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Daisy felt it again, that slow sensual tug towards him, the hyper awareness of his every move, the tilt of his mouth, the gleam of his eye, the play of muscle in his shoulders.
‘You were telling me about wanting to be an outlaw.’ She felt it but she wasn’t going there. Not today, not when she was in such an emotional tumult.
‘Coward.’ The word was soft, silky, full of promise. Then he straightened, the intentness gone. ‘So I was. Ready to see the rest of your home? Let’s zoom forward to the eighteenth century and start exploring the Georgian part. I’ll warn you, there’s a lot of it. I think we’ll stick to the ground and first floors today. The second floor is largely empty and the attics have been untouched for years.’
‘Attics?’ A frisson of excitement shivered through her. As a child she had adored roaming through the attics at home, exploring chests filled with family treasures. Only there was nothing to discover in the recently renovated, perfectly decorated house. Photos sorted into date order? Yes. Tiaras dripping with diamonds or secret love letters? No. But here, in a house that epitomised history, she could find anything.
‘Would you mind if one day I had a look? In the attics?’
Seb walked towards the door and stopped, his hand on the huge iron bolt. ‘One day? I think you’ll need to put aside at least six months. My family were hoarders—I would love to catalogue it all, although I suspect much of it is junk, but there’s too much to do elsewhere. The whole house could do with some updating. I don’t know if your talents run in that direction but please, feel free to make any changes you want. As long as they’re in keeping with a grade one listed building,’ he added quickly.
‘And there I was, thinking I could paint the whole outside pink and add a concrete extension.’ But she was strangely cheered. A house with twenty bedrooms and as many reception rooms—if you included the various billiard rooms, studies and galleries—was no small project. But taking it in hand gave her a purpose, a role here. Maybe, just maybe, she could make Hawksley Castle into a home. Into her home.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘MORNING. HUNGRY?’
Seb half turned as Daisy slipped into the kitchen, tiptoeing as if she didn’t want to offend him with her presence.
‘Starving. I keep waiting for the nausea to start.’ She was almost apologetic, as if he would accuse her of being a fraud if she wasn’t doubled over with sickness. It would be easier, he admitted, if she were ill. He was after all taking it on trust that she was even pregnant in the first place, although she had offered him plenty of chances to wait for confirmation.
‘You may be lucky and escape it altogether. How did you sleep?’
‘Good, thanks. Turns out five-hundred-year-old beds are surprisingly comfy.’
The problem of where to put Daisy had haunted him since she had agreed to move in. To make this work, to fulfil her criteria as far as he could, meant he couldn’t treat her like a guest and yet he wasn’t ready to share his space with anyone.
Even though part of him couldn’t help wondering what it would be like lying next to those long, silky limbs.
Luckily Georgian houses were built with this kind of dilemma in mind. When he first took a leave of absence and returned to Hawksley six months ago to try and untangle the complicated mess his father had left, he’d moved into his grandparents’ old rooms, not his own boyhood bedroom on the second floor.
There was a suite adjoining, the old countess’ suite, a throwback to not so long ago when the married couple weren’t expected to regularly share a bed, a room or a bathroom. The large bedroom, small study, dressing room and bathroom occupied a corner at the back of the house with views over the lake to the woods and fields beyond. The suite was rather faded, last decorated some time around the middle of the previous century and filled with furniture of much older heritage but charming for all that.
‘There is a door here,’ he had said, showing her a small door discreetly set into the wall near the bed. ‘It leads into my room. You can lock it if you would rather, but I don’t bother.’
The words had hung in the air. Were they an invitation? A warning? He wasn’t entirely sure.
It was odd, he had never really noticed the door before yet last night it had loomed in his eyeline, the unwanted focal point of his own room. He had known she was on the other side, just one turn of the handle away. Seb’s jaw tightened as he flipped the bacon. He could visualise it now as if it were set before him. Small, wooden, nondescript.
