Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set

by Michelle Douglas, Jessica Gilmore, Jennifer Faye

  ‘Yep, I did the engagement shoot here. Ah, here we go.’ She stopped, a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Seb. Look at it. Isn’t it utterly perfect?’

  Seb came to a halt and stared. Where was the hotel? Or barn? A barn would be nice and cosy. Cosier than open canvas at least. ‘They must be crazy? An outdoor wedding in April?’

  ‘It’s not outdoors!’

  ‘It’s in a tent.’

  ‘It’s a tepee.’

  ‘You say tent, I say tepee.’

  Daisy ignored him as he hummed the words, a chill running through him as the next line of the song ran through his head.

  There was no calling the whole thing off now, not easily. It had escalated far beyond his wildest imaginings: a guest list of over two hundred not including the evening guests, dresses, button holes, hog roasts, centrepieces, cravats—Sherry’s determination and vision taking it to a level neither Seb nor Daisy had wanted or sanctioned.

  Did he want to call it off? He still wanted to marry Daisy; it was still the most sensible solution. But this circus his life was becoming was out of control. His peaceful Oxford existence seemed further and further away.

  Although that wasn’t Daisy’s fault. Running Hawksley was more than a full-time job and not one he was finding it easy to delegate no matter how much he missed his old life.

  ‘Oh, that’s perfect.’ Daisy’s voice broke in on his thoughts and he pushed them to one side. He couldn’t change anything—including the wedding. He owed her that much.

  Daisy was lost in a world of her own. It was fascinating to watch her pace, focus, move again as she looked at the scene before her, crouching down to check angles and squinting against the light. No insouciance, no hesitation, just quietly in control.

  Seb moved with her, trying to see with her, picture what she pictured. The path opened out into a woodland glade, which had been decorated with cheerful bunting and swaying glass lanterns. In the middle of the glade the huge canvas tepee stood opened up on three sides to the elements—although Daisy promised there were covers ready to be fastened on if April proved true to its name and christened the wedding with showers.

  A wooden floor had been laid and trestle tables and benches ran down the sides, the middle left bare for dancing. A stage held the tables covered with food for the buffet; later food would be switched for the band. Two smaller tents were pitched to one side, one holding the bar and the other a chill-out area complete with beanbags.

  On the other side a gazebo was pitched, the table inside heaped with a variety of wigs, hats, waistcoats and other props. A large frame hung from the tree beside it. This was to be Seb’s workspace for his first—and hopefully last—foray into professional photography.

  He had never been to a wedding like this before and something about its raw honesty unsettled him; it was a little Bohemian, a touch homespun with its carefully carefree vibe.

  ‘Look at these colours. Their friends and family supplied the food in lieu of presents. Don’t you think that’s lovely? Everyone made something.’ Daisy was over at the buffet table, camera out, focusing on a rich-looking salad of vibrant green leaves, red pomegranate seeds and juicy oranges.

  ‘It depends on their cooking skills.’ If Seb asked his friends and colleagues to bring a dish they would buy something from a local deli, not spend time and love creating it themselves. He looked at a plate of slightly lumpy cakes, the icing uneven, and a hollow feeling opened up in his chest.

  Someone had lavished care and attention on those cakes, making up with enthusiasm for what they lacked in skill. That was worth more than clicking on an item on a wedding list or writing a cheque.

  Daisy looked up at a rustle and relaxed again as a bird rose out of a tree. ‘Tell me as soon as you hear anybody. I want to capture their faces as they walk in.’ The guests were being brought to the woodland by coach via a drinks reception at the local pub, the place where the bride and groom had first met.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be sitting down and maybe eating something while there’s a lull?’ But she didn’t hear him, lost in a world of her own.

  ‘Look, Seb,’ she said softly, and he did, trying to see what she saw as she zoomed in on the brightly patterned bunting that bedecked the inside of the tent as well as the glade.

  ‘These are the touches that make this wedding so special. Did you know that Ella and her friends made the bunting during her hen party? And look at these.’ The camera moved to focus in on one of the paintings propped up on the small easels that were the centrepiece on each table. ‘Rufus painted these, a different tree for each table—oak, laurel, ash, apple, all native species. Aren’t they gorgeous?’

  Studying one of the confident line drawings, Seb had to admit that they were. ‘He’s very talented.’

  ‘Even the wedding favours are home-made. Ella spent her first day off work making the fudge, and her gran embroidered the bags. Look, they all have a name on. One for each guest.’

  ‘It must have taken months.’ Seb kept pace with her as she wandered.

  ‘It did. This wedding is a real labour of love. Even the venue belongs to one of their friends.’

  The contrast with their impending nuptials couldn’t be starker.

  But theirs wasn’t a labour of love. It was a convenient compromise. Mutually beneficial. Maybe it was better to have the glitz and the glamour so lovingly lavished upon them by Sherry Huntingdon. Anything as heartfelt as this wedding, any one of the myriad tiny, loving, personal touches would be completely out of place at his wedding. Would be a lie.

  * * *

  ‘Admit it, you had fun.’ Daisy threw herself into her favourite rocking chair, grateful for the warmth and the cushion supporting her aching back. She crooned to Monty as he padded over to lay his head in her lap. He was already her most faithful friend much to Seb’s much-voiced disgust, possibly because she was not averse to sneaking him titbits from her plate.

  ‘I’m not sure fun is the right word.’ Seb filled the kettle and stifled a yawn. ‘I always said your schedule was crazy but it’s more than that, it’s downright gruelling.’ But there was respect in his voice and it warmed her. She was well aware of his opinion about her job.

  And he was right, it was gruelling, somehow even more so in a small intimate setting like today’s woodland scene. Gruelling and odd, being part of someone’s wedding, integral to it and yet not connected. A stranger. As the afternoon faded to evening and the guests drank more, ate more, danced and the mood shifted into party atmosphere the gap between the help and the guests widened. There were times it was almost voyeuristic watching the interactions from the sidelines. It had been nice to have company today.

  She really should get an assistant and not just because of her pregnancy.

  ‘I would normally be the first to suggest you rest but don’t you have a blog to write? If it’s not up before midnight the world shifts on its axis and Cupid dies?’ He held up a ginger teabag for her approval. Daisy considered it without enthusiasm before pulling a face and agreeing.

  She shifted in the chair, pulling her feet under her, and began to pull at Monty’s long, soft ears. He gave a small throaty groan and moved closer. ‘Did it in the car. It’s amazing, home before midnight and job done, for today at least.’

  She looked over at her bag, the cameras loaded with images. ‘Tomorrow however is most definitely another day. I promised them thirty images before they go away on honeymoon. Still, I feel much better than I thought I would. I don’t suppose you would consider a permanent career as bag carrier and chauffeur—and photo-booth operator?’ She smiled, a sly note creeping into her voice. ‘You were quite a hit. Some of the women went back to have their photo taken again and again.’

  ‘How do you know? I still can’t believe it took an hour and a half to take those woodland shots. I think you went for a nap somewhere leaving me to do all the wo
rk.’

  ‘Oh, I was. Curled up in a pile of leaves like Hansel and Gretel while woodland birds sang me to sleep and squirrels brought me nuts. And I know because the sexy photographer was quite the topic of conversation—and I don’t think they meant me!’

  ‘Jealous?’

  Daisy didn’t answer for a moment, focusing all her attention on Monty as she scratched behind his ears, the spaniel leaning against her blissfully. ‘A little, actually.’ She still couldn’t look at him as she chose her next words carefully. ‘There was a little bit of me that wanted to tell them that you weren’t available, that you were mine.’ She looked up.

  Seb froze, his eyes fixed on her.

  The blood was pounding hard in her ears, like a river in full flood. What had she said that for? Not even married and already she was pushing too hard, wanting too much. ‘Which is silly because you’re not,’ she back-pedalled, desperately wanting to make light of the words. ‘Maybe it’s pregnancy hormones not wanting my baby’s hunter gatherer to shack up in someone else’s cave.’ She made herself hold his gaze, made herself smile although it felt unnatural.

  ‘I have no intention of shacking up in anyone’s cave.’ She winced at the horror in his voice and his face softened. ‘I promised you, Daisy, I promised you that if you married me I would be in this completely.’ He paused and she held her breath, waiting for the inevitable caveat. ‘As much as I can be.’ There it was. Known, expected. Yet it still hurt.

  And she didn’t want to dwell on why. Maybe she was beginning to believe their fantasy a little too much, fool that she was.

  ‘But there will be nobody else, you have no reason to worry on that score.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She exhaled, a low painful breath. ‘It’s just difficult, the difference between the public and the private. I know I asked you to pretend but I admit I didn’t realise it would be so hard.’

  ‘Why?’ He hadn’t moved.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why are we pretending? Why don’t you want to be honest?’

  Her eyes flickered back to Monty and she focused on the fuzzy top of his head, drawing each ear lovingly through her hands, trying to think of a way to explain that wouldn’t make her sound too pathetic. ‘It’s a bit of a family joke, that I’m always falling in and out of love, that I’m a hopeless romantic. Even when I was a little girl I knew that I wanted to get married, to have children. But I wanted more than just settling down. I wanted what Mum and Dad have.’

  ‘They’re one in a million, Daisy.’ Ouch, there it was. Pity.

  ‘Maybe, but I know it’s possible. It’s not that they wouldn’t understand us marrying for the baby, wouldn’t be supportive. But they’d know I was giving up on my dream. I don’t want to do that to them.’ She paused then looked straight at him. ‘As well as to myself.

  ‘All my parents want is for me to be happy. They don’t ask for anything more than that. When I was photographed and expelled they were disappointed, of course they were, although they didn’t yell or punish me—but they weren’t surprised either. They knew I’d mess up, somehow. And now I’ve messed up again. I was so determined to do it right, to show them I could cope on my own.’

  ‘I think you are being hard on yourself—and on them,’ he added unexpectedly. ‘They adore you. Do you know how lucky you are to have that? People who care about you? Who only want you to be happy?’

  All Daisy could do was stare at him in shock. ‘I...’ she began but he cut her off.

  ‘I agree, lying to your family is wrong and I wish I had never agreed—but do you know what I fear? That you’re right, that if you tell them the truth then they will stop you, they will show you that with a family like yours there is no way in hell you have to shackle yourself to me, that you and the baby will be fine, that you won’t need me.’

  ‘No, you’re the baby’s father and nothing will change that. Of course the baby will need you.’ There was so much she didn’t know, so much that she feared—but of this she was convinced.

  She could need him too. If she allowed herself. Today had been almost perfect: help, support, wordless communication. But she knew it was a one-off. She had to train herself to enjoy these days when they came—and to never expect them.

  ‘I hope so.’ His smile was crooked. ‘As for the rest, Daisy, you messed up at sixteen. Big deal. At least you learned from it, got on with your life, made something of yourself. You’re not the only member of your family—or mine—to have dominated the headlines. Both your sisters spent their time on the front covers and they were older than you.’

  ‘I know.’ Could she admit it to him? The guilt she never allowed herself to articulate to anyone? Not even herself. ‘But Violet was set up. Horribly and cruelly and callously set up and betrayed—and I don’t think it is a coincidence that it wasn’t long after everything that happened to me. I often wondered.’ She paused. ‘I think it was because of me. I had dropped out of the headlines so they went after my sister. And they destroyed her.’

  ‘It’s because of who your parents are, simple as that. You’re all wealthy and beautiful.’ A shiver went through her at the desire in his eyes as he said the last word. ‘You’re connected. People love that stuff. That’s why we have to be careful, not a breath of scandal. Or they’ll never leave us alone.’

  Daisy knew how deadly publicity could be, had experienced the painful sting firsthand, watched one sister flee the country and the other hide herself away. Had done her best to stay under the parapet for the last eight years. But she didn’t have the visceral fear Seb had.

  He was right, they couldn’t allow their child to grow up under the same cloud. Which meant she had to stick to their agreement. A civilised, businesslike, emotion-free marriage. She had to grow up.

  ‘What are you thinking, Daisy?’ His voice was low and the green eyes so dark they were almost black.

  ‘That you’re right. That I can do this.’

  His mouth quirked into that devastating half smile and Daisy’s breath hitched. ‘Marriage is going to be a lot easier than I imagined if you’re going to keep on thinking I’m right.’

  Her chin tilted. ‘This is a one-off, not carte blanche.’

  His slow grin was a challenge. ‘Just how right am I?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ But she knew. She knew by the way it was suddenly hard to get her breath. She knew by the way his voice had thickened. She knew by the way his eyes were fixed on hers. She knew by the heat swirling in her stomach, the anticipation fizzing along her skin.

  She knew because they had been here before.

  The memory of that night was impressed on each and every nerve ending and they heated up in anticipation, the knowledge of every kiss, every touch imprinted there, wanting, needing a replay.

  ‘How in are you, Daisy?’ His meaning was unmistakeable.

  The heat was swirling round her entire body, a haze of need making it hard to think. They were going to get married, were going to raise a child, make a life together. They had every right to take that final step. Every need.

  So he didn’t love her? That hadn’t mattered before, had it? A mutual attraction combined with champagne and the bittersweet comedown she always experienced after a wedding had been enough.

  And it wasn’t as if she were foolish enough to go falling in love with someone after just one week, someone who made it very, very clear that love was always going to be a step too far.

  He didn’t love her. But he wanted her. The rigidity of his pose, his hands curled into loose fists, the intensity of his gaze told her that. Every instinct told her that.

  And, oh, she wanted him. She had tried to fight it, hide it, but she did. The line of his jaw, the way he held his hands, the dark hair brushed carelessly back, the amused glint that lit up the green eyes and softened the austere features.

  The way each accide
ntal touch burned through her, every look shot through to her core.

  And, dear God, his mouth. Her eyes moved there and lingered. Well cut, firm, capable. She wanted to lick her way along the jaw, kiss the pulse in his neck and move up to nibble her way along his lips. She wanted to taste him. For him to taste her. To consume her.

  The heat intensified, burning as her breasts ached and the pull in her body made the distance, any distance unbearable.

  There was nothing to stop her. They were going to be married. It was practically her right to touch him. To be touched.

  It was definitely her right to kiss him.

  And just because she had been fixated on romance in the past didn’t mean she had to be in the future. After all, look how quickly she tumbled out of love, disillusioned and disappointed.

  There was a lot to be said for a businesslike, respectful marriage. Especially marriage with benefits.

  She swallowed, desperate for moisture.

  ‘Daisy?’ It was more of a command than a question and she was tired. Tired of fighting the attraction that burned between them, tired of being afraid to take it on.

  She stood up, slowly, allowing her body to stretch out, knowing how his eyes lingered on her legs, up her body, rested on her breasts sharply outlined by her stretch. She saw him swallow.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said, turning towards the door. She paused, looked back. ‘Joining me?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE CUP TILTED as Seb nudged Daisy’s door open and he hastily righted it before the lurid green mixture slopped onto the threadbare but valuable nineteenth-century runner. The tea was supposed to be completely natural but he’d never seen anything that resembled that particular green in nature.

  He didn’t wait for an answer but opened the door. ‘Daisy? Tea.’

  Luckily the nausea of last week had yet to grow into anything more debilitating but Daisy still found the first hour of the day difficult. A cup of something hot helped although replacing her beloved caffeine was still proving problematic. She was going to run out of new flavours of herbal tea to try soon.