Expecting the Earl's Baby. Jessica Gilmore

a real try though, promise me five years at least.’

      That was a respectable amount of time; the family name had been dragged through the mud enough.

      ‘I don’t know.’ She stepped back, away from his touch, and he dropped his empty hand, the silk of her skin imprinted on his fingertips. ‘Getting married with a get-out clause seems wrong.’

      ‘All marriages have a get-out clause. Look.’ Seb clenched his hands. He was losing her. In a way he was impressed; he thought the title and castle was inducement enough for most women.

      It was time for the big guns.

      ‘This isn’t about us. It’s about our child. His future. We owe it to him to be responsible, to do the right thing for him.’

      ‘Or her.’

      ‘Or her.’

      Thoughts were whirling around in Daisy’s brain, a giant tangled skein of them. She was so tired, her limbs heavy, her shoulders slumping under the decision she was faced with.

      But she was going to be a mother. What did she think that meant? All pushing swings and ice creams on the beach? She hadn’t thought beyond the birth, hadn’t got round to figuring out childcare and working long days on sleepless nights. It would be good to have someone else involved. Not someone she was dependent on but someone who was as invested in the baby as she was.

      And if he didn’t marry her he would marry elsewhere. That should make it easier to turn him down. But it showed how committed he was.

      What would she tell people? That she’d messed up again? She’d worked so hard to put her past behind her. The thought of confessing the truth to her family sent her stomach into complicated knots. How could she admit to her adoring parents and indulgent sisters that she was pregnant after a one-night stand—but don’t worry, she was getting married?

      It wasn’t the whirlwind marriage part that would send her parents into a tailspin. After all, they had known each other for less than forty-eight hours when they had walked into that Las Vegas chapel. It was the businesslike arrangement that they would disapprove of.

      But maybe they didn’t have to know...

      ‘How would it work?’

      He didn’t hesitate. ‘Family first, Hawksley second. Discretion always. I’m a private person, no magazines invited in to coo over our lovely home, no scandalous headlines.’

      That made sense. A welcome kind of sense. Publicity ran through her family’s veins; it would be nice to step away from that.

      But her main question was still unvoiced, still unanswered. She steeled herself.

      ‘What about intimacy?’

      Seb went perfectly still apart from one muscle, beating in his cheek, his eyes darkening. Daisy took another step back, reaching for the chair as support as an answering beat pounded through her body.

      ‘Intimacy?’ His voice was low, as if the word was forced from him. ‘That’s up to you, Daisy. We worked—’ he paused ‘—well together. It would be nice to have a full marriage. But that’s up to you.’

      Worked well? Nice? She had been thinking spectacular. Could she really do this? Marry someone who substituted rules for love, discretion for affection and thought respect was the pinnacle of success?

      But in the circumstances how could she not? It wasn’t as if she had an alternative plan.

      Daisy swallowed, hard, a lump the size of a Kardashian engagement ring forming in her throat. This was so far from her dreams, her hopes.

      ‘I have a condition.’ Was that her voice? So confident?

      Seb’s eyes snapped onto hers with unblinking focus. ‘Name it.’

      ‘We don’t tell anyone why we’re marrying like this. If we do this then we pretend. We pretend that we are head over heels ridiculously besotted. If you can do that then yes. We have a deal.’