Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set

by Michelle Douglas, Jessica Gilmore, Jennifer Faye

  And so she wouldn’t dwell on the way her stomach lurched every time he looked directly at her, on the way her skin fizzed at every causal touch. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about how he made her feel smart as well as sexy. As if she counted.

  Because that way lay madness and regret. That way led to revelations she wasn’t ready to face. That way led to emotions and maybe Seb was right. Maybe emotions were too high a price to pay. Maybe stability was what mattered.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Daisy started as she heard the slightly irritable voice. She bit back a near hysterical giggle. Think of the devil and he will come.

  ‘I’ve been looking everywhere. Your mother is worried. Says she hasn’t seen you all morning and that you look tired.’ His gaze was intent, as if he were searching out every shadow in her face. In her soul.

  ‘I just couldn’t face any more in-depth discussions about whether as Violet’s best friend Will should count as her date, or if Vi and Rose should have the same hairstyle so I came out for some air.’ It wasn’t a total lie. The nearer the wedding got, the more she wanted to run. Funny to think that once she had planned for this, thought all these tiny details mattered.

  Now she just wanted it over and done with.

  ‘Some air?’ Seb bit back a smile. ‘You’re almost at the edge of the estate. I couldn’t believe it when Paul said he’d seen you walk this way.’

  ‘I like it down here. It’s peaceful.’ The river wound around the bottom of the wooded valley, Hawksley invisible on the other side of the hill. Here she was alone, away from the fears and the worries and the nerves.

  ‘It used to be one of my favourite places when I was younger. There’s a swimming spot just around that bend.’

  ‘Shh! Look!’ Daisy grabbed his arm and pointed. ‘There’s another one. Do you think they’re mates? Do otters live in pairs?’ She dropped his arm to pull her camera back up, focusing and clicking over and over.

  ‘Not European otters.’ Seb spoke in a low even tone as they watched the pair duck and dive, their sinewy bodies weaving round each other in an underwater dance. ‘They’re very territorial so I think we might be lucky enough to see a mating pair—in two months’ time there could be cubs. They actually mate underwater.’

  ‘It looks like she’s trying to get away.’

  ‘The dog otters often have to chase the females until she agrees.’

  ‘Typical males!’

  They stood there for a few minutes more, almost unable to breathe trying not to alert the couple to their presence until, at last, the female otter took off around the bend in the river doggedly pursued by the male and the pair were lost from sight.

  ‘That was incredible.’ Daisy turned to Seb. His eyes reflected her own awe and wonderment, the same incredulous excitement. ‘I can’t believe we were lucky enough to witness that.’

  ‘Do you think he’s caught her?’

  She tossed her head. ‘Only if she wants him to. But I hope she did. What a project that would make—documenting the mating dance right through to the cubs maturing.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were into nature photography?’

  His words brought back the look of utter incomprehension on his publisher’s face. Nature photography, high fashion, art—they were intellectual pursuits, worthy. Weddings, romance? They just didn’t cut it.

  ‘I’m into anything wonderful, anything beautiful.’ She turned away, a mixture of vulnerability and anger replacing the excitement, then turned back again to face him, to challenge him. ‘What, you thought I was too shallow to appreciate nature?’

  He gripped her shoulders, turning her to face him, eyes sparkling with anger of his own. ‘Don’t put words into my mouth, Daisy.’

  ‘But that’s what you meant, wasn’t it?’ She twisted away from his touch, acidic rage, corrosive and damaging, churning her stomach. ‘A nature photographer wife would be so much more fitting for you than a wedding photographer. So much more intellectual than silly, frivolous romance.’

  ‘How on earth did you reach that crazy conclusion? This has nothing to do with me.’ Seb dropped his hands, stepped back, mouth open in disbelief. ‘It’s to do with you. Why do you always do this? Assume everyone else thinks the worst of you? The only person who puts you down, Daisy Huntingdon-Cross, is you. Photograph babies or weddings or cats or otters. I don’t care. But don’t take all your insecurities and fasten them on me. I won’t play.’

  ‘Why? Because that would mean getting involved?’ Daisy knew she was making no sense, knew she was stirring up emotions and feelings that didn’t need to be disturbed. That she was almost creating conflict for the sake of it. But she couldn’t stop. ‘God forbid that the high and mighty Earl of Holgate actually feel something. Have an opinion on another person.’

  Seb took another step back, his mouth set firm, his eyes hard. ‘I won’t do this, Daisy. Not here, not now, not ever. I told you, this is not how I will live. If you want to fight, go pick a quarrel with your mother but don’t try and pick one with me.’

  Daisy trembled, the effort of holding the words in almost too much. But through the tumult and silent rage another emotion churned. Shame. Because Seb was right. She was trying to pick a quarrel, trying to see if she could get him to react.

  And he was right about something else. She was fastening her own insecurities on him. He was very upfront about her job; he mocked it, laughed at it but he had supported her when she’d needed it. And he might think weddings frivolous but he had commented on some of her photos, praised the composition.

  ‘I was being unfair.’ The words were so soft she wasn’t sure if she had actually said them aloud. ‘I don’t know if it’s the stress of the wedding or pregnancy hormones or lack of sleep. But I’m sorry. For trying to provoke you.’

  He froze, a wary look on his face. ‘You are?’

  Her mouth curved into a half smile. ‘I grew up with two sisters, you know. This is how we operated—attack first.’

  ‘Sounds deadly.’ But the hard look in his eyes had softened. ‘Are you ready to walk back? If you’re very lucky I’ll show you where I used to build my den.’

  Daisy recognised the conciliatory note for what it was and accepted the tacit peace offering. ‘That sounds cool. We had treehouses but they were constructed for us, no makeshift dens for us.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ His tone was dry. Whatever he was imagining probably wouldn’t be too far from the truth. They had each had their own, ornate balconied structures constructed around some of the grand old oaks in Huntingdon Hall’s parkland.

  They strode along, Seb pointing out objects of interest as Daisy zoomed in on some of the early signs of spring budding through the waking woodland. The conversation was calm, non-consequential, neither of them alluding to the brief altercation.

  And yet, Daisy couldn’t help thinking, he had been the first to react. Immediate and unmistakeable anger. In his eyes, in his voice, in the grip on her shoulders, in his words. She had got to him whether he admitted it or not. Was that a good thing? A breakthrough?

  She had no idea. But it was proof that he felt something. What that actually was remained to be seen but right now she would take whatever she could get.

  Because it meant hope.

  * * *

  ‘These are really good, Daisy.’

  ‘Mmm.’ But she sounded critical as she continued to swipe through the files. Seb had no idea why. Whether the pictures were colour or black and white she had completely captured the otters’ essence. Watching the photos in their natural order was like being told a story.

  She obviously felt about her photos the way he felt about his words—no matter how you tinkered and played and edited they could always be better.

  Daisy pulled a face and deleted a close-up that looked perfect to him. ‘What I need down there is a proper hide. P
referably one with cushions and a loo.’

  It would be the perfect spot. ‘I did consider putting in a nature trail, but it means more people coming onto the land.’

  ‘And that’s a problem, why?’ She looked up from the laptop, her gaze questioning.

  He bit back the surge of irritation, trying to keep his voice even. ‘This is my home, Daisy. How would you like people traipsing all over Huntingdon Hall at all times of the day?’

  She leant back, the blue eyes still fixed on him. ‘We often open up the hall. Mum and Dad host charity galas and traditionally the hall is the venue for the village fete plus whatever else the village wants to celebrate—and there’s always something. Besides, yes, they do own some parkland and the gardens are huge by nearly anyone else’s standards but it doesn’t even begin to compare to Hawksley. Don’t you think you’re a bit selfish keeping it locked up?’

  Selfish? Words were Seb’s trade—and right now he had lost his tools. All he could do was stare at her, utterly nonplussed. ‘I let people look around the castle.’

  She wrinkled her nose and quoted: ‘“Restricted areas of the house are available to members of the public from eleven a.m. until three p.m., weekends only between Whitsun and September the first.”’

  Okay, the hours were a little restrictive. ‘I hire out the Great Hall.’

  ‘Saturdays only. And you don’t allow anyone else onto the estate apart from the villagers and your tenants.’

  His defensive hackles rose as she continued. It was as if she had looked into all his worries and was gradually exhuming each one. ‘That’s how we’ve always done things.’ An inadequate response, he knew, but until he made some difficult decisions it was all he had.

  ‘I know.’ She looked as if she wanted to continue but instead closed her mouth with a snap, continuing to flick through the photos.

  ‘But?’ he prompted.

  ‘But things are different now. You need to start running the estate as a commercial enterprise, not as a gentleman’s hobby.’

  Ouch. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing these last few months?’ he demanded. ‘Research? I have barely touched my book. I’ve been doing my damnedest to try and get all the farming grants I can...’

  ‘That’s not going to be enough.’ She bit her lip and looked down at her screen, clearly thinking hard about something. ‘I didn’t want to show you this until I had done more work on it. It’s not ready yet.’

  ‘Show me what?’ Wariness skittered down his spine.

  She clicked on the screen and swivelled the laptop round so he could see the screen.

  Seb had expected a photo. Instead a formatted slide complete with bullet points faced him. He raised an eyebrow. ‘PowerPoint?’

  Daisy coloured. ‘I know it’s a little OTT but I couldn’t think how else to order it.’

  ‘Go on, then. Amaze me.’ He knew he sounded dismissive but, honestly, what on earth could a wedding photographer who was expelled from school at sixteen contribute to the ongoing Hawksley struggle that he hadn’t considered? But, he conceded, if this was going to be her home he should at least listen to whatever crackpot ideas she had dreamed up.

  She chewed on her lip for a moment, looking at him doubtfully before taking a deep breath and pointing one slim finger at the screen.

  ‘Okay.’ She slid him a nervy glance. ‘I want you to have an open mind, okay?’

  He nodded curtly even as he felt his barriers go up.

  ‘This is Chesterfield Manor. The house, grounds and estate are a similar size to Hawksley. Chesterfield Manor has been open to the public for the last fifteen years. They specialise in outdoor trails and natural play.’ She sounded self-conscious, as if she were reading from a script.

  ‘An insurance nightmare.’

  ‘This one...’ The slide showed a magnificent Tudor house. ‘This is known for productions of plays, especially Shakespeare and they also do themed medieval banquets.’

  ‘In costume? Tell me you aren’t serious!’

  Daisy didn’t reply, just carried on showing him slide after slide of stately homes spread throughout the UK ranging from a perfectly preserved Norman Castle to a nineteenth-century gothic folly, her manner relaxing as she settled into the presentation, pointing out all the various ways they attracted paying visitors.

  Seb’s heart picked up speed as he looked at each slide, hammering so hard it rivalled the tick of the old grandfather clock in the hallway.

  Everything she was showing him he had considered. Every conclusion she had drawn he had already drawn—and rejected. Too risky, not in keeping. A betrayal of his grandfather’s already squandered legacy.

  Risks and spending money without thought of the consequences had almost broken Hawksley once.

  Allowing the cameras into their home had just fuelled his parents’ narcissism, and greed.

  He couldn’t go down that road. Didn’t she understand that?

  He had thought she understood.

  He had obviously been very wrong...

  Seb took in a deep breath, stilling his escalating pulse, and sat back and folded his arms. ‘So people like stately homes.’

  ‘Hawksley has two things none of these have.’ She waited expectantly.

  He sighed. ‘Which are?’

  ‘Its utterly unique appearance—and you. An eminent historian in situ right here. Look, I’ve been talking to Paul...’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You have been busy.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘The farms pay for themselves, the village pays for itself—but the castle is in deficit. You can apply for as many grants as you like but that’s not going to fix the roof and certainly won’t replace the money your father squandered. The income from the trust used to pay for all the castle’s bills and living expenses for the earl and his family—right now you’d find it hard to replace the toaster.’

  It was an exaggeration but his gut tightened at her words. Did she think he didn’t know this? Didn’t lie awake night after night thinking of every which way he could solve it?

  ‘But, Seb, there are so many ways we could use the castle to generate the income it needs. Start using the keep, as well as the hall, for weddings and parties too—erect a wooden and canvas inner structure inside the walls just like they did at Bexley. Hold plays, open all week Easter to September and weekends out of season. Have a Christmas open house.’ She hesitated. ‘Allow tours of the main house.’

  Seb’s chest tightened at the very thought of strangers wandering around his house. ‘No!’

  She hurried on. ‘I don’t mean open access but “pay in advance and reserve your place” tours. Put in a farm shop and nature trails and play parks. We could convert some of the outbuildings into holiday cottages and bridal accommodation.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘There’s some capital left.’

  He stared. ‘You want me to gamble what’s left, finish what my father started?’

  ‘Not gamble, invest.’

  ‘Meanwhile I’m what? A performing earl, the public face of Hawksley, like some medieval lord of the manor...’

  ‘You are the lord of the manor.’

  ‘It’s all about publicity with you, isn’t it? You say you don’t want it but you can’t see any way but the obvious—photos and newspapers and the public.’

  ‘No.’ She was on her feet. ‘But with a place like Hawksley the right kind of publicity is a blessing.’

  ‘There is no such thing as the right publicity.’

  She stared at him. ‘Come on, Seb, you know that’s not true. Look at your books!’

  ‘They’re work, this is my home.’ His voice was tight.

  Daisy bit her lip, her eyes troubled. ‘You can’t see past your fears. You are so determined to do things your way you won’t even consider any altern
atives!’

  His mouth curled in disgust. ‘Is this about those damned TV lectures?’

  ‘They would be a great start.’

  Bitterness coated his mouth. ‘I thought you understood.’

  ‘I do. But you want me to marry you, to give you an heir. An heir to what? To worry? To debt? To fear? Or to a thriving business and a home with history—and a roof that doesn’t leak?’

  He pushed his chair back and stumbled to his feet. ‘Hawksley is mine, Daisy. Mine! I will sort this out and make it right.’

  Her eyes were huge. ‘I don’t get any say?’

  That wasn’t what he meant and she knew it. ‘Stop twisting my words and stop creating drama.’

  But she wasn’t backing down. He didn’t know her eyes could burn so brightly. ‘You can’t just shut me down, Seb, every time we have a difference of opinion. That’s not how life works, not how marriage works.’

  ‘I’m not shutting you down.’ He just didn’t want to argue. What was wrong with that?

  ‘You are! If we are going to do this then we have to be partners. I have to be able to contribute without you accusing me of picking fights. I have to be involved in your decisions and your life.’

  He couldn’t answer, didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected her to push him like this. He had underestimated her, that was clear. What had he expected? A compliant partner, someone to warm his bed and agree with him?

  He could feel his heart speeding up, his palms slick with sweat. He had obviously overestimated himself just as much. Pompous ass that he was.

  ‘That’s not what you want, is it?’ Her voice was just a whisper. ‘You’re happy for me to redecorate some rooms but you don’t want my input, not where it matters.’ Her voice broke. ‘You’re right, what does a romantically inclined girl with no qualifications know anyway?’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’

  ‘It’s what you think though.’

  He couldn’t deny it.

  The blue eyes were swimming. ‘I know I said I could do this, Seb, but I’m not sure I’m the kind of woman who can warm your bed and raise your children and not be needed in your life.’