Expecting the Earl's Baby. Jessica Gilmore
I usually only do long-term relationships and I split up from my last boyfriend nine months ago.’ She needed to make him understand. ‘That night, it wasn’t usual. It wasn’t how I normally behave.’
‘Right.’
‘You can check, have a test. Only not until after it’s born. It’s safer that way.’
His eyes locked onto hers. ‘You’re keeping it, then?’
Another reasonable question and yet one she hadn’t even thought to ask herself. ‘Yes. Look, Seb, you don’t have to decide anything right now. I’m not here for answers or with demands. I just thought you should know but...’
‘Hold on.’ He stood up with a lithe grace, hand held out to cut her off. ‘I need to think. Don’t go anywhere, can you promise me that? I won’t be long, I just, I just need some air. Come on, Monty.’
‘Wait!’ It was too late, he had whirled out of the door, the spaniel close to his heels. Daisy had half got up but sank back down into the deep-backed chair as the heavy oak door closed with a thud.
‘That went better than I expected,’ she murmured. She was still here and, okay, he hadn’t fallen to his knees and pledged to love the baby for ever but neither had she been turned out barefoot onto his doorstep.
And wasn’t his reaction more natural? Questioning disbelief? Maybe that should have been hers as well. Daisy slid her hand over her midriff, marvelling at the flat tautness, no visible clue that anything had changed. And yet she hadn’t been shocked or upset or considered for even a nanosecond that she wouldn’t have the baby.
Its conception might be an accident in most people’s eyes but not in Daisy’s. It was something else entirely. It was a miracle.
One hour later, more hot lemon and three pages of a beautiful old hardback edition of Pride and Prejudice read over and over again, Daisy admitted defeat. Wait, he had said. How long did he mean? She hadn’t promised him anyway; he had disappeared before she could form the words.
But she couldn’t leave without making sure he had a way of getting in touch. She hadn’t thought last time, hadn’t slipped her card into his hand or pocket with a smile and invitation. Had part of her hoped he would track her down anyway? Perform a modern-day quest in pursuit of her love. The hopeless romantic in her had. The hopeless romantic never learned.
But this wasn’t about challenges. It was more important than that. Rummaging in her bag, Daisy pulled out one of her business cards. Stylish, swirling script and a daisy motif proclaimed ‘Daisy Photos. Weddings, portraits and lifestyle.’ Her number, website and Twitter handle listed clearly below. She paused for a second and then laid the card on the tea tray with a hand that only trembled a little. It was up to him now.
She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing her shoulders to sag under the weight of her disappointment. She had been prepared for anger, denial. Naively, she had hoped he might be a little excited. She hadn’t expected him to just leave.
* * *
Her car was where she’d left it, parked at a slant just outside the imposing gates. If she had swallowed her pride and accepted the Range Rover her father had offered her then she wouldn’t have been snowed in all those weeks ago.
Daisy shook her head trying to dislodge unwanted tears prickling the backs of her eyes. It had all seemed so perfect, like a scene from one of her favourite romantic comedies. When it was clear that she was stuck, Seb had ransacked the leftovers from the wedding buffet, bringing her a picnic of canapés and champagne. And she had curled up on the shabby sofa in his office as they talked and drank, and somehow she had found herself confiding in him, trusting him. Kissing him.
She raised her hands to her lips, remembering how soft his kiss had been. At first anyway...
Right. Standing here reliving kisses wasn’t going to change anything. Daisy unlocked her car, and took one last long look at the old castle keep, the grim battlements softened by the amber spring sun.
‘Daisy!’
She paused for a moment and inhaled long and deep before swivelling round, trying to look as unconcerned as possible, and leaning back against her car.
Her heart began to thump. Loudly.
He wasn’t her type at all. Her type was clean-shaven, their eyes didn’t hold a sardonic gleam under quizzical eyebrows and look as if they were either laughing at you or criticising you. Her usual type didn’t wear their dark hair an inch too long and completely unstyled and walk around in old mud-splattered jeans, although she had to admit they were worn in all the right places.
And Daisy Huntingdon-Cross had never as much as had a coffee with a man in a logoed fleece. The black garment might bear the Hawksley Castle crest but it was still a fleece.
So why had her pulse sped up, heat pooling in the pit of her stomach? Daisy allowed the car to take more of her weight, grateful for its support.
‘Come back inside, we haven’t finished talking yet.’ It wasn’t a request.
The heat melted away, replaced by a growing indignation. Daisy straightened up, folding her arms. ‘We haven’t started talking. I gave you an hour.’
‘I know.’ She had been hoping for penitent but he was totally matter-of-fact. ‘I think better outside.’
‘And?’ Daisy wanted to grab the word back the second she uttered it. It sounded as if she had been on tenterhooks waiting for him to proclaim her fate. The kernel of truth in that thought made her squirm.
He ran a hand through his hair. The gesture was unexpectedly boyish and uncertain. ‘This would be easier if we just went back inside.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘You think better outside.’
He smiled at that, his whole expression lightening. It changed him completely, the eyes softer, the slightly harsh expression warmer.
‘Yes. But do you?’
‘Me?’
‘I have a proposition for you and you need to be thinking clearly. Are you?’
No. No, she wasn’t. Daisy wasn’t sure she’d had a clear thought since she had accepted that first glass of champagne, had hotly defended her livelihood as her rescuer had quizzed and teased her and had found herself laughing, absurdly delighted as the stern expression had melted into something altogether different.
But she wasn’t going to admit that. Not to him, barely to herself.
‘Completely clearly.’
He looked sceptical but nodded. ‘Then, Daisy, I think you should marry me.’
SEB DIDN’T EXACTLY expect Daisy to throw herself at his feet in gratitude, not really. And it would have made him uncomfortable if she had. But he was expecting that she would be touched by his proposal. Grateful even.
The incredulous laugh that bubbled out of that rather enchanting mouth was, therefore, a bit of a shock. Almost a blow—not to his heart, obviously, but, he realised with a painful jolt of self-awareness, to his ego. ‘Are we in a regency novel? Seb, you haven’t besmirched my honour. There’s no need to do the honourable thing.’
The emphasis on the last phrase was scathing. And misplaced. There was every need. ‘So why did you come here? I thought you wanted my help. Or are you after money? Is that it?’
Maybe the whole situation was some kind of clever entrapment. His hands curled into fists and he inhaled, long and deep, trying not to let the burgeoning anger show on his face.
‘Of course not.’ Her indignation was convincing and the tightness in his chest eased a little. ‘I thought you should know first, that was all. I didn’t come here for money or marriage