Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set
Page 19
‘Just don’t go running into the woods.’ She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. The whole situation was bad enough without introducing the supernatural into it.
Besides it was Valentine’s Day. Surely the only ghosts abroad today had to be those of lovers past?
Daisy shivered again as her feet made the painful transition from wet and cold to freezing. She stamped them with as much vigour as she could muster as she thought furiously.
Why had she stayed behind to photograph the departing guests, all happily packed into mini-buses at the castle gates and whisked off to the local village where hot toddies and roaring fires awaited them? She could have left three hours ago, after the first dance and long before the snow had changed from soft flakes to a whirling mass of icy white.
But, no, she always had to take it that step further, offer that bit more than her competitors—including the blog, complete with several photographs, that she’d promised would be ready to view by midnight.
Midnight wasn’t that far away...
‘Okay.’ Her voice sounded very small in the empty darkness but talking aloud gave her a sense of normality. ‘One, I can go into the village. It’s only a couple of miles.’ Surely the walking would warm up her feet? ‘Two, I can try and scoop the worst of the snow off...’ She cast a doubtful glance at the rest of the car park. The ever heavier snowfall had obliterated her footprints; it was like standing on a thick, very cold white carpet. An ankle-deep carpet. ‘Three...’ She was out of options. Walk or scoop, that was it.
‘Three—I get you some snow chains.’
Daisy didn’t quite manage to stifle a small screech as deep masculine tones broke in on her soliloquy. She turned, almost losing her footing in her haste, and skidded straight into a fleece-clad chest.
It was firm, warm, broad. Not a ghost. Probably not a werewolf. Or a vampire. Supernatural creatures didn’t wear fleece as far as she knew.
‘Where did you come from? You frightened the life out of me.’ Daisy stepped back, scowling at her would-be rescuer. At least she hoped he was a rescuer.
‘I was just locking up. I thought all the wedding guests were long gone.’ His gaze swept over her. ‘You’re hardly dressed for this weather.’
‘I was dressed for a wedding.’ She tugged the hem of her silk dress down. ‘I’m not a guest though, I’m the photographer.’
‘Right.’ His mouth quirked into a half smile. The gesture changed his rather severe face into something much warmer. Something much more attractive. He was tall—taller than Daisy who, at nearly six feet, was used to topping most men of her acquaintance—with scruffy dark hair falling over his face.
‘Photographer or guest you probably don’t want to be hanging around here all night so I’ll get some chains and we’ll try and get this tin can of yours on the road. You really should put on some winter tyres.’
‘It’s not a tin can and there’s very little call for winter tyres in London.’
‘You’re not in London,’ he pointed out silkily.
Daisy bit her lip. He had a point and she wasn’t really in any position to argue. ‘Thank you.’
‘No worries, wouldn’t want you to freeze to death on the premises. Think of the paperwork. Talking of which, you’re shivering. Come inside and warm up. I can lend you some socks and a coat. You can’t drive home like that.’
Daisy opened her mouth to refuse and then closed it again. He didn’t seem like an axe murderer and she was getting more and more chilled by the second. If it was a choice between freezing to death and taking her chances inside she was definitely veering towards the latter. Besides... ‘What time is it?’
‘About eleven, why?’
She’d never get home in time to post the blog. ‘I don’t suppose...’ She tried her most winning smile, her cheeks aching with the cold. ‘I don’t suppose I can borrow your Wi-Fi first? There’s something I really need to do.’
‘At this time of night?’
‘It’s part of my job. It won’t take long.’ Daisy gazed up at him hoping her eyes portrayed beseeching and hopeful with a hint of professionalism, not freezing cold and pathetic. Their eyes snagged and the breath hitched in her throat.
‘I suppose you can use it while you warm up.’ The smile was still playing around his mouth and Daisy’s blood began to heat at the expression in his eyes. If he turned it up a little more she wouldn’t need a jumper and socks, her own internal system would have defrosted her quite nicely.
He held out a hand. ‘Seb, I look after this place.’
Daisy took the outstretched hand, her heart skipping a beat as their fingers touched. ‘I’m Daisy. Nice to meet you, Seb.’
He didn’t answer, reaching out and taking her bag, shouldering it with ease as he turned and began to tread gracefully through the ever thickening snow.
‘“Mark my footsteps, my good page,”’ Daisy sang under her breath as she took advantage of the pressed-down snow and hopped from one imprint to the other. Tall, dark, handsome and coming to her rescue on Valentine’s Day? It was almost too good to be true.
Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Gilmore
ISBN-13: 9781460379561
The Millionaire and the Maid
Copyright © 2015 by Michelle Douglas
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Claiming his heir!
It was the most incredible night of her life, but Daisy Huntingdon-Cross never expected to see her Valentine fling again. Except six weeks later Daisy’s world is turned upside down—she’s pregnant! She just needs to tell the father…
Yet the man she knew as “Seb” has a few revelations of his own. He’s Sebastian Beresford, Earl of Holgate—he doesn’t just work at Hawksley Castle, where they met, he owns it! And with Daisy’s news, Seb’s determined to claim his heir…starting with a wedding!
Summer Weddings
A season of confetti and whirlwind romances!
You are cordially invited to attend the
Huntingdon-Cross summer weddings.
Celebrate the shotgun marriage of
Daisy Huntingdon-Cross and Sebastian Beresford
in
Expecting the Earl’s Baby
by Jessica Gilmore
Save the date: on sale April 2015
Raise a glass to Rose Huntingdon-Cross
and Will Carter as they finally tie the knot
in
A Bride for the Runaway Groom
by Scarlet Wilson
Save the date: on sale May 2015
Join us in celebrating Violet Huntingdon-Cross
and Tom Buckley’s star-studded wedding day
in
Falling for the Bridesmaid
by Sophie Pembroke
Save the date: on sale June 2015
Dear Reader,
When my lovely editor asked me if I
wanted to take part in a Summer Weddings trilogy, and told me that I would be working with the talented Sophie Pembroke and Scarlet Wilson, I was absolutely thrilled—and a little bit daunted. But I didn’t need to worry. Writing Expecting the Earl’s Baby was a lot of fun—from the first Skype meeting to hammer out the background details to the moment I emailed my final amendments. We even managed to meet up at a writing conference along the way—plotting over wine and chocolate was a definite highlight of the writing process!
I get to kick off the trilogy with the youngest sister’s story. Daisy is fiercely independent, and desperate to prove to her talented, successful family that she’s not the silly little girl always getting into scrapes that she used to be. So when she finds out she’s pregnant the last thing she wants is for her family to find out that she’s messed up—again. Luckily the baby’s father, Seb, has a solution: marry him. After all, the perfect marriage is a business arrangement, isn’t it?
I adored writing this book—conjuring up the perfect castle and exploring the relationship between an uptight earl who thinks love is a myth and a feisty wedding photographer who dreams of her own happily-ever-after. Will she ever get there? You’ll have to read on and see!
Love
Jessica xx
Expecting the Earl’s Baby
By Jessica Gilmore
A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and seafront trader, Jessica Gilmore now works for an environmental charity in York. Married with one daughter, one fluffy dog and two dog-loathing cats, she spends her time avoiding housework and can usually be found with her nose in a book. Jessica writes emotional romance with a hint of humor, a splash of sunshine and a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes.
Books by Jessica Gilmore
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE
The Return of Mrs. Jones
Summer with the Millionaire
His Reluctant Cinderella
The Heiress’s Secret Baby
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles
For Carla
A book about sisters, for my sister
Love Jessica x
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT
PROLOGUE
‘OH, NO!’
Daisy Huntingdon-Cross skidded to a halt on the icy surface and regarded her car with dismay.
No, dismay was for a dropped coffee or spilling red wine on a white T-shirt. Her chest began to thump as panic escalated. This, Daisy thought as she stared at the wall of snow surrounding her suddenly flimsy-seeming tyres, this was a catastrophe.
The snow, which had fallen all afternoon and evening, might have made a picturesque background for the wedding photos she had spent the past twelve hours taking, but it had begun to drift—and right now it was packed in tightly around her tyres. Her lovely, bright, quirky little city car, perfect for zooming around London in, was, she was rapidly realising, horribly vulnerable in heavy snow and icy conditions.
Daisy carefully shifted her heavy bag to her other shoulder and looked around. It was the only car in the car park.
In fact, she was the only person in the car park. No, scratch that, she was possibly the only person in the whole castle. A shiver ran down her spine, not entirely as a result of the increasing cold and the snow seeping through her very inadequate brogues. Hawksley Castle was a wonderfully romantic venue in daylight and when it was lit up at night. But when you were standing underneath the parapets, the great tower a craggy, shadowy silhouette looming above you and the only light a tepid glow from the lamp at the edge of the car park it wasn’t so much romantic, more the setting for every horror film she had ever seen.
‘Just don’t go running into the woods.’ She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. The whole situation was bad enough without introducing the supernatural into it.
Besides it was Valentine’s Day. Surely the only ghosts abroad today had to be those of lovers past?
Daisy shivered again as her feet made the painful transition from wet and cold to freezing. She stamped them with as much vigour as she could muster as she thought furiously.
Why had she stayed behind to photograph the departing guests, all happily packed into mini-buses at the castle gates and whisked off to the local village where hot toddies and roaring fires awaited them? She could have left three hours ago, after the first dance and long before the snow had changed from soft flakes to a whirling mass of icy white.
But, no, she always had to take it that step further, offer that bit more than her competitors—including the blog, complete with several photographs, that she’d promised would be ready to view by midnight.
Midnight wasn’t that far away...
‘Okay.’ Her voice sounded very small in the empty darkness but talking aloud gave her a sense of normality. ‘One, I can go into the village. It’s only a couple of miles.’ Surely the walking would warm up her feet? ‘Two, I can try and scoop the worst of the snow off...’ She cast a doubtful glance at the rest of the car park. The ever heavier snowfall had obliterated her footprints; it was like standing on a thick, very cold white carpet. An ankle-deep carpet. ‘Three...’ She was out of options. Walk or scoop, that was it.
‘Three—I get you some snow chains.’
Daisy didn’t quite manage to stifle a small screech as deep masculine tones broke in on her soliloquy. She turned, almost losing her footing in her haste, and skidded straight into a fleece-clad chest.
It was firm, warm, broad. Not a ghost. Probably not a werewolf. Or a vampire. Supernatural creatures didn’t wear fleece as far as she knew.
‘Where did you come from? You frightened the life out of me.’ Daisy stepped back, scowling at her would-be rescuer. At least she hoped he was a rescuer.
‘I was just locking up. I thought all the wedding guests were long gone.’ His gaze swept over her. ‘You’re hardly dressed for this weather.’
‘I was dressed for a wedding.’ She tugged the hem of her silk dress down. ‘I’m not a guest though, I’m the photographer.’
‘Right.’ His mouth quirked into a half smile. The gesture changed his rather severe face into something much warmer. Something much more attractive. He was tall—taller than Daisy who, at nearly six feet, was used to topping most men of her acquaintance—with scruffy dark hair falling over his face.
‘Photographer or guest you probably don’t want to be hanging around here all night so I’ll get some chains and we’ll try and get this tin can of yours on the road. You really should put on some winter tyres.’
‘It’s not a tin can and there’s very little call for winter tyres in London.’
‘You’re not in London,’ he pointed out silkily.
Daisy bit her lip. He had a point and she wasn’t really in any position to argue. ‘Thank you.’
‘No worries, wouldn’t want you to freeze to death on the premises. Think of the paperwork. Talking of which, you’re shivering. Come inside and warm up. I can lend you some socks and a coat. You can’t drive home like that.’
Daisy opened her mouth to refuse and then closed it again. He didn’t seem like an axe murderer and she was getting more and more chilled by the second. If it was a choice between freezing to death and taking her chances inside she was definitely veering towards the latter. Besides... ‘What time is it?’
‘About eleven, why?’
She’d never get home in time to post the blog. ‘I don’t suppose...’ She tried her most winning smile, her c
heeks aching with the cold. ‘I don’t suppose I can borrow your Wi-Fi first? There’s something I really need to do.’
‘At this time of night?’
‘It’s part of my job. It won’t take long.’ Daisy gazed up at him hoping her eyes portrayed beseeching and hopeful with a hint of professionalism, not freezing cold and pathetic. Their eyes snagged and the breath hitched in her throat.
‘I suppose you can use it while you warm up.’ The smile was still playing around his mouth and Daisy’s blood began to heat at the expression in his eyes. If he turned it up a little more she wouldn’t need a jumper and socks, her own internal system would have defrosted her quite nicely.
He held out a hand. ‘Seb, I look after this place.’
Daisy took the outstretched hand, her heart skipping a beat as their fingers touched. ‘I’m Daisy. Nice to meet you, Seb.’
He didn’t answer, reaching out and taking her bag, shouldering it with ease as he turned and began to tread gracefully through the ever thickening snow.
‘“Mark my footsteps, my good page,”’ Daisy sang under her breath as she took advantage of the pressed-down snow and hopped from one imprint to the other. Tall, dark, handsome and coming to her rescue on Valentine’s Day? It was almost too good to be true.
CHAPTER ONE
Six weeks later...
DÉJÀ-VU RIPPLED DOWN Daisy’s spine as she rounded the path. It was all so familiar and yet so different.
The last time she had been at Hawksley the castle and grounds had been covered in snow, a fantasy winter wonderland straight out of a historical film. Today the courtyard lawn was the pale green of spring, crocuses and primroses peeking out at the unseasonably warm sun. The old Norman keep rose majestically on her left, the thick grey stone buttresses looking much as they must have looked nearly one thousand years ago, a stark contrast to ye olde charm of the three-storey Tudor home attached to it at right angles.