Intimate with CEO

strong-willed, but three of his children were too placid and accepting of things as they were. They assumed that everything would fall into their hands, like ripe fruit from a tree trunk. Lillian was the only one who seemed to have inherited some of the Bowmans' feisty spirit, but she was a woman. And then there was Daisy. Of all his children, she had always been the one Thomas Bowman understood least. Even as a child, Daisy had never drawn the right conclusions from the stories he told her, asking only questions that never seemed relevant.

When he had explained to her why investors seeking low risk and moderate returns should put their money in government bonds, Daisy had interrupted him by asking, "Father, wouldn't it be wonderful if the hummingbirds got together for tea and we were small enough to be invited?" Over the years, Bowman's efforts to change Daisy had met with valiant resistance. His daughter liked the way she was. Trying to change her was like herding a flock of butterflies. Simply impossible. Since Bowman had been half-mad about his daughter's unpredictable nature, he was not at all surprised by the lack of men willing to take her on for life. What kind of mother would she be, babbling about fairies coming down rainbows instead of instilling sensible rules in her children's heads? Mercedes chimed in with a dismayed voice: "Mr. Bowman, the season is far from over. And Daisy has made excellent progress so far." Lord Westcliff introduced her to several promising gentlemen, all of whom were very interested in the prospect of becoming the earl's brothers-in-law. "It is obvious that each of these 'promising gentlemen' is interested in becoming Westcliff's brother-in-law rather than Daisy's husband," Bowman said darkly. "Does any of these men intend to propose to her?" "She cannot know," Mercedes argued. "Women always know these things. Tell me, Daisy, is there any chance of you marrying one of these gentlemen?" The young woman hesitated, her dark eyes revealing concern. "No, Father," she admitted frankly. "As I thought." Folding his thick fingers over his belly, Bowman looked authoritatively at the two silent women. "Your failure has become inconvenient, child. I am concerned about the unnecessary expense of dresses and trinkets-the tedium of chauffeuring you from one unproductive ball to another. More than that, I am concerned that this adventure has kept me in England when I am needed in New York. That is why I have decided to choose a husband for you." Daisy stared at him, confused. "Who do you have in mind, Father?" "Matthew Swift." Mercedes looked at her husband as if he had gone mad. "That makes no sense! This marriage would do us no good. Mr. Swift is not an aristocrat and does not have significant wealth..." "He is one of the Swifts of Boston," Bowman countered. "Hardly any family would turn their nose up at that. He has a good name and a good lineage. And most importantly, Swift is devoted to me. He is one of the most business-savvy people I have ever met. I want him as my son-in-law. I want him to inherit my company when the time comes." "You have three legitimate sons who will inherit it," Mercedes countered indignantly. "None of them give a damn about the company. They have no interest in it." Thinking of Matthew Swift, who had flourished under his tutelage for almost ten years, Bowman felt his pride blossom. The young man was more like him than his own sons. "None of them have Swift's ambition and coldness." I will make him the father of my heirs." "You're mad!" Mercedes exclaimed irritably. Daisy spoke in a calm tone, completely different from her father's. "I must stress that my cooperation is necessary, especially now that we're talking about heirs. And I assure you that no power on earth will force me to bear children by a man I don't like." "I thought you wanted to be useful to someone," Bowman roared. It had always been in his nature to fight rebellion with overwhelming force. "I thought you wanted a husband and a home instead of continuing to live like a parasite." Daisy flinched as if he'd slapped her. "I'm not a parasite." "No? Then explain to me how the world has benefited from your presence. What have you ever done for anyone?" Faced with the task of justifying her existence, Daisy glared at him coldly and remained silent. "That is my ultimatum," Bowman said. "Find me a suitable husband by the end of May or I will marry you to Swift." "I shouldn't tell you this," Daisy grumbled, pacing the Marsden drawing room later that evening. "In your condition, you shouldn't worry. But I'll burst if I keep it to myself, which would probably worry you infinitely more." Her older sister lifted her head from where it was resting on Lord Westcliff's shoulder. "Tell me," Lillian said, fighting back another wave of nausea. "I only worry when people keep things from me." She was reclining on the long sofa as Westcliff spooned lemon sorbet into her mouth. Lillian closed her eyes as she swallowed, her dark lashes striking a pale contrast to her cheeks. "Better?" Westcliff asked gently, wiping a drop from the corner of his wife's lips. Lillian nodded, her face alarmingly pale. "Yes, I think it's helping. Ugh. You better pray for a boy, Westcliff, because this is your only chance of having an heir." I'll never go through that again..." "Open your mouth," he said, and fed her more ice cream. Normally Daisy would have been touched by this glimpse into the Westcliffs' private lives. It was rare to see Lillian so vulnerable or Marcus so kind and concerned. But Daisy was so distracted by her own problems that she barely noticed their interaction as she spoke impulsively, "Father gave me an ultimatum. Tonight he-" "Wait," Westcliff said quietly, adjusting his wife's position. As he settled her on her side, Lillian leaned more heavily against him and rested one of her slender white hands on her belly. He murmured something indecipherable into her tousled ebony hair, and she nodded with a sigh. Anyone who had witnessed Westcliff's tenderness toward his young wife could not fail to notice the changes in the earl, who had always been known as a cold man. He had become much more approachable, he smiled more, and his standards of behavior had become far less rigid. Which was a good thing for a man who had Lillian as his wife and Daisy as his sister-in-law. Westcliff frowned and focused on Daisy. Though the earl said nothing, Daisy saw in his eyes the desire to protect Lillian from anything that might disturb her peace. Daisy suddenly felt ashamed of having gone to her sister to tell her about the injustices her father had committed. Instead of keeping her troubles to herself, she had run to her older sister like a chattering child. But then Lillian's brown eyes opened, warm and smiling, and a thousand childhood memories floated through the air like happy fireflies. The sisters' closeness was something that even

where it was resting on Lord Westcliff's shoulder. "Tell me," Lillian said, fighting back another wave of nausea. "I only worry when people keep things from me." She was reclining on the long sofa as Westcliff spooned lemon sorbet into her mouth. Lillian closed her eyes as she swallowed, her dark lashes striking a pale contrast to her cheeks. "Better?" Westcliff asked gently, wiping a drop from the corner of his wife's lips. Lillian nodded, her face alarmingly pale. "Yes, I think it's helping. Ugh.

You better pray for a boy, Westcliff, because this is your only chance of having an heir." I'll never go through that again..." "Open your mouth," he said, and fed her more ice cream. Normally Daisy would have been touched by this glimpse into the Westcliffs' private lives. It was rare to see Lillian so vulnerable or Marcus so kind and concerned. But Daisy was so distracted by her own problems that she barely noticed their interaction as she spoke impulsively, "Father gave me an ultimatum. Tonight he-" "Wait," Westcliff said quietly, adjusting his wife's position. As he settled her on her side, Lillian leaned more heavily against him and rested one of her slender white hands on her belly. He murmured something indecipherable into her tousled ebony hair, and she nodded with a sigh. Anyone who had witnessed Westcliff's tenderness toward his young wife could not fail to notice the changes in the earl, who had always been known as a cold man. He had become much more approachable, he smiled more, and his standards of behavior had become far less rigid. Which was a good thing for a man who had Lillian as his wife and Daisy as his sister-in-law. Westcliff frowned and focused on Daisy. Though the earl said nothing, Daisy saw in his eyes the desire to protect Lillian from anything that might disturb her peace. Daisy suddenly felt ashamed of having gone to her sister to tell her about the injustices her father had committed. Instead of keeping her troubles to herself, she had run to her older sister like a chattering child. But then Lillian's brown eyes opened, warm and smiling, and a thousand childhood memories floated through the air like happy fireflies. The sisters' closeness was something that even the most protective of husbands could not avoid. "Tell me," Lillian said, snuggling against Westcliff's shoulder. "What did the ogre say?" "He'll marry me off if I don't find a husband by the end of May. And guess who?" "I can't imagine," Lillian said. "He doesn't approve of anyone." "Oh, yes, he does!" Daisy said. "There's one he does." Even Westcliff was beginning to look interested. "Is it someone I know?" "You'll soon," Daisy said. "Father sent for him. He's coming to the Hampshire estate next week to hunt deer." Westcliff tried to remember the names Thomas Bowman had asked him to include on the guest list for the spring hunt. "The American?" he asked. "Mr. Swift?" "Yes." Confused, Lillian looked at her sister. Then she turned away and squealed into her husband's shoulder. At first Daisy feared she was crying, but it soon became clear that she was laughing uncontrollably. "No, that's not possible... How absurd! You could never..." "You wouldn't find it so funny if you were in my shoes," Daisy said grimly. Westcliff looked from one sister to the other. "What's wrong with Mr. Swift? From what your father says, he seems like a very respectable man." "He's got everything wrong with him," Lillian said, laughing again. "But your father likes him," Westcliff said. "Oh!" Lillian scoffed. "Mr. Swift fawns over my father, trying to imitate him and doing everything he says." The earl considered his wife's words as he brought more lemon sherbet to her lips. She moaned with pleasure as the cold liquid ran down her throat. "Is your father wrong in saying that Mr. Swift is clever?" Westcliff asked Daisy. "He is clever," Daisy admitted, "but he is a complicated fellow. Mr. Swift asks a thousand questions and takes in what is said, but says nothing." "Perhaps he is shy," Westcliff observed. Daisy could not help laughing. "I assure you, my lord, that Mr. Swift is not shy. He is..." She stopped, finding it difficult to put her thoughts into words. Matthew Swift's great coldness was accompanied by an unbearable air of superiority. No one could ever tell him anything, because he knew absolutely everything. Having grown up in a family full of uncompromising personalities, Daisy had no interest in having another rigid person in her life. It didn't do her any favors that Swift was such a good fit for the Bowmans. Perhaps Swift might have been more tolerable if he had some charm or appeal. But he had been blessed with none. No sense of humor, no discernible amiability. He was awkward, tall, out of proportion, and so thin that his arms and legs looked like vine branches. Daisy remembered the way Matthew's coat seemed to hang off his broad shoulders as if there were nothing inside. "Instead of telling you all I don't like about him," Daisy said, "it's easier to say there's no reason I should like him." "He's not even handsome," Lillian added. "He's a bag of bones." She patted Westcliff's muscular chest in silent praise of her husband's physique, which he found amusing. "Does Mr. Swift have any good features?" The two sisters considered the question. "He has nice teeth," Daisy said reluctantly. "How do you know?" Lillian asked. "He never smiles!" "Your judgment is harsh," Westcliff observed. "But Mr. Swift may have changed since you last saw him." "Not to the point that I would ever agree to marry him." "You won't have to marry Swift if you don't want to," Lillian said vehemently, shifting in her husband's arms. "Am I right, Westcliff?" "Yes, dear," he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face. "And you won't let Papa take Daisy away from me," Lillian insisted. "Of course not. There's always a compromise." Lillian relaxed against her husband, having complete faith in his abilities. "There," she murmured to Daisy. "You needn't worry. Westcliff has everything"-she stopped to yawn-"under control." Seeing her sister's eyelids droop, Daisy smiled sympathetically. She caught Westcliff's gaze over Lillian's head and waved him away. He nodded politely in response, and his attention was immediately drawn back to Lillian's sleepy face. Daisy wondered if any man would ever look at her that way, as if she held a treasure in his arms. She was certain that Westcliff would try to help her in any way he could, if only for Lillian's sake. But her faith in the earl's influence could not be infinite, for she was well aware of her own father's unyielding ways. Though she would defy him in every way possible, she had a sinking feeling that luck was not on her side. She paused in the doorway of the drawing room and glanced worriedly at the couple on the sofa. Lillian had fallen asleep quickly, her head resting heavily on Westcliff's. When the earl saw Daisy's unhappy look, he raised an eyebrow in silent question. "My father..." Daisy began to explain, then bit her lip. This man was her father's business partner. She should not trouble him with complaints. But Westcliff's patient expression encouraged

father..." Daisy began to explain, then bit her lip. This man was her father's business partner. She should not trouble him with complaints. But Westcliff's patient expression encouraged her to continue. "He called me a parasite," he said softly, so as not to disturb Lillian. "And what was your response to that comment?" Westcliff asked. "I couldn't think of anything to say." Westcliff's coffee-colored eyes were unfathomable. He gestured her toward the sofa. To Daisy's surprise, he took her hand and squeezed it affectionately. The normally circumspect earl had never done anything like that.

"Daisy," Westcliff said kindly, "most people are not distinguished by great deeds, but by an infinite number of small ones. Whenever you do something good or make someone smile, it gives meaning to your life. Never doubt your worth, my dear. The world would be a sad place without Daisy Bowman." Few would deny that Stony Cross Park was one of the most beautiful places in England. The Hampshire estate encompassed a vast array of lands: from nearly impenetrable forests to wet meadows full of flowers, from moors to the honey-colored stone mansion on a hill overlooking the River Itchen. Life flourished everywhere. Bright buds were emerging from the carpet of fallen leaves at the feet of the furrowed oaks and cedars, and bluebells hid in a darker part of the woods. Grasshoppers flitted across meadows filled with primroses and cardamoms, while blue dragonflies hovered over the intricate white petals of the menianthus. The air, saturated with the scent of hedgerows and soft green grass, was scented with spring. After twelve hellish hours in the carriage, the Westcliffs, the Bowmans, and the other guests were glad to finally arrive. The sky was a different color in Hampshire-a softer blue-and the air was a welcome stillness. There was no sound of wheels and hooves on cobbled streets, no sound of vendors or beggars, no whistles from factories, no constant hustle and bustle that disturbed the ears of the city. There was only the chirping of robins in the hedges, the tapping of woodpeckers in the trees, and the occasional splash of kingfishers in the reeds into the river. Lillian, who had previously found the country deadly boring, was delighted to be back. She had thrived in the atmosphere of Stony Cross Park, and after her first night at the manor house she felt much better than she had in weeks before. Now that it was no longer possible to hide her pregnancy with high-waisted dresses, she was to be seen out of public. As she was on her own estate, she would have relative freedom, though she would have to restrict her interactions with guests to small groups. Daisy, who had been installed in her favourite room at the manor house, was also happy. The beautiful, quaint room had belonged to Lord Westcliff's sister, Lady Aline, who now resided in America with her husband and son. The most charming feature of the room was the small adjoining study that had been brought from France and refitted. It had originally belonged to a seventeenth-century chateau and had a chaise longue perfect for napping or reading. Curled up with one of her books in a corner of the chaise longue, Daisy felt as if she were hiding from the rest of the world. Oh, if only she could stay here at Stony Cross and live with her sister forever! But she knew she would never be happy like that. She wanted her own life, her own husband, her own children. For the first time in her memory, she and her mother had become allies, united in their desire to avoid a marriage to the odious Matthew Swift. "That bastard!" Mercedes had exclaimed. "I have no doubt he put that damned idea into your father's head! I always suspected he-" "Suspected what?" Daisy had asked, but her mother had only pressed her lips together into a harsh line. After examining the guest list, Mercedes had informed Daisy that a number of suitable gentlemen would be staying at the mansion. "Though not all of them are direct heirs to titles, they are from noble families," Mercedes had said. "And you never know... Misfortunes do happen: fatal illnesses or serious accidents. Several members of the family might die at once, and then her husband would become a nobleman! Mercedes had looked more closely at the list, seeming to hope that a calamity would befall Daisy's future relatives. She was impatient for Evie and St. Vincent to arrive. She missed Evie terribly, especially since Annabelle was busy with her baby and Lillian moved too slowly to keep up with her on the walks she enjoyed. On the third day after her arrival in Hampshire, Daisy went for a walk alone in the afternoon. She took a path she had taken on many previous visits. She wore a pale blue muslin dress with a floral print, sturdy walking boots, and a straw hat tied with ribbons. As she strode along a road that passed through meadows filled with yellow celandine and red sundews, Daisy considered her problem. Why was it so hard for her to find a husband? It wasn't that she didn't want to fall in love with someone. In fact, she liked the idea so much that it seemed terribly unfair that she hadn't found the right person yet. She had tried, but there was always something wrong. If a gentleman was the right age, he was either passive or pompous. If he was kind and interesting, he was either old enough to be her grandfather or had some disturbing problem, like smelling bad or spitting in her face when he spoke. Daisy knew she was no beauty. She was very short and frail, and although she had been complimented on her dark hair and eyes, which contrasted with her fair skin, she had also often heard people refer to her as "petty" and "naughty." Naughty young women apparently did not attract as many suitors as delicate petite women or statuesque beauties. It had also been observed that Daisy spent too much time with her books, which was probably true. If she had been allowed to, she would have spent most of the day reading and dreaming. Any sensible noblewoman would no doubt conclude that she would not be a useful wife in matters of household management, including those duties that required close attention to detail. And she would be right. Daisy could not care less about the contents of the pantry or how much soap to order for the daily wash. She was far more interested in novels, poetry, and history. All of these led to long flights of imagination during which she would spend hours staring at a window without seeing the real world, living exotic adventures, traveling on magic carpets, sailing across distant oceans, and searching for treasure on tropical islands. And there were handsome gentlemen in Daisy's dreams, inspired by stories of great heroism and noble pursuits. These imaginary men were so much more interesting than ordinary ones. They spoke beautiful words, were excellent at swordfights and duels, and made women swoon with their kisses. Of course, Daisy wasn't naïve enough to think that such men existed, but she had to admit that with all these romantic images in her head, real men seemed awfully... bland. Daisy lifted her face to the weak sunlight filtering through the treetops and sang a folk song: Let the rich or the humble come, Let the clever or the naive. Let any man come To marry for pity's sake! Soon Daisy reached her destination: a well that she and her friends had visited a few times before. A wishing well. It was said to be inhabited by a spirit who would grant your wish if you threw a pin into it. The only danger was getting too close, because the spirit of the well might pull you in to live forever as his consort. Daisy had made wishes for her friends before-and they had all been granted. Now she was the one who needed a little magic. She set her hat down on the ground, walked over to the well, and looked down into the muddy wat