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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.
