Expecting the Earl's Baby. Jessica Gilmore
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that bubbled out of that rather enchanting mouth was, therefore, a bit of a shock. Almost a blow—not to his heart, obviously, but, he realised with a painful jolt of self-awareness, to his ego. ‘Are we in a regency novel? Seb, you haven’t besmirched my honour. There’s no need to do the honourable thing.’
The emphasis on the last phrase was scathing. And misplaced. There was every need. ‘So why did you come here? I thought you wanted my help. Or are you after money? Is that it?’
Maybe the whole situation was some kind of clever entrapment. His hands curled into fists and he inhaled, long and deep, trying not to let the burgeoning anger show on his face.
‘Of course not.’ Her indignation was convincing and the tightness in his chest eased a little. ‘I thought you should know first, that was all. I didn’t come here for money or marriage or anything.’
‘I see, you’re planning to do this alone. And you want me to what? Pop over on a Sunday and take the baby to the park? Sleepovers once a month?’ Seb could hear the scathing scorn punctuating each of his words and Daisy paled, taking a nervous step away, her hand fumbling for the car handle.
‘I haven’t really thought that far ahead.’
Seb took another deep breath, doing his best to sound reasonable as he grabbed the slight advantage. ‘You work what? Fifteen hours a day at weekends? Not just weekends. People get married every day of the week now. What are you going to do for childcare?’
‘I’ll work something out.’ The words were defiant but her eyes were troubled as she twisted her hand around the handle, her knuckles white with tension.
He put as much conviction into his voice as possible. ‘You don’t need to. Marry me.’
Her eyes were wide with confusion. ‘Why? Why on earth would you want to marry someone you barely know? Why would I agree to something so crazy?’
Seb gestured, a wide encompassing sweep of his arm taking in the lake, the woods and fields, the castle proudly overshadowing the landscape. ‘Because that baby is my heir.’
Daisy stared at him. ‘What?’
‘The baby is my heir,’ he repeated. ‘Our baby. To Hawksley.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. What has the castle got to do with the baby?’
‘Not just the castle, the estate, the title, everything.’
‘But—’ she shook her head stubbornly ‘—you’re the handyman, aren’t you? You had a shovel and a fleece and that office.’
‘The handyman?’ He could see her point. If only his colleagues could see him now, it was all a long way from his quiet office tucked away in a corner of an Oxford college. ‘In a way I guess I am—owner, handyman, manager, event-booker—running the estate is a hands-on job nowadays.’
‘So that makes you what? A knight?’
‘An earl. The Earl of Holgate.’
‘An earl?’ She laughed, slightly hysterically. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Is there a camera recording this?’ She twisted around, checking the fields behind them.
‘My parents died six months ago. I inherited the castle then.’ The castle and a huge amount of debt but there was no need to mention that right away. She was skittish enough as it was.
‘You’re being serious?’ He could see realisation dawning, the understanding in her widened eyes even as she stubbornly shook her head. ‘Titles don’t mean anything, not any more.’
‘They do to me, to the estate. Look, Daisy, you came here because you knew it was the right thing to do. Well, marrying me is the right thing to do. That baby could be the next Earl of Holgate. You want to deny him that right? Illegitimate children are barred from inheriting.’
‘The baby could be a girl.’ She wasn’t giving in easily.
‘It doesn’t matter, with the royal line of succession no longer male primogeniture there’s every chance the rest of the aristocracy will fall into line.’ He held his hand out, coaxing. ‘Daisy, come back inside, let’s talk about this sensibly.’
She didn’t answer for a long moment and he could sense her quivering, desperate need to run. He didn’t move, just waited, hand held out towards her until she took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I’ll come inside. To talk about the baby. But I am not marrying you. I don’t care whether you’re an earl or a handyman. I don’t know you.’
Seb took a deep breath, relief filling his lungs. All he needed was time. Time for her to hear him out, to give him a chance to convince her. ‘Come on, then.’
Daisy pushed off the car and turned. Seb couldn’t help taking a long appreciative look at her shapely rear as she bent slightly to relock the car. The tweed shorts fitted snugly, showing off her slender curves to perfection. He tore his eyes away, hurriedly focusing on the far hedge as she straightened and turned to join him, the blue eyes alight with curiosity.
‘An earl,’ she repeated. ‘No wonder the gorgon was so reluctant to let me in.’
‘Gorgon?’ But he knew who she meant and his mouth quirked as she stared at him meaningfully. ‘I don’t think she’s actually turned anyone to stone. Not yet. Mrs Suffolk’s family have worked here for generations. She’s a little protective.’
They reached the courtyard and Daisy started to make for the back door where Mrs Suffolk still stood guard, protecting the castle against day trippers and other invaders. Seb slipped a hand through Daisy’s arm, guiding her round the side of the house and onto the sweeping driveway with its vista down to the wooded valley below.
‘Front door and a fresh start,’ he said as they reached the first step. ‘Hello, I’m Sebastian Beresford, Earl of Holgate.’
‘Sebastian Beresford?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I know that name. You’re not an earl, you’re that historian.’
‘I’m both. Even earls have careers nowadays.’ Although how he was going to continue his academic responsibilities with running Hawksley was a problem he had yet to solve.
He held out his hand. ‘Welcome to my home.’
Daisy stared at his hand for a moment before placing her cool hand in his. ‘Daisy Huntingdon-Cross, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’
Who? There it was, that faint elusive memory sharpened into focus. ‘Huntingdon-Cross? Rick Cross and Sherry Huntingdon’s daughter?’
No wonder she looked familiar! Rock royalty on their father’s side and pure county on their mother’s, the Huntingdon-Cross sisters were as renowned for their blonde, leggy beauty as they were infamous for their lifestyle. Each of them had been splashed across the tabloids at some point in their varied careers—and their parents were legends; rich, talented and famously in love.
Seb’s heart began to pound, painfully thumping against his chest, the breath knocked from his lungs in one blow. This was not the plan, the quiet, businesslike, private union he intended.
This was trouble.
If he married this girl then the tabloids would have a field day. A Beresford and a Huntingdon-Cross would be front-page fodder to rival anything his parents had managed to stir up in their wake. All the work he had done to remain out of the press would be undone faster than he could say, ‘I do.’
But if he didn’t marry her then he would be disinheriting the baby. He didn’t have any choice.
* * *
Seb froze as he took her hand, recognition dawning in his eyes.
‘Huntingdon-Cross,’ he repeated and Daisy dropped his hand, recoiling from the horror in his voice.
For a moment she contemplated pretending she wasn’t one of those Huntingdon-Crosses but a cousin, a far, far removed cousin. From the north. Of course, Seb