Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (26 page)

He pulled the laptop towards
him, not allowing himself time to think things through and change his mind, quickly typing in Gianni’s email address. Subject heading ‘Lake Garda’.

He might not be her dream fiancé but Daisy deserved the perfect honeymoon and he was going to make sure she had it. It was the least he could do.

* * *

He had expected to find her in the kitchen. Daisy had been forbidden from doing any
of the actual sanding herself. Seb was pretty sure all the dust wasn’t good for the baby, but it didn’t stop her superintending every job. Under her instructions the walls had been repainted a creamy white, the sanded and restored cupboards, cabinets and dresser a pale grey. He’d been sceptical about the colour but, walking into the warm, soothing space, he had to admit she was right.

The
estate joiner had been hard at work planing and oiling wood from one of the old oaks that had fallen in the winter storms, creating counter tops from the venerable old tree. It seemed fitting that a tree that had stood sentry in the grounds for so many generations should be brought inside and used for the changing of the guard.

Daisy had found an old clothes rack in one of the outbuildings
and had arranged for it to be suspended from the ceiling, hanging the old copper saucepans from it. She had unearthed his great-grandmother’s tea set from the attic and arranged it on the shelves, the old-fashioned forget-me-not pattern blending timelessly with the creams and greys. The overall effect was of useful comfort. A warm, family kitchen, a place for work and conversation. For sweet smells
and savoury concoctions, for taking stock of the day while planning the next.

The kitchen had been changing day by day and yet he hadn’t really taken in the scale of her efforts. It wasn’t just that the kitchen was freshly restored, nor that it was scrupulously clean. It wasn’t just the new details like the pictures on the wall, old landscapes of the grounds and the castle, the newly installed
sofa by the Aga and the warm rug Monty had claimed for his own. It was the feeling. Of care, of love.

The same feeling that hit him when he walked into her rooms, cluttered, sweet-smelling and alive. The same feeling she had created in the morning room and in the library where she had removed some of the heavier furniture and covered the backs of his chairs with warm, bright throws, heaped
the window seats high with cushions.

His home was metamorphosing under his eyes and yet he’d barely noticed.

He should tell her he liked the changes.

Seb poured himself a glass of water and sat at the table, thinking of all the places she could have disappeared to. He didn’t blame her for wanting some breathing space before the wedding; but if even Sherry couldn’t run her to earth
Daisy must have chosen her hiding space with care.

Neatly piled on the tabletop were some of the old scrapbooks and pictures Sherry had printed out from Daisy’s website and internet pin boards. Seb reached out curiously and began to leaf through them. He expected to see a little girl’s fantasy, all meringues and Cinderella coaches.

Instead he was confronted by details: a single flower
bound in ribbon, a close-up of an intricate piece of lace, an embellished candle. Simple, thoughtful yet with a quirky twist. Like Daisy herself.

A piece of paper fell out and he picked it up. It was a printed-out picture of a ring: twisted pieces of fine gold wire embellished with fiery stones. A million miles away from the classic solitaire he had presented her with.

A solitaire she
rarely wore. She was worried she’d lose it, she said. But it wasn’t just that; he could see it in her eyes.

He hadn’t known her at all when he’d bought it for her. Picked out a generic ring, expensive, sure, flawless—but nothing special, nothing unique. He could have given that ring to anyone.

And Daisy was definitely not just anyone.

Seb leant back, the picture in his hand. He
really should show her just how much he appreciated all that she had done.

She was so busy trying to fit in with him, to turn his old house into a home. It was time he gave something back. The wedding of her dreams, the honeymoon of her dreams.

The ring of her dreams.

It wasn’t the full package, he was all too aware of that. But it was all he had, wasn’t it? It would have to do.

He just hoped it would be enough.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HERE
IT
WAS
. Daisy sucked in a long breath, forcing herself to stay low and remain still, remain quiet despite every nerve fizzing with excitement. Slowly, carefully, she focused the zoom lens.

Click.

The otter didn’t know it was being photographed—much like Daisy herself last night. Would the otter feel as violated, as sick to its stomach if she published
the shot on her website?

Had Seb seen it? Each time a photo of them appeared in the press he got a little colder, a little more withdrawn and she could feel herself wither with each snap too.

Was it the intrusion itself she minded—or the image portrayed in the pictures? They looked so happy last night, hands clasped, heads turned towards each other, as if they were wrapped up in their
own world, totally complete together.

And they said the camera never lied...

Daisy shook off the thought, allowing her own camera to follow the sleek mammal as it swam up the river, turning giddy somersaults in the water, playing some game she longed to understand. Was it lonely, swimming all by itself? Maybe by the summer it would have cubs to play with. She hoped so.

Her mind
drifted down to the new life inside her. Still so small, only perceptible by the swelling in her breasts and sensitivity to certain smells and yet strong, growing, alive. ‘Will I be less lonely when you’re here?’ she whispered.

It was a terrible burden to put on a baby. Happiness and self-fulfilment. Daisy focused again on the gliding otter. She had her camera, her work, her family. That
was enough. It had to be enough.

Only. What if it wasn’t? She was trying so hard. Trying to be calm and sensible and fit in with the slow and steady pace of life at Hawksley she glimpsed between wedding preparations: Seb with his research, Seb out in the fields, talking to tenants, the weekend tourists herded around the small areas open to the public. It was as distant from her busy London
life as the otter’s life was from an urban fox’s streetwise existence.

She was making a list of the most immediate refurbishments needed in the house and was happily delving deep into the crammed attics. But despite everything Seb said she didn’t feel as if she had a right to start making changes; it felt as if she were playing at being the lady of the house. She was still a visitor, just
a momentary imprint in the house’s long history.

And although Seb hadn’t gone into great detail she knew that money was tight, the trust set up to keep the castle depleted, ransacked in return for a jet-set existence. Seb had to wait for probate before he could start to sell off all the luxury items his parents had lavished their money on. Until they were sold it was impossible to know just
how much she could draw on. Right now she was doing her best with things scavenged from the attic, materials she could turn into cushions or curtains, pictures that just needed a polish.

Hawksley needed far more work than easy cosmetic fixes. How could she plan the renovations it needed when she knew full well the cost would be exorbitant?

It was hard to grasp how life would be afterwards.
The wedding overshadowed everything, created buzz and fuss and work and life. Once Sherry left for good, the vows were said and the marquee tidied away what would be left for her? Would she find herself desperate to shout out loud, to stand in the middle of the courtyard and scream, to tear the calm curtain of civility open? To get some reaction somehow.

The wedding was just a day. She had
the rest of her life here to navigate.

And there was nobody to discuss it with. Seb didn’t want emotions in his life and she had agreed to respect that. This fear of loneliness, emotions stretching to breaking point, was exactly the kind of thing he abhorred.

And of course, where there wasn’t emotion there couldn’t be love. Could there?

Daisy got slowly to her feet, careful not
to disturb the still-basking otter. Love? Where had that come from? She knew full well that love wasn’t on offer in this pact of theirs. It was just...

There was passion behind that serious, intellectual face. She had known it that very first night. Had seen it again time after time. Not just in bed but in his work, his attachment to his home. And passion was emotion...

Seb might not
think that he did emotion but he did. His books were bestsellers because they brought the past alive. No one could write with such sensual sensitivity about the lusts of the Stuart court without feeling the hunger himself.

There were times when the almost glacial green eyes heated up, darkened with need. Times when the measured voice grew deeper, huskier. Times when sense was tossed aside
for immediacy. Seb desired her, she knew that. Desire was an emotion.

Of course he was capable of love! Just not for her. Maybe, if she hadn’t interrupted the steady pace of his life, he would have met somebody suitable. Someone who shared his love for the past, who would have known how to overcome his fears, helped to heal his hurts.

He’d been robbed of his chance for love just as she
had. They were in this together.

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. Preferably 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.”’