Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (20 page)

‘Have you lived here long?’

‘Mum grew up here, her uncle is a baronet and somewhere along the family tree we descend from William Fourth, although not through the legitimate line. So, you see—’ Daisy threw him a provocative smile ‘—you’re not marrying beneath you.’

‘I didn’t think I was.’
Seb knew very well that his blood was as red as anyone else’s. It wasn’t Daisy’s ancestry that worried him, it was her upbringing. If she had been brought up in a place as lavishly luxurious as Huntingdon Hall how would she cope with the draughty inconveniences of his grand and ancient home?

‘Daisy? You
are
alive. Rose was trying to persuade me to break into your apartment and recover your
dead body. A whole week with no word from you?’

‘Vi!’ Daisy jumped to her feet, sprinting up the stone steps and flinging her arms around the speaker. ‘What do you mean? I texted you both! Every day.’

‘Texts, anyone can send a text that says I’m fine, talk soon. But—’ she eyed Seb coolly over Daisy’s shoulder ‘—I can see you’ve been busy.’

Seb stood and held out his hand. ‘You must
be Violet.’ A meaningful glare from Daisy reminded him of his role. ‘Daisy has told me so much about you.’ He walked forward and slipped an arm around Daisy, ignoring the electricity that snaked up his arm from the exact spot where his fingers curled around her slender waist. Daisy started, just a little, at his touch before inhaling and leaning into him, her body pliant, moulding into his side
as if she belonged there.

‘Really? She hasn’t mentioned you at all.’ Violet took his outstretched hand in her cool grasp for a moment. ‘She usually tells me everything.’ Her eyes were narrowed as she assessed him. It was more than a little disconcerting to be so comprehensively overlooked even by such very blue eyes.

The family resemblance was striking. Violet was a little taller, a
little curvier than her younger sister and her heart-shaped face gave nothing away, unlike Daisy’s all too telling features, but she had the Huntingdon colouring, the high cheekbones and the same mane of golden hair.

That was as far as the resemblance went; Daisy was wearing a monochrome print dress, the bodice tight fitting and the skirt flaring out to just above her knees, a dark pink short
cardigan slung over her shoulders and the carefully positioned hat finishing off the outfit with a quirky flourish. Violet, by contrast, was sensibly clad in jeans and a white shirt, her hair held back from her face by a large slide, her make-up understated and demure.

‘Not everything.’ Daisy flushed. ‘I am twenty-four, you know. I do have some secrets.’

‘Daisy-Waisy, you never managed
to keep a secret in your whole life.’ Violet grinned at her sister with obvious affection. Her eyes cooled as she returned to assessing Seb. ‘And what is it that you do?’

For one, almost irresistible moment Seb had the urge to emulate his grandfather, draw himself up to his full six feet one, look down at Violet and drawl, ‘Do? My good woman, I don’t
do
. I am. Earl of Holgate to be precise,’
just to shake her cool complacency. He didn’t need Daisy’s warning pinch to resist. ‘I manage a large estate. That’s where we met. Daisy was working there.’

‘He came to my rescue.’ The face upturned to his was so glowing Seb nearly forgot they were acting. ‘I was snowed in and he rescued me. It was super romantic, Vi.’

‘Words no father wants to hear.’ Seb started at the deep American
drawl and hurriedly turned.

‘Dad.’ Daisy tugged Seb down the steps, almost running. She slipped out of Seb’s grasp and threw her arms around the slight man on the terrace.

‘Missed you, Daisy girl. How’s that camera of yours?’

‘Busy, I already promised Mum I would cover the Benefit Concert but if you want some promo shots doing beforehand just ask. Formal, informal, you choose.’

‘I’ll ask Rose. She makes all those kinds of decisions. So who is this romantic knight you’ve brought home?’ Rick Cross turned to Seb with an appraising gaze.

For the third time in five minutes Seb stood still as he was examined by keen eyes. Lucky Daisy, having such a loving, protective family. She didn’t need to marry him at all; they would close ranks and take care of her. If he wanted
to raise his heir he’d better keep his side of their strange bargain.

‘Sebastian Beresford. It’s an honour to meet you, sir.’ Seb managed, just, not to blurt out that Rick Cross had made one of the first CDs he had ever bought. A CD he had listened to over and over again.

Daisy’s father was so familiar it seemed odd that he was a stranger; the craggy face, wild hair and skinny frame
were timeless. Rick Cross had burst onto the music scene at twenty and never left. Age had definitely not withered him; he still toured, released and dominated the headlines although these days it was philanthropy not wild antics that kept him there.

‘Beresford? I’ve read your books. Good to meet you.’

Daisy slipped an arm around Seb and he obediently held her close as she beamed at
her family. ‘We’ve got some news. Mum, Dad, Vi. Seb and I are engaged. We’re going to get married!’

* * *

It was exhausting, pretending. Hanging on Seb’s arm, smiling, showing off the admittedly beautiful but somewhat soulless solitaire on her third finger as her family crowded around with congratulations and calls for champagne.

A glass of champagne Daisy pretended to sip. If her
parents suspected for one single second the real reason for her marriage they would be so disappointed. Not in her, for her.

And she absolutely couldn’t bear that. To let them down again.

They knew how much she wanted to fall in love, to be loved.

Vi hung back a little, her eyes suspicious even as her mouth smiled. Her sister had been so badly burned, it was hard for her to trust.
And Daisy was lying after all.

‘I’ll call the vicar right away.’ Her mother had swung into action with alarming haste. ‘You’ll want spring naturally, Daisy darling, next year or the year after? I think next year. A long engagement is so dreadfully dreary.’

Daisy looked at Seb for help but he had been drawn into a conversation with her father about guitar chords. Did Seb know anything
about guitars or chords? She had no idea.

No idea what his favourite food was, his favourite memory, band, song, poem, book, film, TV programme. If he played a musical instrument, liked to run, watched football, rugby or both...

‘Daisy, stop daydreaming,’ her mother scolded as she had so many times before. ‘Next year, darling?’

Daisy tugged her hat back into place. ‘Sorry.’ She
put on her widest smile and did her best to look as if her heart weren’t shattering into ever smaller fragments with every word. ‘We’re not getting married here.’

The rest of her family fell silent and Daisy could feel three sets of eyes boring into her. ‘Not getting married here?’

‘It’s all you have ever wanted.’

‘Don’t be silly, Daisy girl. Where else would you get married?’

‘It’s my fault, I’m afraid.’ Seb had stepped behind her and Daisy leant back into the lean, hard body with a hastily concealed sob of relief. ‘I, ah, I own a licensed property and we rather thought we would get married there. I hope you’re not too disappointed.’

‘A licensed venue?’ Vi, of course. ‘Like a pub?’

‘No, well, actually yes, there is a pub in the village. It’s a tied village,
so technically it belongs to me but I don’t run it.’

So much for Seb rescuing her, although Daisy would bet her favourite lens that Mr Darcy would quail faced with her entire family. If Rose were here as well to complete the interrogation then Seb would be running for the hills, his precious heir forgotten.

‘Seb owns Hawksley Castle, we’re getting married there and it won’t be next spring.’
It was time to act as she had never acted before. Daisy nuzzled in closer to Seb, one arm around his neck, and kissed him. Just a short, quick kiss, his mouth hard under hers.

Heat shimmered through her, low and intense and she quivered, grabbing for words to hide behind, hoping Seb hadn’t noticed how he had affected her. ‘We’re getting married this month, in just over three weeks. Excited?’

‘Why the rush?’ Vi’s eyes flickered over Daisy’s belly and she resisted the urge to breathe in.

‘Why not?’ Keeping her voice as light and insouciant as possible, Daisy pressed even closer to Seb, his arm tight around her. It might just be for show but she was grateful for the support both physically and mentally. ‘After all, Mum and Dad, what do you always say? When you know, you know.
You only knew each other for a weekend before you got married.’

‘But, Daisy, darling that was the late seventies and we were in Vegas.’

‘It’s true though, honey.’ Rick Cross’s voice had softened to the besotted tones he still used whenever he spoke to his wife, the intimate voice that excluded everyone else, even their three daughters. ‘We only needed that weekend to know we were meant
to be. Maybe Daisy girl has been as lucky as we were?’

The ever-present ache intensified. ‘I am, Dad. Be happy for me?’

‘Of course we are. Hawksley, eh? I met your father once. Remember, Sherry? On Mustique. Now that was a man who liked to party. Talking of which, we’ve finished the champagne. Let’s go in and get some more and toast this thing properly. I might have some photos of that
holiday, Seb.’

Her parents bore Seb off up the steps, both talking nineteen to the dozen. Daisy stood for a moment, watching. In nearly every way this was the image from her dreams: a handsome, eligible man, her parents’ approval.

A man she barely knew. A man who didn’t love her. A man who might have a comforting embrace and a mouth she melted against but who wanted a businesslike, emotion-free
marriage.

‘You don’t have to rush into this. How long have you known him?’ Vi had also stayed behind. Her arms were folded as she waited for Daisy to answer.

‘Six weeks.’ This at least wasn’t a lie. ‘And I’m not rushing into anything. I want to do this, Vi. Be happy for me.’ She smiled coaxingly at her sister.

‘I want to be.’ Vi stared at her, worry in her eyes. ‘It’s just, I heard
rumours. Daisy, Hawksley Castle is beautiful but it’s expensive and his parents spent a lot. More than a lot. Are you sure he’s not...?’ She paused.

‘Not what?’ But she knew. ‘After my fortune? I don’t have a fortune, Vi!’

‘No, but Daddy does and you know it drives him mad we won’t live off him. He’d do anything for you, Daise, even prop up a money pit like Hawksley.’

If Daisy knew
anything about Seb it was this: she could hand on heart acquit him of any interest in her father’s money. The shock in his eyes when he’d found out who she was had been utterly genuine. But Vi was right to be suspicious; they were deceiving her.

And yet anger was simmering, slow, hot, intense. ‘Seb does not need my non-existent fortune or Daddy to bail him out. He’s working every waking hour
to turn Hawksley around his way and he’ll do it too. So butt out, Vi. And no running to Rose either. Let her make her own mind up.’

Where had that come from?

Vi looked at her searchingly. ‘Okay, Daise, calm down. I won’t say anything. Let’s go in and I’ll get to know your Seb properly. My little sister’s marrying an earl. You always did like to show off.’

‘I didn’t know he was an
earl when I met him!’ But Vi just laughed and pulled her up the steps and into the vast kitchen diner that dominated the back of the house.

‘There you are, darling. Three weeks! That’s no time at all to plan. We need to get started right now. How many people can you seat? There will be rooms at the castle for the family, I suppose? Colour scheme yellow and white, of course.’

‘Great!’
Violet scowled. ‘So I get lumbered with light purple and Rose gets almost any colour she wants.’

‘I could have called you Marigold, just think about that,’ her mother said. ‘We need to go shopping right away, Daisy. And discuss menus, and cakes and do you think Grandpa will come?’

‘The thing is, Mum...’ Daisy took a deep breath. ‘I don’t need any of those things. It’s going to be very
small. Just us, and Rose, of course, if she can come. So no colour scheme needed. We could have cake though.’

‘No!’ Daisy jumped at the autocratic note in her mother’s voice. It wasn’t a note she heard often; her parents were indulgent to the point of spoiling their girls. Rose always said that was why they had sent them to such a strict boarding school, so that someone else would do the
hard parts and they could just enjoy their daughters.

‘No, Daisy. Not this time.’

This time?
Daisy stared at her mother in confusion. ‘I...’

She didn’t get a chance to continue. Sherry’s voice rose higher. ‘You wanted to leave home in your teens? Your father and I respected that. We were both working at eighteen after all. You won’t allow us to pay your rent or buy you a car or
help you in any way? I don’t like it but I accept it. You visit once in a blue moon? I tell myself that at least you text us and I can follow you on Twitter.’

The heat burned high on Daisy’s cheeks. It hadn’t really occurred to her that her parents would interpret her need to go it alone as rejection. She held up a hand, whether in defence or supplication she didn’t know.

It made no
difference; her mother had hit her stride. ‘You want to get married in less than a month? Fine. You want to get married away from home? No problem. But you will
not
have a tiny wedding. I know you, you’ve dreamt of a big, beautiful wedding since you were tiny and that, my girl, is exactly what you are going to have. You are going to let me pay for it and, young lady, nobody—’ the blue eyes flashed
‘—
nobody
is going to stop me organising it for you.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I’
M
SO
SORRY
.
’ Daisy hadn’t said much as they drove the sixty miles back to Hawksley Castle but she straightened once Seb turned the Land Rover down the track that led to the castle. ‘I should have planned the visit—gone on my own, maybe. I know you don’t want any fuss.’

Seb slid a gaze her way. She was pale, the red lipstick bitten away. ‘We could just say no.’
We. It felt odd saying the word, like putting on somebody else’s sock.

‘We could.’ Daisy slumped further down into the seat and sighed. ‘But then they’d know something was up. I may have mentioned my dream wedding plans once or twice.’

He’d bet she had, he already knew far too many details about Daisy’s Dream Wedding. Details imparted by eager parents and a grim-faced sister all determined
that she should have her Big Day. ‘Tell them I’m allergic to the thought. Cold sweats, clammy hands and hives. Or that small is more romantic and they’re lucky we’re not eloping.’

She didn’t respond and at her silence an unwelcome thought crept into his mind; was he being presumptuous? Starting off this unconventional marriage by trampling over his prospective wife’s wishes. Great start.
‘Unless you want this?’

‘I thought I did.’ Her voice was wistful. ‘But that was before...’

A stab of something that felt uncomfortably like guilt pierced him. She hadn’t sought this out. His carelessness had thrust it upon her—the least he could do was allow her to have her way on this one small thing, even if the thought of all that attention did make his stomach churn, his hands clammy
on the steering wheel.

Seb inhaled. To make this work meant compromise on both sides. He needed to start somewhere. ‘We could rearrange. Your house, your church, garden party—the whole shebang if it means that much to you.’

‘Really?’ Her face brightened for one second and then it was gone, as if the spark had never been. ‘No, thank you for offering, I do really appreciate it but it’s
fine. That wedding was a dream, a romance. It would feel—’ she hesitated ‘—even more fake if I made you go along with my silly dreams. Here will be much more appropriate. But would you mind, if we did accommodate Mum a little and allow her to help? I’ll keep it under control, I promise.’

‘Of course. This is your wedding and your home.’ The words slid out easily even as his chest constricted.
How would this pampered butterfly manage in a place as unwieldy and stately as Hawksley? But what choice did he have? Did either of them have? They had made their bed...

He braked as he slid the car into the parking space and turned to face her. ‘Look, Daisy, I really think this can work. If we’re honest with each other, if we keep communicating.’

She was staring down at her hands, her
lashes dark as they shadowed her eyes. ‘You don’t think we are rushing into it?’

Seb couldn’t help the corner of his mouth curving up. ‘Not at all. I believe several of my ancestors only met their spouse on their wedding day. We’ll have had at least two months between meeting and wedding—a shocking amount of time.’

There was no responsive smile. ‘I still think there would be no harm
in waiting until after we’ve had a scan and know more. It’s still such early days. I haven’t even been to the doctor’s yet. If we marry and I am just ten weeks along there’s still a chance something could go wrong. We’d be trapped in a marriage neither of us want with no baby! What would we do then?’

She made sense, every word made sense and the sensible side of Seb acknowledged the truth
of it, welcomed the truth of it—and yet something in him recoiled.

‘There are no certainties anywhere. If it goes wrong then we mourn. We mourn and regroup. Daisy...’ He reached over and took one of her hands; it lay unresisting in his, the long slender fingers cold. ‘I can’t see into the future and, yes, in some ways you are right. We can wait, for the scan, wait till sixteen weeks or even
thirty weeks. Or we can take a leap of faith. That’s what marriage is. Ours is just a bigger leap.’

He thought about it for a moment. ‘Or a shorter one. Our eyes are open after all.’

She looked straight at him, her eyes wide and troubled. ‘I’m only agreeing to an early marriage so my family doesn’t find out I’m pregnant, so they don’t try and talk me out of it. They know how important
marriage is to me, how important love is. What about you? Why don’t you want to wait?’

Seb squeezed his eyes shut. He could still hear them, his parents’ vicious arguments, their exuberant reconciliations. He thought about brushing her off but if he wanted this to work then he needed to be honest. Needed her to understand what he was offering—and what he could never give her.

‘My mother
didn’t want a baby. She didn’t want to ruin her figure with pregnancy, didn’t want to stop partying, didn’t want to go through labour. But she did want to be a countess and an heir was part of the deal. She told me once, when she was drunk, how happy she had been when they said I was a boy so that she didn’t have to go through it all again. That if it was up to her she would have remained childless.’

I had you because I had no choice. It was the worst year of my life.

‘Luckily there were grandparents, schools, nannies. She could at least pretend to be child-free—except when it suited her. I don’t want our child to think that, to feel like a burden. I want to welcome him or her into the world with open arms and make sure he or she knows that they were wanted. Because we may not have
planned it but I do want it—and you do too. That’s why it matters, that they are born with all the ridiculous privileges this title gives them. That’s why it matters that we marry.’

She didn’t say anything for a long moment but her fingers closed over his, strength in her cool grasp. ‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘Three weeks on Friday it is. Let’s go and see the registrar tomorrow morning and
get booked in. I guess I should register with a doctor nearby as well.’

‘Good.’ He returned the pressure, relieved. At her acquiescence. At her silent understanding. ‘Are you tired or do you want the full guided tour of your new home?’

‘Are you kidding? A personal guided tour from the hot prof himself? Show me everything.’

* * *

‘So this is the Norman keep. Family legend has
it that a knight, Sir William Belleforde, came over with the invasion in 1066 and was granted these lands. During the next few centuries the name was anglicised and corrupted to Beresford. He built the keep.’

‘Cosy.’ Daisy pivoted, looking about her at the dark grey walls built out of blocks of grey stone, the narrow window slits. She pulled her cardigan closer as the wind whistled through
the tower. ‘Was this it?’

‘There was a wooden castle attached but this was the main defensive base and would have been quite roomy. There were three floors inside here—look, there’s the old staircase. There was also a fortified wall around the rest of the castle. When you visit the village you’ll see that many of the older houses are built with the stone from the walls.’

Daisy tilted
her head back, trying to imagine one thousand years away. ‘Walls, battlements, arrow slits. Nothing says home like defensive buildings. Were there many battles here?’

Seb shook his head. ‘There was very little fighting here even during the Wars of the Roses and the Civil War. My ancestors were too canny to get involved.’

‘No Cavalier ghosts trailing along with their heads under their
arms?’ Obviously this was a relief and yet didn’t a house like this deserve a few ghosts?

‘Not a one. We changed our religion to suit the Tudors and the colour of our roses for the Plantagenets. You’ll be glad to hear that an impetuous younger son did go to France with Charles II and when he inherited the title he was made first Earl of Holgate. Although some say that was because his wife
was one of the King’s many mistresses—with her Lord’s consent.’

‘Good to know she was doing her bit for the family’s advancement. Is that still a requirement for the countess? I’m not sure I’m up to it if so!’

He shot her a wry smile. ‘I’m glad to hear it. No, I’m more than happy with the earldom, no favours for advancements required. Of course by then the keep was abandoned as a home.
It was already unused by the late fourteenth century and the Great Hall was built around one hundred years later.’

He led her out of the chill stone building and swung open the huge oak door that led into the Tudor part of the castle.

Daisy had spent an entire day in this part of the castle, photographing a wedding. It had felt completely different with long tables set out, the dais
at the far end filled with a top table, the candle-like iron chandeliers blazing with light. ‘I can see why they moved in here. It may be large but it’s a lot warmer. Having a working roof is a definite advantage. A floor is helpful too.’

‘Especially when you let the place out,’ he agreed. ‘Brides can be a bit precious about things like dirt floors and holes in the roof.’

‘It’s in incredible
condition.’ She had taken so many photos of the details: the carvings on the panelling, the way the huge beams curved.

‘It has to be. We couldn’t hold events here if not. It may look untouched since Elizabethan times but there is electricity throughout, working toilets and a fully kitted-out kitchen through that door. In fact, this is more up to date than parts of the main house. It’s always
been used as a ballroom, which made the decision to hire it out a little easier.’ He winced. ‘My grandfather thought we had a duty to share the castle with the wider world, but not for profit.’

‘Hence the restrictive opening hours?’

‘Absolutely. I don’t know what he would say if he saw the weddings. They’re not making enough of a difference though, even though I charge an obscene amount.
I’m trying to work out how to make the castle self-funding and yet keep it as a home. Keep the heart of it intact. It’s not easy.’

‘You’re planning to stay here, then, not live in Oxford?’

‘Now it’s mine? Yes. I can stay in college if I need to, although it will be strange, commuting in after all these years. It’s like being pulled constantly in two different directions, between the
demands of my career and the demands of my home—they both need all of my time or so it seems. But a place like this? It’s a privilege to own it, to be the one taking care of it.’

His eyes lit up with enthusiasm, the rather severe features relaxing as he pointed out another interesting architectural feature and recounted yet another bit of family history that Daisy was convinced he made up
on the spot. Nobody could have such a scandalous family tree—rakes and highwaymen and runaway brides in every generation.

‘You really love it, don’t you?’

‘How could I not? Growing up here, it was like living in my own time machine. I could be anybody from Robin Hood to Dick Turpin.’

‘Always the outlaw?’

‘They seemed to have the most fun. Had the horses, the adoration, got
the girls.’

‘All the important things in life.’

‘Exactly.’ He grinned; it made him look more boyish. More desirable. Daisy’s breath hitched in her throat, her mouth suddenly dry.

Their gazes caught, snagged, and they stood there for a long moment, neither moving. His eyes darkened to an impenetrable green, a hint of something dangerous flickering at their core and awareness shivered
down Daisy’s spine. She moved backwards, just a few centimetres, almost propelled by the sheer force of his gaze until her back hit the wooden panelling. She leant against it, thankful for the support, her legs weak.

She was still caught in his gaze, warmth spreading out from her abdomen, along her limbs, her skin buzzing where his eyes rested on her, the memory of his touch skittering along
her nerves. Nervous, she licked her lips, the heat in her body intensifying as she watched his eyes move to her mouth, recognised the hungry expression in them.

He wanted a working marriage. A full marriage.

Right now, that seemed like the only thing that made sense in this whole tangled mess.

He took a step closer. And another. Daisy stayed still, almost paralysed by the purposeful
intent in his face, her pulse hammering an insistent beat of need, of want at every pressure point in her body, pressure, a sweet, aching swelling in her chest.

‘Seb?’ It was almost a plea, almost a sob, a cry for something, an end to the yearning that so suddenly and so fiercely gripped her.

He paused, his eyes still on her and then one last step. So close and yet still, still not touching
even though her body was crying out for contact, pulled towards him by the magnetism of sheer need. He leant, just a little, a hand on either side of her, braced against the wall.

He still hadn’t touched her.

They remained perfectly still, separated by mere millimetres, their eyes locked, heat flickering between them, the wait stoking it higher and higher. He had to kiss her, had to
or she would spontaneously combust. He had to press that hard mouth against hers, allow those skilled hands to roam, to know her again. To fulfil her again. He had to.

Daisy jumped as a tune blared out from her pocket, a jaunty folk cover of one of her father’s greatest hits. Seb’s hands dropped and he retreated just a few steps as she fumbled for it, half ready to sob with frustration, half
relieved. She hadn’t even moved in yet and she was what? Begging him to kiss her?

Very businesslike.

Hands damp, she pulled out the phone and stared at the screen, unable to focus. Pressing the button, she held it shakily to her ear. ‘Hello?’

‘Daisy? You
are
alive, then?’

‘Rose!’ Daisy smiled apologetically at Seb and turned slightly, as if not seeing him would give her some
privacy, her heart still hammering.

‘Vi said I had to call you right now. Where have you been? Not cool to go offline with no warning, little sis, not cool at all.’

It was what, four o’clock in the afternoon? It felt later, as if several days, not just a few hours, had passed since she had woken up in her own bed, in her own flat for the last time. It would still be morning in New York.
She pictured her sister, feet on the desk, a coffee by her hand, an incorrigible mixture of efficiency, impatience and effortless style.