Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (28 page)

Seb breathed in the revelation. He didn’t miss it at all.

He was home. This was where he belonged.

But not alone. He had been alone long enough.

Seb retraced his steps, anticipating the moment his steps would lead him out of the wood and over the hill, that first glimpse of Hawksley Castle
standing, majestic, by the lake edge. The Norman keep, grey, watchful, looking out over the water flanked by the white plaster and timbered Tudor hall, picturesque with the light reflected off the lead-paned windows. Finally the house itself, a perfect example of neoclassical Georgian architecture.

Daisy was right: it would make a wonderful setting for a TV series.

Seb’s heart twisted.
Painfully.

What if she didn’t come back? How would he explain her absence to her mother? The guests already beginning to arrive in the village and in neighbouring hotels? If the wedding was called off the resulting publicity would be incredible, every detail of his own parents’ doomed marriage exhumed and re-examined over and over.

The usual nausea swirled, sweat beading at his forehead,
but it wasn’t at the prospect of the screaming headlines and taunting comments. No, Seb realised. It was at the thought of the wedding being called off.

Slowly he wandered back towards the castle barely noticing the spring sunshine warming his shoulders. No wedding. It wasn’t as if he had wanted this grand, showy affair anyway. It was a compromise he had had to make for the baby, wasn’t it?

Or was it?

The truth was he hadn’t hesitated. He’d taken one look at Daisy’s face as she’d read through that long list of names and known he couldn’t deny her the wedding of her dreams.

Truth was he couldn’t deny her anything.

He wanted to give her everything—not that she’d take it, absurdly proud as she was.

She was hardworking, earnest and underestimated herself so much
she allowed everybody else to underestimate her too, hiding behind her red lipstick, her quirky style and her camera.

He knew how she put herself down, made light of her own perceived failures, preempting the judgement she was sure would come. What must it have taken to put that presentation together, to show him her work—and yet he had thrown all her enthusiasm, all her help back in her
face.

Shame washed over him, hot and tight. He hadn’t wanted to listen, to accept that a fresh pair of eyes could ever see anything in Hawksley that he couldn’t see. Hadn’t wanted to accept that he was stuck on the wrong path.

He had spent so long ensuring he was nothing like his spoilt, immoral parents he had turned himself into his grandfather: upstanding sure, also rigid, a relic
from a time long dead, refusing to accept the world had changed even as his staff and income shrank and his bills multiplied.

It seemed a long way back to the castle, weighted down with guilt and shame. The truth was Daisy was right: he did need to make some changes and fast.

Starting with the estate. Much as he wanted to jump in his car, find her, beg her forgiveness he had to make
the much-needed changes first. That way he could show her.

Show her that he had listened, show her that her work had value.

That he valued her.

Seb stood still, feeling his heart beat impossibly hard, impossibly loud.

Was this valuing her? This nausea, this knot of worry, this urge to do whatever it took to show her?

Or was it something more? Was it love?

It was messy
and painful, just as he had feared, but it was more than that.

It was miraculous.

She made him a better person. It was up to him to repay that gift, even though it would take him the rest of his life.

The estate office was, as usual, a mess, cold and cluttered, an unattractive tangle of paperwork, old furniture, tools and filing cabinets. It felt unloved, impermanent. Seb sank down
into the creaking old office chair and looked about at the utilitarian shelves, filled with broken bits of machinery and rusting tools. This was no way to run a place the size of Hawksley.

He picked up a notebook and flipped it open to a fresh white page. It mocked him with the unwritten possibilities and he sat for a moment, paralysed by how much he had to do, how sweeping the changes ahead.

But this wasn’t about him, not any more. It was about his child, about his heritage, about the man he was—and the man he should be.

It was about his future wife.

The first thing he needed to do was admit he needed some help, he couldn’t do it all on his own no matter how much he wanted to.

He uncapped his fountain pen and began to write.

1. Resign from college

Seb
sat back and looked at the words, waited to feel sad, resentful, to feel the weight of failure. He still had so much more to achieve; the visiting professorship at Harvard for one. Was he ready to give up his academic career? He could produce another ten bestselling books but without his college credentials they would mean nothing, not to his colleagues.

But the expected emotions didn’t materialise;
instead the burden on his shoulders lessened.

He leant forward again.

2. Employ a professional estate manager

Daisy was right, damn her. What use was he to anyone, sitting up late, scrutinising crop-rotation plans and cattle lists? He had done his best but he still knew less than an apprentice cattle man. If he put in an estate manager he could free his time up for writing—and for
the house itself. Which led to the third thing. Admitting that Hawksley wasn’t just his family home, it was a living legacy and he needed to start treating it as such.

3. Tidy and redecorate the offices to a professional standard

So that he could then...

4. Employ an events planner

5. Talk to the solicitor about breaking into the trust and investing in the estate

What
was it Daisy had suggested? An internal structure in the Norman keep. That could work, maintain the integrity of the historical ruins while making it both safe and comfortable for weddings and parties. Seb winced. It looked as if the medieval-themed banquets might be unavoidable after all. As long as he wasn’t expected to wear tights and a jerkin...

What else? Holiday cottages, nature trails...
He thought back. It had only been this morning. How was it possible that so few hours had passed? She had left her laptop behind. He needed to take a look, see what other ideas he had dismissed. But there was definitely one more thing to add to the list.

6. Tell my agent I am willing to consider TV ideas

* * *

Her room looked just as it always did, with no inkling that its mistress
had fled. The usual jumble of scarves, the ever-increasing collection of hats. Seb stood at the door and inhaled the faint floral scent she always wore.

When had he begun to associate that smell with home?

He didn’t want her hidden away behind the discreet door, not any more. He wanted her with him; hats, scarves and whatever else she needed to make herself at home. Her rooms would make
an incredible nursery.

If she would just come back.

He stepped past the neatly made bed and into the small chamber Daisy used as an office. Her laptop still stood open and, when he tentatively touched a key, it lit up, her PowerPoint presentation still on the screen. Seb took it back to the beginning and began to read.

Shame flared again. Searing as he flicked through the slides.
She had put a lot of time into this. For him. She had only looked at comparable estates in terms of size and had got as much useful information as she could including entrance prices, numbers of staff, opening hours and affiliations to member organisations. It was invaluable data, the beginnings of a business plan right here.

He closed the file down and sat back, his chest tight. How could
he make it up to her?

Seb was about to switch the laptop off when a file caught his eye. Saved to her desktop, it was simply titled Hawksley. Was it more research? Curious, he double clicked.

More photos. Of course. A smile curved his mouth as he looked at his beloved home from Daisy’s perspective: panoramic views, detailed close-ups, the volunteers at work, the farms. All the myriad
details that made up Hawksley chronicled. She understood it as much as he did—possibly even more. She was so much more than the mother of his child, more than a fitting mistress for this huge, complicated and much-loved house.

She was perfect.

Another photo flashed up, black and white, grainy, an almost-sepia filter. It was Seb, sitting at his desk. His first instinct was to recoil,
the way he always did when faced with a candid shot, the familiar churn of horror, of violation.

But then he looked again. He was reading, his forehead furrowed; he looked tired, a little stressed. It completely encapsulated the past few months, the toil they had taken on him.

Another image, Seb again, this one in full colour. He was outside, leaning against a tractor chatting to one
of the tenant farmers. This time he looked relaxed, happy.

Another—Seb in Oxford, mid flow, gesticulating, eyes shining as he spoke. Another, another, another...

It wasn’t just Hawksley she understood, had got to the heart of. It was Seb himself.

He closed the laptop lid and sat back, images whirling about his brain. Not the ones she had captured but those images firmly stuck in
his memory. The tall, earnest girl stuck in the snow, desperate to fulfil her promise to a couple she didn’t even know. That same girl later that night, eyes half closed in ecstasy, her long limbs wrapped around him.

The look in her eyes when she told him she was pregnant. Her reaction to his proposal. Her desperate plea for him to pretend he loved her. Her need to be loved. Wanted. Appreciated.

Did he love her enough? Want her enough? Appreciate her enough?

Did he deserve her?

Seb’s hands curled into fists. He liked having her here. He liked waking up next to her, liked listening to her take on life, liked the way she brought fresh air and life into his ancient home.

He liked the way she used her camera as a shield, he liked how hard she worked, how seriously she took
each and every wedding. He liked the way she focused in on the tiniest detail and made it special.

How she made him feel special.

He liked her dress sense, the vivid shade of red lipstick. He liked how long it took her to choose the hat of the day, how that hat evoked her mood. He liked her first thing in the morning, rosy-cheeked, make-up free, hair tousled.

He liked pretty much
everything about her. He loved her.

They were supposed to be getting married in just a few days. Married. For him a business arrangement sealed with a soulless diamond solitaire. He was a fool.

He flipped open her laptop again, clicking onto her email. He needed her sister Rose’s email address. Maybe, just maybe, he could put this right. It might not be too late for him after all.

And then he would bring her home.

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘H
I
.
’

It seemed such an inadequate word. Daisy’s breath hitched as Seb came to a stop and looked at her. He was pale, his eyes looked bruised as if he hadn’t slept at all and a small, shameful thrill of victory throbbed through her.

Only to ebb with the realisation that it probably wasn’t Daisy herself he had spent the night tossing and turning over. The
publicity that calling the wedding off would cause? Probably. Losing a legitimate heir? Most definitely.

‘Hello.’

He took a step forward and stopped, as if she were a wild animal who might bolt.

It was chillier today and Daisy wrapped her arms around herself, inadequate protection against the sharp breeze blowing across the lawn.

‘How did you know I was here?’ Had her father
called him?

‘I didn’t. I tried the studio first.’

That meant what? Three hours of driving? A small, unwanted shot of hope pulsed through her. ‘I’m sorry for just taking off. I know how much you hate emotional scenes but I really needed some space.’

‘I understand.’ He swallowed, and her eyes were drawn to the strong lines of his throat. ‘I’ve been thinking myself.’

‘About what?’

‘Us. Hawksley. My parents. My job. Everything really.’

‘That’s a lot of thinking.’

‘Yes.’ His mouth quirked. Daisy tried to look away but she couldn’t, her eyes drawn to the firm lines of his jaw, the shape of his mouth.

‘Does my mother know why I left?’ Sherry had been sleeping at the castle the past week, dedicating every hour to her daughter’s wedding. How could Daisy tell
her it was all for nothing?

‘No. I just said you needed some space,’ His eyes were fixed on her with a painful intensity; she was stripped under his gaze. ‘She and Violet have gone to your studio to decorate.’

‘To what?’ What day was it? Her stomach dropped at the realisation. ‘Oh, no, the hen night. It’s supposed to be low-key.’

‘I got the sense that things may have evolved a little.
Violet was very excited about buying in some special straws?’

‘Straws?’

‘Shaped straws...anatomically shaped straws.’

‘Oh. Oh! Really? Vi has?’

‘I didn’t want to tell them they may not be needed, not until I’d spoken to you.’ His mouth curved into the familiar half smile and Daisy had to curl her fingers into a fist to stop herself from reaching out to trace its line. ‘And,
well, it’s always good to have a stock of penis straws in.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

All the things she had planned to say to him had gone clear out of her mind. Daisy had been rehearsing speeches all night but in the end it was her father’s words that echoed round and round in her mind.
When you know, you know.

She knew she loved him. Just one look at him and she was weakening,
wanted to hold him, feel his arms around her, allow him to kiss away her fears. But he wouldn’t do that, would he? No. Kisses were strictly for the bedroom.

And wonderfully, toe-curlingly delicious as they were, that wasn’t enough.

‘Seb,’ she began.

Another step and he was right before her. ‘No hat.’ His hand reached out and smoothed down her hair. ‘No lipstick.’ He ran it down
the side of her cheek, drawing one finger along her bottom lip. Daisy’s mouth parted at the caress, the tingle of his touch shivering through her.

‘I didn’t bring anything with me.’ She had raided Violet’s wardrobe first thing: jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt. Ordinary, sensible clothes. She felt naked in them; there was nothing to hide behind.

‘You’re beautiful whatever you wear.’ His
voice was husky and her knees weakened as she looked up and saw the heat in his eyes.

Her mouth dried. All she wanted to do was press her mouth to his, forget herself, forget the wedding, the baby, her doubts in the surety of his kiss. ‘I can’t.’ She put a hand out, warding him off.

‘Daisy.’ He swallowed and she steeled herself. Steeled herself against any entreaty. Steeled herself against
the knowledge that whatever he told her, however he tried to convince her there were words he would never say no matter how much she yearned to hear them.

And steeled herself not to yield regardless.

‘Will you come back with me? No—’ As she began to shake her head. ‘I don’t mean for good. I mean now. There’s something I want to show you.’

* * *

So much for all her good intentions.
But she had to return at some point didn’t she? To collect her things. To help dismantle the wedding her mother had spent three weeks lovingly putting together.

To start forgetting the jolt her heart gave as the car pulled over the hill and she saw Hawksley, proud in the distance.

Or to make up her mind to make the best of it, to keep her word, to put their baby first. Trouble was she
still didn’t know which way to turn.

To be true to her own heart or to be true to her child?

And in the end weren’t they the same thing?

Daisy started walking, no destination in mind; she just had to keep moving. Seb fell into step beside her, not touching her, the inches between them a chasm as she rounded the corner past the stables.

‘I was thinking that this end stable would
make a great studio. They’re not listed so you could do whatever you wanted for light—glass walls, anything. I know you want to carry on photographing weddings and that’s fine but if you did want to exhibit your other work we could even add a gallery.’

Was this what he wanted to show her? A way of making her career more acceptable? Her heart plummeted. ‘A gallery?’

‘Only if you wanted
to. I know how much you love weddings, but your other work is amazing too. It’s up to you.’

‘It would make a great space, it’s just...’ She faltered, unable to find the words.

‘It’s just an idea. This is your home too, Daisy. I just want you to know that I can support you too, whatever you need. The way you support me.’ He sounded sincere enough.

Yesterday those words might even
have been enough.

Her heart was so heavy it felt as if it had fallen out of her chest, shrivelled into a stone in the pit of her stomach. She had to keep moving, had to try and figure out the right thing to say. The right thing to do.

The marquee had been set up at the far end of the courtyard and curiosity pulled her there; she hadn’t seen inside since it had been decorated.

‘Wow.’
Swathes of yellow and silk covered the ceiling, creating an exotic canopy over the hardwood dance floor. Buffet tables were set up at one end, covered in yellow cloths, and benches were set around the edges.

Daisy swivelled and walked back through the tent, trying to envision it full, to see it as it would be in just forty-eight hours filled with laughter and dancing—or would it be taken
down unused?

A canvas canopy connected the marquee with the door to the Great Hall, a precaution against a rainy day. The heavy oak doors were open and she stepped through them, Seb still at her side. ‘Oh,’ she said softly as she looked around. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful.’

Daisy had seen the Great Hall in several guises. Empty save for the weight of history in each of the carved panels, the
huge old oak beams. Set up for another wedding ceremony and, later, a busy party venue. Her mother’s workspace complete with whiteboards, elaborate floorplans and forelock-tugging minions.

But she had never seen it look as it did today.

The dais at the far end was simply furnished with a white desk and chairs for the registrar, flanked on both sides by tall white urns filled with Violet’s
unmistakeable flower arrangements: classy, elegant yet with a uniquely modern twist. A heavy tapestry hung from the back wall: Seb’s coat of arms.

Facing the dais were rows of chairs, all covered in white, hand-sewn fabric daisy chains wound around their legs and backs.

A yellow carpet lay along the aisle ready for her to walk up, and more of the intricate woven daisy chains hung from
the great beams.

‘Mum has worked so hard,’ she breathed.

‘The poor staff have done three dummy runs to make sure they can get the tables set up perfectly in the hour and a half your mother has allowed for drinks, canapés and photographs—on the lawn if dry and warm enough, in the marquee if not. Everything is stacked in the back in perfect order—linens, table decorations, place settings,
crockery. Your mother should really run the country,’ Seb added, his mouth twisting into a half smile. ‘Her organisational skills and, ah, persuasive skills are extraordinary.’

‘We’ve always said that.’ Daisy stared at the room perfectly set up for the perfect wedding. For her perfect wedding.

This was what she had always wanted—she had just never known who would be standing by her side.
She had certainly never imagined a tall, slightly scruffy academic with penetrating green eyes, too-long dark hair and a title dating back four centuries.

Could she imagine it now? Standing up there making promises to Seb? Images swirled round and round, memories of the last three weeks: tender moments, passionate moments—and that remote, curt aloofness of his. Nausea rose as a stabbing pain
shot through her temples; she swayed and he leapt forward, one arm around her shoulders, guiding her to a chair.

Daisy rubbed her head, willing the pain away. ‘I’m okay. I forgot to eat breakfast.’

‘Come with me, there’s some croissants in the kitchen. And there’s something I want to show you.’

The knot in her stomach was too big, too tight, food an impossibility until she spoke
to him. But would a few more minutes of pretending that all this could be hers hurt?

‘I told you I had been doing a lot of thinking,’ he said as they stepped back into the courtyard. The wind was still sharp but the sun had come out, slanting through the grey clouds, shining onto the golden stone of the main house. Seb had a glimpse of a future, of children running in and out of the door,
games in the courtyard, dens in the wood.

If he could just convince her to stay.

‘I’ve resigned from the university.’

She came to an abrupt stop. ‘You’ve what?’

‘Resigned. I’ll still write, of course. In fact, without my academic commitments I’ll have more time to write, more time to explore other periods, other stories.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m needed here.’ But that wasn’t
all of it. ‘I love delving into the past, you know that. And I loved academia too. Because it was safe, there were rules. When I was a boy—’ he inhaled, steady against the rush of memories ‘—I just wanted to keep my head down, to do the right thing. At school, as long as you worked hard, played hard and didn’t tell tales then life was easy. I liked that. It was safe compared to the turbulence of my
parents’ existence. In a way I guess I never left school. Straight to university and then on an academic path. Everything was clear, easy. I knew exactly what I had to do, what was expected of me—until I inherited Hawksley.

‘Until I met you.’

A quiver passed through her but she didn’t speak as they walked around the house and in through the main door, towards the library, their steps
in harmony. He pushed the library door open and stood there, in the entrance.

‘I’ve made some other decisions too. I’ve spoken to my agent and asked her to investigate TV work, I’ve got an agency looking for suitable candidates to take over the estate management and kick-start an events programme and I’ve asked three architects to submit plans for converting the outbuildings.’

She did
speak then, her voice soft. ‘You’ve been very busy.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve been at a standstill. You were the one who was busy, busy looking into the future. I’ve just taken your ideas and made the next step. But I don’t want to do it alone.’

She shook her head, tears swimming in her eyes. Tears were good, right? They meant she felt something. Meant she cared.

He needed
to throw everything he had at her. Strip away the diffidence and fear and lay it all out. No matter how much it cost him to do it, the alternative was much worse.

‘Daisy, I do need you. Not just physically, although my bed has been so empty the last two nights I couldn’t sleep. But I need you to challenge me, to push me, to make me take my head out of the sand and face the future.’

‘You’d have got there on your own, eventually.’

Would he? He doubted it.

‘Seb, I can’t live in fear. I don’t like being in the papers but I accept it may happen. I can’t hide just in case some bored person snaps me. And I can’t not say what I think because you don’t like emotional outbursts. Life isn’t that tidy.’

‘I thought it could be,’ he admitted. ‘I didn’t see a middle way between
the hysterical ups and downs of my parents’ life and the formality of my grandparents. If it was a choice between sitting at opposite sides of a fifteen-foot table and making polite conversation or throwing plates and screaming then give me cold soup and a hoarse voice any day.’

‘Most families aren’t so extreme...’

‘No. No, they’re not. And I don’t want either of those for the baby.
I want it to grow up like you did, part of a happy, stable family. With two parents who love each other.’

Her eyes fell but not before he saw the hurt blaze in them. ‘You don’t have to say that. I don’t want you to lie to make me feel better.’

‘The only person I’ve been lying to was myself.’ Seb took her chin and tilted it, trying to make her see the sincerity in his eyes.

‘Love,
it’s complicated. It’s messy and emotional and difficult. I wasn’t ready for it. But then you came sauntering in with your hats and that mouth—’ his eyes dropped to her mouth, lush and full even without its usual coating of slick red ‘—your camera and your absolute belief in love. Your belief in me and in Hawksley and you turned my world upside down. And not just because of the baby.’

Her
eyes blazed blue with hope. ‘Really?’

‘I hadn’t been able to stop thinking of you since that first night,’ he told her frankly. It was all or nothing time. ‘I asked the groom who you were the next morning and he sent me a link to your website. I must have clicked onto the contact me button a dozen times. But I was afraid. Nobody had ever got under my skin like that before. And then you came
back...’