‘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.
‘Things have been a bit crazy.’ Daisy knew she sounded breathless, welcomed it. Hopefully her sister would put it down to girlish excitement not a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. ‘Rose, I have some news. I’m engaged!’
There was a long silence at the end of the phone. Then: ‘But you’re not even dating anyone. It’s not Edwin, is it? I thought you said he was dull.’
‘No, of course it’s not Edwin!’ Daisy could feel her cheeks heating. ‘We split up months ago, and he’s not dull exactly,’ she added loyally. ‘Just a little precise. It’s Seb, Sebastian Beresford, you know, Rose, he wrote that book on Charles II’s illegitimate children you loved so much.’
‘The hot professor? England’s answer to Indiana Jones?’ The shriek was so loud that Daisy was convinced Seb could hear it through the phone. ‘How on earth did you meet him, Daisy? What kind of parties are you going to nowadays? Dinner parties? Academic soirées?’ Rose laughed.
There it was, unspoken but insinuated. How could silly little Daisy with barely a qualification to her name have anything in common with a lauded academic?
‘Through work,’ she said a little stiffly. ‘He owns Hawksley Castle.’
‘Of course,’ her sister breathed. ‘Didn’t he just inherit a title? What is he, a baron?’
‘An earl.’ It sounded ludicrous just saying the words. She could feel Seb’s sardonic gaze on her and turned around so her back was entirely towards him, wishing she had gone outside to have this awkward conversation.
‘An earl?’ Rose went
off into another peal of laughter. Daisy held the phone away from her ear, waiting for her sister to calm down. ‘Seriously? This isn’t you and Vi winding me up?’
Was it that implausible? Daisy didn’t want to hear the answer.
‘It’s true.’
‘Well, I suppose I had better meet him if you’re going to marry him. I’ll be over for the Benefit Concert in about four weeks. There’s only so much I can do this side of the Atlantic. With the tour on top of everything else I am completely snowed under. I can’t cope with one more thing at the moment.’ Rose was in charge of all their parents’ PR as well as organising the annual Benefit Concert their father did for charity. His decision to take the band back on tour had added even more to her sister’s already heavy workload.
So she was going to love the last-minute changes to her plan. ‘Actually you’re going to meet him sooner than that. We’re getting married in three weeks and you have to be my bridesmaid, Rose. You will be there, won’t you?’
‘What? When? But why, Daisy? What’s the rush?’
‘No rush,’ she replied, hating that she was lying to her family. ‘We don’t want to wait, that’s all.’
There was a deep sigh at the other end of the telephone. ‘Daise, you know what you’re like. You always go all in at first. You thought you’d found The One at sixteen for goodness’ sake, and again when you were at St Martin’s. Then there was Edwin—you told me you were soulmates. Then you wake up one day and realise that they’re actually frogs, not your prince. Nice frogs—but still frogs. What makes this one different? Apart from the amazing looks, the keen brain and the title, of course.’
Daisy wanted to slide down onto the floor and stay there. Her family had always teased her about her impetuous romantic nature. But to have it recited back to her like that. It made her sound so young. So stupid.
But Rose was wrong. This wasn’t like the others. She was under no illusions that Seb was her soulmate. She wasn’t in love.
‘This is different and when you meet him you’ll understand.’ She hoped she sounded convincing—it was the truth after all.
‘Okay.’ Rose sighed. ‘If you say it’s different this time then I believe you.’
What Rose actually meant was that she would phone Vi and get her opinion and then the two of them could close ranks and sit in judgement on Daisy. Just as they always did.
‘You will be there though, won’t you, Rosy Posy?’ Daisy wheedled using the old pet name her sister affected to despise. ‘I can’t get married without you.’ Her breath hitched and she heard the break in her voice. Her sisters might be bossy and annoying and have spent most of their childhood telling her to leave them alone but they were hers. And she needed them.
‘Of course I’ll be there, silly. I’ll make the rings, my gift to you both. Send me his finger size, okay?’
‘Okay.’ Daisy clung onto the phone, wishing her sister were there, wishing she could tell her the truth.
‘I have to go. There are a million and one things to do. Talk soon. Call me if you need anything.’
‘I will. Bye.’
Daisy clicked the phone shut, oddly bereft as the connection cut. Rose had been abroad for so long—and when she did come home she worked.
‘That was my other sister.’
Seb was leaning against the wall, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. ‘I guessed.’
‘She makes rings, as a hobby although she’s so good she should do it professionally. She’s offered to make ours so I need to send your finger size over.’
She half expected him to say he wasn’t going to wear a ring and relief filled her as he nodded acquiescence. ‘Why doesn’t she—do it professionally?’
It was a good question. Why didn’t she? Daisy struggled to find the right words. ‘She’s good at PR. Mummy and Daddy have always relied on her, and on Vi, to help them. They’re so incredibly busy and it’s easier to keep it in the family, with people they trust.’ Her loving, indulgent, generous but curiously childlike parents.
‘What about you? What do you do?’
‘Me? I take photos. That’s all I’m good for. They don’t need me for anything else.’ She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
He looked her curiously. ‘That’s not the impression I got today. They were bowled over to see you, all fatted calves and tears of joy.’
‘That’s because I don’t go home enough.’ The guilt gnawed away at her. ‘I don’t involve them in my life. It drives my mum crazy as you can probably tell. She doesn’t trust me not to mess up without her.’
‘Why not?’
Daisy looked at him sharply but the question seemed genuine enough. She sighed. ‘It always took me twice as long as my sisters to do anything,’ she admitted. ‘I was a late talker, walker, reader. My handwriting was atrocious, I hated maths—I was always in trouble at school for talking or messing around.’
‘You and half the population.’
‘But half the population don’t have Rose and Violet as older sisters,’ she pointed out. ‘I don’t think I had a single teacher who didn’t ask me why I couldn’t be more like my sisters. Why my work wasn’t the same standard, my manners as good. By the time I was expelled that narrative was set in stone. I was like the family kitten—cute enough but you couldn’t expect much from me. Of course actually being expelled didn’t help.’
‘It must have been difficult.’
‘It was humiliating.’ Looking back, that was what she remembered most clearly. How utterly embarrassed she had been. ‘It was all over the papers. People were commiserating with my parents as if my life was finished. At sixteen! So Mum and Dad tried to do what they do best. Spend money on me and paper over the cracks. They offered to send me to finishing school, or for Mum to set me up with her modelling agency. I could be a socialite or a model. I wasn’t fit for anything else.’
‘But you’re not either of those things.’
‘I refused.’ She swallowed. ‘I think the worst part was that the whole family treated the whole incident like a joke. They didn’t once ask me how I felt, what I wanted to do. To be. I heard Dad say to Mum that I was never going to pass any exams anyway so did it really matter.’ She paused, trying not to let that painful memory wind her the way it usually did.
It had hurt knowing that even her own parents didn’t have faith in her.
‘I didn’t want them to fix it. I wanted to fix it myself. So I went to the local college and then art school. I left home properly in my first term and never went back. I needed to prove to them, to me, that they don’t have to take care of me.’ She laughed but there was no humour in her voice. ‘Look how well that’s turned out.’
‘I think you do just fine by yourself.’
‘Pregnant after a one-night stand?’ She shook her head. ‘Maybe they’re right.’
‘Pregnant? Yes. But you faced up to it, came here and told me, which was pretty damn brave. You’re sacrificing your own dreams for the baby. I think that makes you rather extraordinary.’
‘Oh, well.’ She shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliments. ‘I do get to be a countess and sleep with a king for social advantage after all.’
‘There is that.’ His eyes had darkened again. ‘Where were we, when your sister phoned and interrupted us?’
Daisy felt it again, that slow sensual tug towards him, the hyper awareness of his every move, the tilt of his mouth, the gleam of his eye, the play of muscle in his shoulders.
‘You were telling me about wanting to be an outlaw.’ She felt it but she wasn’t going there. Not today, not when she was in such an emotional tumult.
‘Coward.’ The word was soft, silky, full of promise. Then he straightened, the intentness gone. ‘So I was. Ready to see the rest of your home? Let’s zoom forward to the eighteenth century and start exploring
the Georgian part. I’ll warn you, there’s a lot of it. I think we’ll stick to the ground and first floors today. The second floor is largely empty and the attics have been untouched for years.’
‘Attics?’ A frisson of excitement shivered through her. As a child she had adored roaming through the attics at home, exploring chests filled with family treasures. Only there was nothing to discover in the recently renovated, perfectly decorated house. Photos sorted into date order? Yes. Tiaras dripping with diamonds or secret love letters? No. But here, in a house that epitomised history, she could find anything.
‘Would you mind if one day I had a look? In the attics?’
Seb walked towards the door and stopped, his hand on the huge iron bolt. ‘One day? I think you’ll need to put aside at least six months. My family were hoarders—I would love to catalogue it all, although I suspect much of it is junk, but there’s too much to do elsewhere. The whole house could do with some updating. I don’t know if your talents run in that direction but please, feel free to make any changes you want. As long as they’re in keeping with a grade one listed building,’ he added quickly.
‘And there I was, thinking I could paint the whole outside pink and add a concrete extension.’ But she was strangely cheered. A house with twenty bedrooms and as many reception rooms—if you included the various billiard rooms, studies and galleries—was no small project. But taking it in hand gave her a purpose, a role here. Maybe, just maybe, she could make Hawksley Castle into a home. Into her home.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘MORNING. HUNGRY?’
Seb half turned as Daisy slipped into the kitchen, tiptoeing as if she didn’t want to offend him with her presence.
‘Starving. I keep waiting for the nausea to start.’ She was almost apologetic, as if he would accuse her of being a fraud if she wasn’t doubled over with sickness. It would be easier, he admitted, if she were ill. He was after all taking it on trust that she was even pregnant in the first place, although she had offered him plenty of chances to wait for confirmation.
Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set Page 25
