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He liked the way she used her camera as a shield, he liked how hard she worked, how seriously she took each and every wedding. He liked the way she focused in on the tiniest detail and made it special.
How she made him feel special.
He liked her dress sense, the vivid shade of red lipstick. He liked how long it took her to choose the hat of the day, how that hat evoked her mood. He liked her first thing in the morning, rosy-cheeked, make-up free, hair tousled.
He liked pretty much everything about her. He loved her.
They were supposed to be getting married in just a few days. Married. For him a business arrangement sealed with a soulless diamond solitaire. He was a fool.
He flipped open her laptop again, clicking onto her email. He needed her sister Rose’s email address. Maybe, just maybe, he could put this right. It might not be too late for him after all.
And then he would bring her home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘HI.’
It seemed such an inadequate word. Daisy’s breath hitched as Seb came to a stop and looked at her. He was pale, his eyes looked bruised as if he hadn’t slept at all and a small, shameful thrill of victory throbbed through her.
Only to ebb with the realisation that it probably wasn’t Daisy herself he had spent the night tossing and turning over. The publicity that calling the wedding off would cause? Probably. Losing a legitimate heir? Most definitely.
‘Hello.’
He took a step forward and stopped, as if she were a wild animal who might bolt.
It was chillier today and Daisy wrapped her arms around herself, inadequate protection against the sharp breeze blowing across the lawn.
‘How did you know I was here?’ Had her father called him?
‘I didn’t. I tried the studio first.’
That meant what? Three hours of driving? A small, unwanted shot of hope pulsed through her. ‘I’m sorry for just taking off. I know how much you hate emotional scenes but I really needed some space.’
‘I understand.’ He swallowed, and her eyes were drawn to the strong lines of his throat. ‘I’ve been thinking myself.’
‘About what?’
‘Us. Hawksley. My parents. My job. Everything really.’
‘That’s a lot of thinking.’
‘Yes.’ His mouth quirked. Daisy tried to look away but she couldn’t, her eyes drawn to the firm lines of his jaw, the shape of his mouth.
‘Does my mother know why I left?’ Sherry had been sleeping at the castle the past week, dedicating every hour to her daughter’s wedding. How could Daisy tell her it was all for nothing?
‘No. I just said you needed some space,’ His eyes were fixed on her with a painful intensity; she was stripped under his gaze. ‘She and Violet have gone to your studio to decorate.’
‘To what?’ What day was it? Her stomach dropped at the realisation. ‘Oh, no, the hen night. It’s supposed to be low-key.’
‘I got the sense that things may have evolved a little. Violet was very excited about buying in some special straws?’
‘Straws?’
‘Shaped straws...anatomically shaped straws.’
‘Oh. Oh! Really? Vi has?’
‘I didn’t want to tell them they may not be needed, not until I’d spoken to you.’ His mouth curved into the familiar half smile and Daisy had to curl her fingers into a fist to stop herself from reaching out to trace its line. ‘And, well, it’s always good to have a stock of penis straws in.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
All the things she had planned to say to him had gone clear out of her mind. Daisy had been rehearsing speeches all night but in the end it was her father’s words that echoed round and round in her mind. When you know, you know.
She knew she loved him. Just one look at him and she was weakening, wanted to hold him, feel his arms around her, allow him to kiss away her fears. But he wouldn’t do that, would he? No. Kisses were strictly for the bedroom.
And wonderfully, toe-curlingly delicious as they were, that wasn’t enough.
‘Seb,’ she began.
Another step and he was right before her. ‘No hat.’ His hand reached out and smoothed down her hair. ‘No lipstick.’ He ran it down the side of her cheek, drawing one finger along her bottom lip. Daisy’s mouth parted at the caress, the tingle of his touch shivering through her.
‘I didn’t bring anything with me.’ She had raided Violet’s wardrobe first thing: jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt. Ordinary, sensible clothes. She felt naked in them; there was nothing to hide behind.
‘You’re beautiful whatever you wear.’ His voice was husky and her knees weakened as she looked up and saw the heat in his eyes.
