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She’d received a text from Daryl two hours ago, informing her Brandon would be arriving late and that he would speak to her in the morning. But she had decided not to wait. Sleep would be impossible with ‘that conversation’ hanging over her head. Plus, she needed to thank him properly for coming to her family’s rescue that morning—and for letting her sister stay rent-free in a lavish gated condo in Islington which Milly had rung her to rave about that afternoon.
The anxiety that had been kept ruthlessly at bay all day squeezed Lacey’s ribs as he approached.
What exactly was she going to do about his offer of marriage? Because yesterday’s certainty that a marriage between them would be a disaster felt a lot less certain now.
He reached her at last, his eyes dark in the twilight. ‘Hello, Lacey,’ he said, his voice gruff. ‘I told Daryl to tell you I would be late,’ he added, the frown suggesting he wasn’tthatpleased to see her.
She tried not to take his abrupt manner personally. He had to be tired too. She knew he had been dealing with the fallout from the Drystar headlines all day. He’d even been forced to hold an impromptu press conference which she knew he must have hated. He was a man who guarded his privacy, and now she knew why. This morning had been a terrifying wake-up call. But, while she and Ruby had been whisked away to safety, Brandon had stayed to face the fallout alone.
‘I know,’ she said, and shivered, the nerves doing strange things to her insides. ‘I wanted to stay up to thank you. And to...to discuss what you said earlier.’
Daryl and the other assistant bade them both goodbye and headed towards the staff cottages on the other side of the gardens. Brandon nodded at the doorman, who was waiting to lock the main door behind them.
‘Let’s get a drink,’ he said abruptly, and touched her elbow to lead her into an imposing library situated off the main entrance hall.
The graze of his fingertips was electrifying in the quiet country night as the sound of the chopper blades outside finally died.
He crossed the silk rug to a drinks cabinet in the far wall. The scent of old leather and lemon polish filled the musty air. He switched on a small light that cast a soft glow over his harsh features.
He wasn’t just tired, she realised. He was exhausted. The bruised smudges under his eyes made him look more unsettled—and somehow more vulnerable—than she had ever seen him.
Without asking, he poured them both a whisky and handed her a glass. ‘Here.’
She took the crystal tumbler, shivering again when his fingers brushed hers.
He stepped back, watching her intently over the rim of the glass as he knocked the whisky back in one gulp.
‘So, what exactly did you wish to thank me for?’ he asked, breaking eye contact at last to pour himself another glass.
‘For arriving this morning, and then protecting me and Ruby and Milly from what you had to go through today,’ she said simply.
‘She’s my daughter. What did you think I would do?’ he replied sharply. ‘Leave the three of you to be picked apart by those vultures?’
She heard the bitterness in his tone, and the accusation, and the guilt she had been determined to suppress leapt from the shadows to torment her again. ‘I’m sorry, I underestimated you.’
‘Yes, you did,’ he said, still studying her. Her heart started to make her gag, and she realised how close she was to tears.
Clearly, she was tired and emotional too, because maintaining the fragile truce between them suddenly seemed so important. It probably wouldn’t last. But, now more than ever, she was determined to figure out a solution that they could both live with.
‘I still want marriage, Lacey,’ he said before she had the chance to say more.
Her breath hitched in her lungs at the determination in his voice. She thought she’d been prepared to deal with this conversation now... Apparently not.
She took a sip of the peaty whisky, the burn of the liquor as she swallowed masking the painful burn already there before she replied. ‘I know you don’t trust me to let you form a relationship without...’
He held up his hand and she stuttered to a halt.
‘It’s not just that,’ he said, the strain lines around his mouth relaxing a little. ‘You need my protection, Lacey. Both you and Ruby. Surely today’s experience proved that conclusively? I can’t give you that protection unless I claim her unequivocally as mine. And that means marriage.’
She stared down at the amber liquid in her glass. She could argue that they didn’t have to be wed for him to claim Ruby. Or that Ruby was a child, not a piece of property who he needed to own. But the protests dried up inside her at the visceral memory of the way he’d held his child for the first time, and the sight of him charging through the crowd of reporters while Ruby had clung to him, trusting him completely, as they made their way to the car.
Ruby needed her father. How could she continue to deny that after this morning?
But, as she tried to figure out how best to proceed, he continued, his tone brittle but no less forceful.
‘This isn’t just about Ruby, though. It’s also about us,’ he said.
Us.
