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Grounds For Marriage
Daphne Clair
FROM HERE TO PATERNITY "Too handsome, too clever, too sure of himself, too everything." Lacey Kerr, at seventeen, had thought that of Tully Cleaver, before she'd made the mistake that had altered her life. And in ten years she hadn't changed her mind. For her daughter's sake Tully was welcome in their lives, and he had surprised Lacey by becoming a good father who wanted to be involved in Emma's life-but he wasn't husband material.However, when Lacey announced that she was to marry Julian Wye, Tully took action! After all, he was the father of the bride's daughter… .FROM HERE TO PATERNITY - men who find their way to fatherhood by fair means, by foul, or even by default!
“I’m planning to get married.” (#u7de35640-db89-5cb6-90b7-e2cb63e7fac0)About the Author (#u93a846e3-5d30-5f82-a40f-570b96f42717)Title Page (#u5ef76b96-3b73-521b-9e4b-ae33b200f643)CHAPTER ONE (#u97937c83-6fa1-5c88-b055-3527fbfcd963)CHAPTER TWO (#u1194a0ec-a2cf-56d7-9f46-a7ec22a4d21e)CHAPTER THREE (#u2abfcf85-919f-533f-ab6c-2333756d3b33)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I’m planning to get married.”
For perhaps three seconds Tully didn’t move, just sat staring at her, his expression a total blank.
Then he moved like an explosion, scraping his chair away from the table so it screeched on the floor and the jacket hanging over the back swung violently. “You’re what?”
Looking at him looming over her, Lacey blinked. “I’m getting married,” she repeated.
His eyes looked black and brilliant, fixing intently on her. “So...” he said. “Who’s the lucky man?”
FROM HERE TO PATERNITY—romances that feature fantastic men who eventually make fabulous fathers. Some seek paternity, some have it thrust upon them, all will make it—whether they like it or not!
DAPHNE CLAIR lives in Aotearoa, New Zealand, with her Dutch-born husband. Their five children have left home but drift back at irregular intervals. At eight years old she embarked on her first novel about taming a tiger. This epic never reached a publisher, but metamorphosed male tigers still prowl the pages of her romance novels. Her other writing includes nonfiction, poetry and short stories, and she has won literary prizes in New Zealand and America. Daphne Clair also writes as Laurey Bright.
Grounds For Marriage
Daphne Clair
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
IT SHOULDN’T be difficult to tell him, Lacey thought, tipping a tray of warm, sweet-smelling biscuits onto the wire rack to cool.
Her ears, alert for the sound, identified the muted hum of the Peugeot’s engine as the car swept into the drive outside, then the double slam of the doors, and Emma’s childish voice answered by Tully’s deep masculine one.
Lacey took a shaking breath. There was no reason for the flutter of nerves in her midriff, the unsteadiness of her hand as she picked up a biscuit that had dropped onto the counter and placed it on the rack. She stowed away the tray and pushed back a tress of light brown hair that had fallen across her cheek, curving it behind her ear with one finger.
Then the door burst open and Emma came in, her face flushed and eyes alight, wisps of dark, fine hair escaping from the hood of her padded windbreaker.
‘Mum, we’ve been horse-riding—it was neat fun! The lady said I’ve got a natural seat. Can I please have a pony of my own? Please?’
Emma was tall for a ten-year-old, taking after her father. Not for the first time, as Tully followed the child inside, Lacey thought how alike they were, with their near-black hair and inky blue eyes. Even some of Emma’s mannerisms resembled his. Of course, she would never have Tully’s masculine assurance, the underlying awareness of being male and liking it that was implicit in every movement he made. He couldn’t even stand still without radiating a subtle sexual challenge to every adult woman in the vicinity. It wasn’t deliberate, just part of his personality.
Over Emma’s head his amused eyes met Lacey’s. The heat of the stove had warmed the small, primrose-painted kitchen, and one long-fingered hand slid down the zip of his fleece-lined jacket as he closed the door to shut out the gusty wind. According to the radio news the ski fields at Tongariro were deep in snow, and in the South Island farmers were losing lambs. It never snowed in Auckland, which was close to New Zealand’s subtropical north, but grey days like this could be chilly.
Lacey said, ‘Owning a pony is a big responsibility, Emma. And expensive. We’ve nowhere to keep a horse.’ The suburban section on which the modest two-bedroom bungalow stood wasn’t even big enough for them to have a dog.
Some of the glow died from Emma’s face. ‘We could find somewhere. I’d look after it. I look after Ruffles.’
‘A cat is a bit different from a horse,’ Lacey pointed out.
‘Why?’ Emma’s voice held both disappointment and a hint of impending argument.
Tully ambled over to the counter and picked up a biscuit. ‘For one thing, it’s bigger,’ he said. ‘But we’ll talk about it when you’ve had a bit more practice, Em.’ He bit into the biscuit. ‘Mm. This is good.’
Distracted, Emma asked, ‘Can I have one?’ ‘They’re not ready,’ Lacey objected, eyeing Tully with exasperation as he grinned down at her, totally unintimidated. ‘They’ve only just come out of the oven.’
“That’s when they taste best,’ Tully said, and took another, tossing it to Emma. ‘Catch!’
She did so, giggling and then shooting a half-guilty, half-triumphant look at Lacey as she stuffed the biscuit into her mouth.
Giving up, Lacey took some cups from the hooks under the cupboards. ‘I suppose you want coffee?’ she asked Tully.
His mouth full of biscuit, he nodded, moving aside to allow her to reach the coffee maker.
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘Emma, when you’ve finished that go and hang up your jacket, and then you can do your homework.’
‘I’ll do it afterwards,’ Emma offered.
‘Now. I told you if it wasn’t done Friday night you’d have to do it Sunday afternoon.’
‘I’ll do it after tea.’
‘You’ll be tired.’
‘But Daddy—’
‘I want to talk to your father,’ Lacey said firmly. ‘Homework.’
Emma made a face and turned towards the door. Then she whirled, coming back to give Tully a hug. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I had the greatest time today!’
‘Shut the door,’ Lacey ordered as she left the room. Tully looked after her with a smile that faded as he turned towards Lacey. ‘One biscuit won’t hurt her,’ he said.
Lacey poured coffee into two cups and set them on the laminated table. Tully had taken off his jacket and hooked it onto the back of a chair before sitting down. In well-worn jeans, with the cuffs of his cotton shirt pushed back and the collar open, he looked more like a manual worker of some sort than the managing director of a highly successful business.
He said, ‘Am I in for a lecture?’ With a mixture of impatience and mock-solemnity he added, ‘I’m sorry if I undermined your discipline.’
It wasn’t what she’d wanted to talk to him about, but she seized on the issue as a delaying tactic. ‘You do spoil her.’
For an instant his handsome face wore an expression that reminded her of Emma’s when she was being stubborn. ‘I don’t see it that way.’
Inwardly Lacey sighed. ‘How do you see it?’ she asked. Shrugging, he picked up his cup and stared into it without drinking. ‘I can’t be with her every day like you,’ he said, ‘so I try to make up for it when we’re together.’
‘By letting her have everything she wants?’ Lacey enquired dryly.
‘By showing her that I care for her—as best I can.’
‘Giving in to her every whim isn’t necessarily the way to show it.’
He shot her an exasperated look. ‘I don’t do that. I’ve read some child psychology books, too. Emma’s not a demanding child. What’s the point of denying her a perfectly reasonable request when I can well afford it?’
‘I’m not talking about the computer or the bicycle.’ They’d had stiff little discussions about both when he had bought them.
‘Right,’ Tully said. ‘Are we talking about one biscuit?’
Lacey shook her head. ‘Of course not. It’s just that you...’
She hadn’t meant the conversation to go this way. She’d pictured a friendly cup of coffee over a plate of fresh-baked biscuits, a few minutes of casual talk, and then herself saying, ‘By the way...’
She jumped up and turned to the counter, scooping half a dozen biscuits onto a plate that she put down on the table before resuming her seat.
‘A peace offering?’ Tully looked from her to the plate and back again. ‘Or coals of fire?’
Reluctantly, she smiled. ‘Neither. Help yourself.’
He took one of the biscuits and bit off half of it, sipped some coffee and said, ‘I get a kick out of watching her enjoy things. You don’t really think having fun is bad for her, do you?’
She said sharply, ‘It’s all very well for you to treat her as a combination of playmate and pet. Someone has to impose some discipline in her life.’
Tully put his cup down, his eyes going darker. ‘Someone being you?’
“There is no one else—is there?’ Her resentful hazel eyes met his.
A faint frown drew his black brows together. ‘You’ve always said you could manage alone...’
‘I have—for ten years. But apparently you don’t agree with the way I’ve raised Emma.’
He looked at her for a moment and said, ‘She’s a lovely kid and .a credit to you. But do you mind if I put in my two cents worth now and then?’
He’d put more—much more—than two cents worth into making Emma’s life, and Lacey’s, easier than it might have been. ‘No,’ she muttered finally. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’
‘You’re touchy today. It isn’t like you.’ He inspected her face searchingly. ‘Is something wrong?’
It was her cue. Somehow it no longer seemed the right time to break the news, but she tried to smile and look happy. She was happy! ‘There’s nothing wrong,’ she said. ‘Just the opposite, in fact. I... have something to tell you. Even Emma doesn’t know yet, because I thought she might blurt it out to you, and I would rather you heard it from me...’ She stopped to take a wavery breath.
Tully looked warily alert, his strong hand curled about his cup on the table. ‘So what is it?’
She swallowed, and said, ‘I’m planning to get married.’
For perhaps three seconds Tully didn’t move, just sat staring at her, his expression a total blank.
Then he moved like an explosion, scraping his chair away from the table so it screeched on the floor and the jacket hanging over the back swung violently. ‘You’re what?’
Looking at him looming over her, Lacey blinked. ‘I’m getting married,’ she repeated. ‘You heard me.’
Tully shook his head as though to clear it. ‘I heard. I just didn’t believe it.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ she said tartly. ‘I’m free and way past twenty-one—but not exactly over the hill yet—sane, not suffering from any communicable disease, and have all my own teeth...’
‘All right!’ Tully cut in gratingly. ‘I wasn’t trying to be insulting.’
‘Well, be sure to tell me when you are trying so I’ll know the difference!’
He gave a reluctant crack of laughter. ‘It was just... unexpected.’ He hooked the chair round with his foot so that its back faced her, dropping down astride it with his chin resting on his folded arms along the back. His eyes looked black and brilliant, fixing intently on her. ‘So...’ he said. ‘Who’s the lucky man?’
Lacey relaxed slightly. The worst was over. ‘His name’s Julian,’ she said. ‘Julian Wye. He’s a solicitor.’
‘Emma’s never mentioned any Julian Wye. How long have you known him?’
‘I first met him a couple of years ago. He was a friend of a friend.’
‘And now he’s your friend. Your...fiancé?’
‘It’s not official yet. There are complications.’
‘What sort of complications?’
‘For one thing Emma may need time to get used to the idea, and Julian has a sixteen-year-old daughter—’
Tully’s head lifted as he straightened. ‘How old is this guy?’
‘Thirty-nine. He’s—’
‘He’s too old for you!’
‘I don’t think so. Anyway, it’s not relevant.’
‘You want to marry some guy who’s nearly forty, and you think it’s not relevant?’
‘I’m nearly thirty.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he argued. ‘I’m not even thirty yet. He’s a dozen years older than you!’
‘Eleven. Anyway,’ she said, brushing aside the question of relative ages, ‘the thing is, I need your help.’
‘Whoa!’ Tully said. ‘Just hang on a minute. What about the mother of this sixteen-year-old daughter of his? Is he divorced?’
‘She died,’ Lacey said. ‘Julian had to bring up Desma by himself.’
‘And she lives with him?’
‘Of course. He’s her father:
‘I’m Emma’s father.’
‘That’s different.’
‘Is it? I thought there was only one way to father a child. Leaving aside test-tubes...’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Ah. You mean we weren’t married.’ He paused. ‘You know the offer is still open.’
