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‘It’s in incredible condition.’ She had taken so many photos of the details: the carvings on the panelling, the way the huge beams curved.
‘It has to be. We couldn’t hold events here if not. It may look untouched since Elizabethan times but there is electricity throughout, working toilets and a fully kitted-out kitchen through that door. In fact, this is more up to date than parts of the main house. It’s always been used as a ballroom, which made the decision to hire it out a little easier.’ He winced. ‘My grandfather thought we had a duty to share the castle with the wider world, but not for profit.’
‘Hence the restrictive opening hours?’
‘Absolutely. I don’t know what he would say if he saw the weddings. They’re not making enough of a difference though, even though I charge an obscene amount. I’m trying to work out how to make the castle self-funding and yet keep it as a home. Keep the heart of it intact. It’s not easy.’
‘You’re planning to stay here, then, not live in Oxford?’
‘Now it’s mine? Yes. I can stay in college if I need to, although it will be strange, commuting in after all these years. It’s like being pulled constantly in two different directions, between the demands of my career and the demands of my home—they both need all of my time or so it seems. But a place like this? It’s a privilege to own it, to be the one taking care of it.’
His eyes lit up with enthusiasm, the rather severe features relaxing as he pointed out another interesting architectural feature and recounted yet another bit of family history that Daisy was convinced he made up on the spot. Nobody could have such a scandalous family tree—rakes and highwaymen and runaway brides in every generation.
‘You really love it, don’t you?’
‘How could I not? Growing up here, it was like living in my own time machine. I could be anybody from Robin Hood to Dick Turpin.’
‘Always the outlaw?’
‘They seemed to have the most fun. Had the horses, the adoration, got the girls.’
‘All the important things in life.’
‘Exactly.’ He grinned; it made him look more boyish. More desirable. Daisy’s breath hitched in her throat, her mouth suddenly dry.
Their gazes caught, snagged, and they stood there for a long moment, neither moving. His eyes darkened to an impenetrable green, a hint of something dangerous flickering at their core and awareness shivered down Daisy’s spine. She moved backwards, just a few centimetres, almost propelled by the sheer force of his gaze until her back hit the wooden panelling. She leant against it, thankful for the support, her legs weak.
She was still caught in his gaze, warmth spreading out from her abdomen, along her limbs, her skin buzzing where his eyes rested on her, the memory of his touch skittering along her nerves. Nervous, she licked her lips, the heat in her body intensifying as she watched his eyes move to her mouth, recognised the hungry expression in them.
He wanted a working marriage. A full marriage.
Right now, that seemed like the only thing that made sense in this whole tangled mess.
He took a step closer. And another. Daisy stayed still, almost paralysed by the purposeful intent in his face, her pulse hammering an insistent beat of need, of want at every pressure point in her body, pressure, a sweet, aching swelling in her chest.
‘Seb?’ It was almost a plea, almost a sob, a cry for something, an end to the yearning that so suddenly and so fiercely gripped her.
He paused, his eyes still on her and then one last step. So close and yet still, still not touching even though her body was crying out for contact, pulled towards him by the magnetism of sheer need. He leant, just a little, a hand on either side of her, braced against the wall.
He still hadn’t touched her.
They remained perfectly still, separated by mere millimetres, their eyes locked, heat flickering between them, the wait stoking it higher and higher. He had to kiss her, had to or she would spontaneously combust. He had to press that hard mouth against hers, allow those skilled hands to roam, to know her again. To fulfil her again. He had to.
Daisy jumped as a tune blared out from her pocket, a jaunty folk cover of one of her father’s greatest hits. Seb’s hands dropped and he retreated just a few steps as she fumbled for it, half ready to sob with frustration, half relieved. She hadn’t even moved in yet and she was what? Begging him to kiss her?
Very businesslike.
Hands damp, she pulled out the phone and stared at the screen, unable to focus. Pressing the button, she held it shakily to her ear. ‘Hello?’
‘Daisy? You are alive, then?’
‘Rose!’ Daisy smiled apologetically at Seb and turned slightly, as if not seeing him would give her some privacy, her heart still hammering.
