her quivering, desperate need to run. He didn’t move, just waited, hand held out towards her until she took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I’ll come inside. To talk about the baby. But I am not marrying you. I don’t care whether you’re an earl or a handyman. I don’t know you.’
Seb took a deep breath, relief filling his lungs. All he needed was time. Time for her to hear him out, to give him a chance to convince her. ‘Come on, then.’
Daisy pushed off the car and turned. Seb couldn’t help taking a long appreciative look at her shapely rear as she bent slightly to relock the car. The tweed shorts fitted snugly, showing off her slender curves to perfection. He tore his eyes away, hurriedly focusing on the far hedge as she straightened and turned to join him, the blue eyes alight with curiosity.
‘An earl,’ she repeated. ‘No wonder the gorgon was so reluctant to let me in.’
‘Gorgon?’ But he knew who she meant and his mouth quirked as she stared at him meaningfully. ‘I don’t think she’s actually turned anyone to stone. Not yet. Mrs Suffolk’s family have worked here for generations. She’s a little protective.’
They reached the courtyard and Daisy started to make for the back door where Mrs Suffolk still stood guard, protecting the castle against day trippers and other invaders. Seb slipped a hand through Daisy’s arm, guiding her round the side of the house and onto the sweeping driveway with its vista down to the wooded valley below.
‘Front door and a fresh start,’ he said as they reached the first step. ‘Hello, I’m Sebastian Beresford, Earl of Holgate.’
‘Sebastian Beresford?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I know that name. You’re not an earl, you’re that historian.’
‘I’m both. Even earls have careers nowadays.’ Although how he was going to continue his academic responsibilities with running Hawksley was a problem he had yet to solve.
He held out his hand. ‘Welcome to my home.’
Daisy stared at his hand for a moment before placing her cool hand in his. ‘Daisy Huntingdon-Cross, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’
Who? There it was, that faint elusive memory sharpened into focus. ‘Huntingdon-Cross? Rick Cross and Sherry Huntingdon’s daughter?’
No wonder she looked familiar! Rock royalty on their father’s side and pure county on their mother’s, the Huntingdon-Cross sisters were as renowned for their blonde, leggy beauty as they were infamous for their lifestyle. Each of them had been splashed across the tabloids at some point in their varied careers—and their parents were legends; rich, talented and famously in love.
Seb’s heart began to pound, painfully thumping against his chest, the breath knocked from his lungs in one blow. This was not the plan, the quiet, businesslike, private union he intended.
This was trouble.
If he married this girl then the tabloids would have a field day. A Beresford and a Huntingdon-Cross would be front-page fodder to rival anything his parents had managed to stir up in their wake. All the work he had done to remain out of the press would be undone faster than he could say, ‘I do.’
But if he didn’t marry her then he would be disinheriting the baby. He didn’t have any choice.
* * *
Seb froze as he took her hand, recognition dawning in his eyes.
‘Huntingdon-Cross,’ he repeated and Daisy dropped his hand, recoiling from the horror in his voice.
For a moment she contemplated pretending she wasn’t one of those Huntingdon-Crosses but a cousin, a far, far removed cousin. From the north. Of course, Seb didn’t have to know that she didn’t have any northern cousins.
But what was the point? He’d find out the truth soon enough and, besides, they might be wild and infuriating and infamous but they were hers. No matter how many titles or illustrious ancestors Seb had, he had no right to sneer at her family.
Daisy channelled her mother at her grandest, injecting as much froideur into her voice as she possibly could and tilting her chin haughtily. ‘Yes. I’m the youngest. I believe the tabloids call me the former wild child if that helps.’
At this the green eyes softened and the corner of his mouth tilted; heat pooled in her stomach as her blood rushed in response. It was most unfair, the almost smile made him more human. More handsome.
More desirable.
‘The one who got expelled from school?’
He had to bring that up. Daisy’s face heated, the embarrassed flush spreading from her cheeks to her neck. He was an Oxford professor, he’d probably never met anyone who had been expelled before, let alone someone with barely an academic qualification to her name. ‘I wasn’t expelled exactly, they just asked me to leave.’
‘Sounds like expulsion to me,’ he murmured.
‘It was ridiculously strict. It was almost impossible not to get expelled. Unless you were clever and studious like my sisters, that is.’ Okay, it was eight years ago and Daisy had spent every minute of those eight years trying to prove her teachers wrong but it still rankled. Still hurt.
‘The Mother Superior was always looking for a way to rid the school of the dullards like me. That way we didn’t bring the exam average down.’ She stared at him, daring him to react. He’d probably planned for the mother of his future children to have a batch of degrees to match his. His and her mortar boards.
‘They expelled you for not being academic?’
‘Well, not exactly. They expelled me for breaking bounds and going clubbing in London. But if I’d been predicted all As it would have been a slap on the wrist at the most. At least, probably,’ she added, conscious she wasn’t being entirely fair. ‘There were pictures on the front page of The Planet and I think some of the parents were a little concerned.’
‘A little?’ Damn, the mouth was even more tilted now, the gleam intensifying in his eyes.
‘I was sixteen. Most sixteen-year-old girls aren’t locked away in stupid convent schools not even allowed to look at boys or wear anything but a hideous uniform. It isn’t natural. But once front-page news, always front-page news. They hounded me for a bit until they realised how dull I really am. But I swear I could die at one hundred after a lifetime spent sewing smocks for orphaned lepers and my epitaph would read “Former wild child, Daisy, who was expelled from exclusive girls’ school...”’
‘Probably.’ His voice was bleak again, the gleam gone as if it had never been there. ‘Come on, let’s go in. It’s getting cold and one of us has unseasonably bare legs.’
Once the sun had started to set, the warmth quickly dissipated, the evening air tinted with a sharp breeze whipping around Daisy’s legs. She shivered, the chill running up her arms and down her spine not entirely down to the cold. If she walked back into the castle everything would change.
But everything was changing anyway. Would it be easier if she didn’t have to do this alone? It wasn’t the proposal or the marriage of her dreams but maybe it was time to grow up. To accept that fairy tales were for children and that princes came in all shapes and sizes—as did earls.
Not
