had a coffee with a man in a logoed fleece. The black garment might bear the Hawksley Castle crest but it was still a fleece.

So why had her pulse sped up, heat pooling in the pit of
her stomach? Daisy allowed the car to take more of her weight, grateful for its support.

‘Come back inside, we haven’t finished talking yet.’ It wasn’t a request.

The heat melted away, replaced by a growing indignation. Daisy straightened up, folding her arms. ‘We haven’t
started
talking. I gave you an hour.’

‘I know.’ She had been hoping for penitent but he was totally matter-of-fact.
‘I think better outside.’

‘And?’ Daisy wanted to grab the word back the second she uttered it. It sounded as if she had been on tenterhooks waiting for him to proclaim her fate. The kernel of truth in that thought made her squirm.

He ran a hand through his hair. The gesture was unexpectedly boyish and uncertain. ‘This would be easier if we just went back inside.’

She raised her
eyebrows. ‘You think better outside.’

He smiled at that, his whole expression lightening. It changed him completely, the eyes softer, the slightly harsh expression warmer.

‘Yes. But do you?’

‘Me?’

‘I have a proposition for you and you need to be thinking clearly. Are you?’

No. No, she wasn’t. Daisy wasn’t sure she’d had a clear thought since she had accepted that first
glass of champagne, had hotly defended her livelihood as her rescuer had quizzed and teased her and had found herself laughing, absurdly delighted as the stern expression had melted into something altogether different.

But she wasn’t going to admit that. Not to him, barely to herself.

‘Completely clearly.’

He looked sceptical but nodded. ‘Then, Daisy, I think you should marry me.’

CHAPTER TWO

S
EB
DIDN
’
T
EXACTLY
expect Daisy to throw herself at his feet in gratitude, not really. And it would have made him uncomfortable if she had. But he was expecting that she would be touched by his proposal. Grateful even.

The incredulous laugh that bubbled out of that rather enchanting mouth was, therefore, a bit of a shock. Almost a blow—not to his heart, obviously,
but, he realised with a painful jolt of self-awareness, to his ego. ‘Are we in a regency novel? Seb, you haven’t besmirched my honour. There’s no need to do the honourable thing.’

The emphasis on the last phrase was scathing. And misplaced. There was every need. ‘So why did you come here? I thought you wanted my help. Or are you after money? Is that it?’

Maybe the whole situation was
some kind of clever entrapment. His hands curled into fists and he inhaled, long and deep, trying not to let the burgeoning anger show on his face.

‘Of course not.’ Her indignation was convincing and the tightness in his chest eased a little. ‘I thought you should know first, that was all. I didn’t come here for money or marriage or anything.’

‘I see, you’re planning to do this alone.
And you want me to what? Pop over on a Sunday and take the baby to the park? Sleepovers once a month?’ Seb could hear the scathing scorn punctuating each of his words and Daisy paled, taking a nervous step away, her hand fumbling for the car handle.

‘I haven’t really thought that far ahead.’

Seb took another deep breath, doing his best to sound reasonable as he grabbed the slight advantage.
‘You work what? Fifteen hours a day at weekends? Not just weekends. People get married every day of the week now. What are you going to do for childcare?’

‘I’ll work something out.’ The words were defiant but her eyes were troubled as she twisted her hand around the handle, her knuckles white with tension.

He put as much conviction into his voice as possible. ‘You don’t need to. Marry
me.’

Her eyes were wide with confusion. ‘Why? Why on earth would you want to marry someone you barely know? Why would I agree to something so crazy?’

Seb gestured, a wide encompassing sweep of his arm taking in the lake, the woods and fields, the castle proudly overshadowing the landscape. ‘Because that baby is my heir.’

Daisy stared at him. ‘What?’

‘The baby is my heir,’ he
repeated. ‘Our baby. To Hawksley.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. What has the castle got to do with the baby?’

‘Not just the castle, the estate, the title, everything.’

‘But—’ she shook her head stubbornly ‘—you’re the handyman, aren’t you? You had a shovel and a fleece and that office.’

‘The handyman?’ He could see her point. If only his colleagues could see him now, it was all a
long way from his quiet office tucked away in a corner of an Oxford college. ‘In a way I guess I am—owner, handyman, manager, event-booker—running the estate is a hands-on job nowadays.’

‘So that makes you what? A knight?’

‘An earl. The Earl of Holgate.’

‘An earl?’ She laughed, slightly hysterically. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Is there a camera recording this?’ She twisted around,
checking the fields behind them.

‘My parents died six months ago. I inherited the castle then.’ The castle and a huge amount of debt but there was no need to mention that right away. She was skittish enough as it was.

‘You’re being serious?’ He could see realisation dawning, the understanding in her widened eyes even as she stubbornly shook her head. ‘Titles don’t mean anything, not
any more.’

‘They do to me, to the estate. Look, Daisy, you came here because you knew it was the right thing to do. Well, marrying me is the right thing to do. That baby could be the next Earl of Holgate. You want to deny him that right? Illegitimate children are barred from inheriting.’

‘The baby could be a girl.’ She wasn’t giving in easily.

‘It doesn’t matter, with the royal
line of succession no longer male primogeniture there’s every chance the rest of the aristocracy will fall into line.’ He held his hand out, coaxing. ‘Daisy, come back inside, let’s talk about this sensibly.’

She didn’t answer for a long moment and he could sense her quivering, desperate need to run. He didn’t move, just waited, hand held out towards her until she took a deep breath and nodded.
‘I’ll come inside. To talk about the baby. But I am not marrying you. I don’t care whether you’re an earl or a handyman. I don’t know you.’

Seb took a deep breath, relief filling his lungs. All he needed was time. Time for her to hear him out, to give him a chance to convince her. ‘Come on, then.’

Daisy pushed off the car and turned. Seb couldn’t help taking a long appreciative look
at her shapely rear as she bent slightly to relock the car. The tweed shorts fitted snugly, showing off her slender curves to perfection. He tore his eyes away, hurriedly focusing on the far hedge as she straightened and turned to join him, the blue eyes alight with curiosity.

‘An earl,’ she repeated. ‘No wonder the gorgon was so reluctant to let me in.’

‘Gorgon?’ But he knew who she
meant and his mouth quirked as she stared at him meaningfully. ‘I don’t think she’s actually turned anyone to stone. Not yet. Mrs Suffolk’s family have worked here for generations. She’s a little protective.’

They reached the courtyard and Daisy started to make for the back door where Mrs Suffolk still stood guard, protecting the castle against day trippers and other invaders. Seb slipped
a hand through Daisy’s arm, guiding her round the side of the house and onto the sweeping driveway with its vista down to the wooded valley below.

‘Front door and a fresh start,’ he said as they reached the first step. ‘Hello, I’m Sebastian Beresford, Earl of Holgate.’

‘Sebastian Beresford?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I know that name. You’re not an earl, you’re that historian.’

‘I’m both.
Even earls have careers nowadays.’ Although how he was going to continue his academic responsibilities with running Hawksley was a problem he had yet to solve.

He held out his hand. ‘Welcome to my home.’

Daisy stared at his hand for a moment before placing her cool hand in his. ‘Daisy Huntingdon-Cross, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’

Who? There it was, that faint elusive memory sharpened
into focus. ‘Huntingdon-Cross? Rick Cross and Sherry Huntingdon’s daughter?’

No wonder she looked familiar! Rock royalty on their father’s side and pure county on their mother’s, the Huntingdon-Cross sisters were as renowned for their blonde, leggy beauty as they were infamous for their lifestyle. Each of them had been splashed across the tabloids at some point in their varied careers—and
their parents were legends; rich, talented and famously in love.

Seb’s heart began to pound, painfully thumping against his chest, the breath knocked from his lungs in one blow. This was not the plan, the quiet, businesslike, private union he intended.

This was
trouble
.

If he married this girl then the tabloids would have a field day. A Beresford and a Huntingdon-Cross would be
front-page fodder to rival anything his parents had managed to stir up in their wake. All the work he had done to remain out of the press would be undone faster than he could say, ‘I do.’

But if he didn’t marry her then he would be disinheriting the baby. He didn’t have any choice.

* * *

Seb froze as he took her hand, recognition dawning in his eyes.

‘Huntingdon-Cross,’ he
repeated and Daisy dropped his hand, recoiling from the horror in his voice.

For a moment she contemplated pretending she wasn’t one of
those
Huntingdon-Crosses but a cousin, a far, far removed cousin. From the north. Of course, Seb didn’t have to know that she didn’t have any northern cousins.

But what was the point? He’d find out the truth soon enough and, besides, they might be wild
and infuriating and infamous but they were hers. No matter how many titles or illustrious ancestors Seb had, he had no right to sneer at her family.

Daisy channelled her mother at her grandest, injecting as much froideur into her voice as she possibly could and tilting her chin haughtily. ‘Yes. I’m the youngest. I believe the tabloids call me the former wild child if that helps.’

At
this the green eyes softened and the corner of his mouth tilted; heat pooled in her stomach as her blood rushed in response. It was most unfair, the almost smile made him more human. More handsome.

More desirable.

‘The one who got expelled from school?’

He had to bring that up. Daisy’s face heated, the embarrassed flush spreading from her cheeks to her neck. He was an Oxford professor,
he’d probably never met anyone who had been expelled before, let alone someone with barely an academic qualification to her name. ‘I wasn’t expelled exactly, they just asked me to leave.’

‘Sounds like expulsion to me,’ he murmured.

‘It was ridiculously strict. It was almost impossible
not
to get expelled. Unless you were clever and studious like my sisters, that is.’ Okay, it was eight
years ago and Daisy had spent every minute of those eight years trying to prove her teachers wrong but it still rankled. Still hurt.

‘The Mother Superior was always looking for a way to rid the school of the dullards like me. That way we didn’t bring the exam average down.’ She stared at him, daring him to react. He’d probably planned for the mother of his future children to have a batch
of degrees to match his. His and her mortar boards.

‘They expelled you for not being academic?’

‘Well, not exactly. They expelled me for breaking bounds and going clubbing in London. But if I’d been predicted all As it would have been a slap on the wrist at the most. At least, probably,’ she added, conscious she wasn’t being entirely fair. ‘There were pictures on the front page of
The
Planet
and I think some of the parents were a little concerned.’

‘A little?’ Damn, the mouth was even more tilted now, the gleam intensifying in his eyes.

‘I was sixteen. Most sixteen-year-old girls aren’t locked away in stupid convent schools not even allowed to look at boys or wear anything but a hideous uniform. It isn’t natural. But once front-page news, always front-page news. They
hounded me for a bit until they realised how dull I really am. But I swear I could die at one hundred after a lifetime spent sewing smocks for orphaned lepers and my epitaph would read “Former wild child, Daisy, who was expelled from exclusive girls’ school...”’

‘Probably.’ His voice was bleak again, the gleam gone as if it had never been there. ‘Come on, let’s go in. It’s getting cold and
one of us has unseasonably bare legs.’

Once the sun had started to set, the warmth quickly dissipated, the evening air tinted with a sharp breeze whipping around Daisy’s legs. She shivered, the chill running up her arms and down her spine not entirely down to the cold. If she walked back into the castle everything would change.

But everything was changing anyway. Would it be easier if
she didn’t have to do this alone? It wasn’t the proposal or the marriage of her dreams but maybe it was time to grow up. To accept that fairy tales were for children and that princes came in all shapes and sizes—as did earls.

Not that Seb’s shape was an issue. She slid a glance over at him, allowing her eyes to run up his legs, the worn jeans clinging to his strong thighs and the slim hips,
and up his torso, his lean muscled strength hidden by the shirt and fleece. But her body remembered the way he had picked her up without flinching, the play of his muscles under her hands.

No, his shape wasn’t an issue.

But she had worked so hard to be independent. Not traded on her parents’ names, not depended on their money. Would marrying for support, albeit emotional not financial,
be any different from accepting it from her family?

At least she knew they loved her. A marriage without love wasn’t to be considered. Not for her. She needed to make that clear so that they could move on and decide what was best for the baby.

* * *

‘Where’s the cook? The faithful retainers? The maids’ bobbing curtsies?’ Daisy expected that they would return to the library but instead
Seb had led her through the baize doors and back through the tangle of passages to the kitchen. She would need a ball of thread to find her way back.

The whole house was a restoration project waiting to happen and the kitchen no exception but Daisy quite liked the old wooden cabinets, the ancient Aga and Monty slumped in front of it with his tail beating a steady rhythm on the flagstone floor.
It didn’t take much imagination to see the ghosts of small scullery maids, scuttling out into the adjoining utility room, an apple-cheeked cook rolling out pastry on the marbled worktops. Automatically she framed it, her mind selecting the right filter and the focal point of the shot.

Any of Daisy’s friends would strip out the cabinets, install islands and breakfast bars and folding doors
opening out into the courtyard—undoubtedly creating something stunning. And yet the kitchen would lose its heart, its distinctive soul.

Seb gestured to a low chair by the Aga. ‘Do you want to sit there? It’s the warmest spot in the room. No, there’s no one else, just me. A cleaner comes in daily but I live alone.’ He had opened a door that led to a pantry bigger than Daisy’s entire kitchen.
‘Are you vegetarian?’

‘For a term in Year Eleven.’

‘Good. Anything you...erm...really want to eat?’ He sounded flustered and, as realisation dawned, her cheeks heated in tandem with his. It was going to be uncomfortable if neither of them could mention the pregnancy without embarrassment.

‘Oh! You mean cravings? No, at least, not yet. But if I get a need for beetroot and coal risotto
I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.’

The green eyes flashed. ‘You do that.’

Daisy didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but she was tired. It had been a long week, excitement mixing with shock, happiness with worry and sleep had been elusive. It was soothing leaning back in the chair, the warmth from the Aga penetrating her bones. Monty rested his head on her feet as she watched
Seb expertly chopping onions and grilling steaks.