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‘Have you lived here long?’
‘Mum grew up here, her uncle is a baronet and somewhere along the family tree we descend from William Fourth, although not through the legitimate line. So, you see—’ Daisy threw him a provocative smile ‘—you’re not marrying beneath you.’
‘I didn’t think I was.’ Seb knew very well that his blood was as red as anyone else’s. It wasn’t Daisy’s ancestry that worried him, it was her upbringing. If she had been brought up in a place as lavishly luxurious as Huntingdon Hall how would she cope with the draughty inconveniences of his grand and ancient home?
‘Daisy? You are alive. Rose was trying to persuade me to break into your apartment and recover your dead body. A whole week with no word from you?’
‘Vi!’ Daisy jumped to her feet, sprinting up the stone steps and flinging her arms around the speaker. ‘What do you mean? I texted you both! Every day.’
‘Texts, anyone can send a text that says I’m fine, talk soon. But—’ she eyed Seb coolly over Daisy’s shoulder ‘—I can see you’ve been busy.’
Seb stood and held out his hand. ‘You must be Violet.’ A meaningful glare from Daisy reminded him of his role. ‘Daisy has told me so much about you.’ He walked forward and slipped an arm around Daisy, ignoring the electricity that snaked up his arm from the exact spot where his fingers curled around her slender waist. Daisy started, just a little, at his touch before inhaling and leaning into him, her body pliant, moulding into his side as if she belonged there.
‘Really? She hasn’t mentioned you at all.’ Violet took his outstretched hand in her cool grasp for a moment. ‘She usually tells me everything.’ Her eyes were narrowed as she assessed him. It was more than a little disconcerting to be so comprehensively overlooked even by such very blue eyes.
The family resemblance was striking. Violet was a little taller, a little curvier than her younger sister and her heart-shaped face gave nothing away, unlike Daisy’s all too telling features, but she had the Huntingdon colouring, the high cheekbones and the same mane of golden hair.
That was as far as the resemblance went; Daisy was wearing a monochrome print dress, the bodice tight fitting and the skirt flaring out to just above her knees, a dark pink short cardigan slung over her shoulders and the carefully positioned hat finishing off the outfit with a quirky flourish. Violet, by contrast, was sensibly clad in jeans and a white shirt, her hair held back from her face by a large slide, her make-up understated and demure.
‘Not everything.’ Daisy flushed. ‘I am twenty-four, you know. I do have some secrets.’
‘Daisy-Waisy, you never managed to keep a secret in your whole life.’ Violet grinned at her sister with obvious affection. Her eyes cooled as she returned to assessing Seb. ‘And what is it that you do?’
For one, almost irresistible moment Seb had the urge to emulate his grandfather, draw himself up to his full six feet one, look down at Violet and drawl, ‘Do? My good woman, I don’t do. I am. Earl of Holgate to be precise,’ just to shake her cool complacency. He didn’t need Daisy’s warning pinch to resist. ‘I manage a large estate. That’s where we met. Daisy was working there.’
‘He came to my rescue.’ The face upturned to his was so glowing Seb nearly forgot they were acting. ‘I was snowed in and he rescued me. It was super romantic, Vi.’
‘Words no father wants to hear.’ Seb started at the deep American drawl and hurriedly turned.
‘Dad.’ Daisy tugged Seb down the steps, almost running. She slipped out of Seb’s grasp and threw her arms around the slight man on the terrace.
‘Missed you, Daisy girl. How’s that camera of yours?’
‘Busy, I already promised Mum I would cover the Benefit Concert but if you want some promo shots doing beforehand just ask. Formal, informal, you choose.’
‘I’ll ask Rose. She makes all those kinds of decisions. So who is this romantic knight you’ve brought home?’ Rick Cross turned to Seb with an appraising gaze.
For the third time in five minutes Seb stood still as he was examined by keen eyes. Lucky Daisy, having such a loving, protective family. She didn’t need to marry him at all; they would close ranks and take care of her. If he wanted to raise his heir he’d better keep his side of their strange bargain.
‘Sebastian Beresford. It’s an honour to meet you, sir.’ Seb managed, just, not to blurt out that Rick Cross had made one of the first CDs he had ever bought. A CD he had listened to over and over again.
