The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret

She took the bowl and sat on a stool, swiping her finger through the batter. “Is he cute? Your son?”

Byron thought about the pale blue eyes, the shock of red hair and the drooly smile. “Yeah. Really cute.”

Frances shook her head, but at least she was grinning as she did so. “You should see the smile on your face. Congratulations, Byron—you’re a father.”

Seven (#ulink_1a853cf6-7c62-5600-b0e4-045c749175fa)

“We’re what? You’re what?” May stared at Leona.

“I’m going to marry Byron.” I think, she mentally added.

May’s mouth opened, closed and opened again. “When? Oh, to heck with when. Why?”

“He’s Percy’s father. And no one wants Father to get involved in a custody battle. If I’m married to Byron, Father can’t take Percy from us.” These were all perfectly rational reasons for this sudden change of course. But rational had nothing to do with the way Leona’s stomach was in a knot that might never get untied.

“And what about me?” May demanded, her eyes flashing.

It was, hands down, the angriest Leona had ever heard her little sister. Any other day, Leona might celebrate this development—May was speaking out instead of meekly taking whatever life dished out.

But it wasn’t helping Leona’s unmovable knot. “You can come with us. We’ll get a bigger place—more than enough room for you to have your own space.” May looked at Leona as if she’d grown a third head. Leona decided to change tactics. “Or you can stay here. I know this is closer to your college...”

“What about Percy? I don’t want to live with a Beaumont, but I’m the one who takes care of him.”

Leona winced at the dismissive way May said Beaumont. “I know. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

May looked doubtful, but she didn’t say anything else. Instead, she turned and headed back to bed.

Leona went to her room and lay down on the double bed, but she didn’t sleep. Her mind raced through all the options. Marrying Byron. Moving in with him. Being a family, at least during the day. Sleeping in separate bedrooms.

What other options did she have? Every time she asked herself that question, she came back to the same answer. None. But she kept asking it, just to be sure.

The separate bedrooms thing was nonnegotiable. It had to be. Even now, she could feel his lips on hers, feel a year’s worth of sexual frustration begging to be released by his hands.

Sex with Byron had been fun and magical and wonderful. In his arms, she’d been special.

Was it wrong to want that back in her life? No, that wasn’t the right question. Was it wrong to want that with Byron—again?

But separate bedrooms it was. Because she could not confuse sex with love. Fool me once, shame on you. But fool me twice...

She was no fool. Not any longer.

Finally, exhausted, she turned her attention back to the only thing that could possibly distract her from Byron—the restaurant. She needed some ideas for tomorrow.

She drifted off to sleep thinking about Percherons.

* * *

Byron shook the tablecloth out over the small metal bistro table he’d snagged off one of the mansion’s patios. Then he set up the matching chairs around it. He’d brought a candle because...well, because. Once upon a time, he’d planned a romantic candlelit dinner where he would ask for her hand in marriage. The ring he’d picked out this morning felt as if it was burning a hole in his pocket.

But he’d finally decided that the dungeon was too musty to eat in and it was far too windy outside to have a flame burning, so he let it rest. Candles were not required.

He had a picnic basket filled with three kinds of sandwiches, potato salad and gazpacho. He’d packed the almond cake from last night and had two bottles of iced tea. This wasn’t his ideal meal, but as he was quickly learning, he had to go with the flow.

Just another tasting, he tried to tell himself as he set out the silverware. No big deal.

Except it was huge. He’d called Matthew—this situation seemed too important to discuss over a text—but Matthew hadn’t picked up, which wasn’t like him. So Byron had been forced to leave a vague, “Something’s come up and I need to talk to you,” message.

Byron had also called a Realtor and laid out his specifications. And he’d even called the county clerk to find out what he needed to get married.

Now he had to wait. He and Leona could get married next week, but he needed the prenup first.

Finally, after what felt like a long wait but was actually only a few minutes past noon, Leona’s car rolled up. She sat behind the wheel for a few moments. Byron got the feeling she was psyching herself up.

Then she got out of the car. She was wearing another suit—the consummate businesswoman. But there was something more about her, something that had attracted him to her from the very first time he’d laid eyes on her. After all this time, he still couldn’t say what that something was.

Whatever it was, he wanted to pull her into his arms and not let go. He’d hired her for a very specific reason—to make sure she knew she couldn’t hurt him. But instead? He’d found out just how much he couldn’t trust her.

He would not give in to the physical temptation that Leona represented. This marriage proposal wasn’t about sex. It was about doing whatever it took to make sure his son was safe.

“Hi,” she said. She looked at the outdoor table.

Was she nervous? Fine. Good. He didn’t want her to think she held all the cards. The sooner she realized he was calling the shots, the better.

He stood and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed and he swore he felt a current of electricity pass between them. But he wouldn’t give in and pull her into his arms. He couldn’t let her affect him. Not anymore. “Have you given any more thought to my question?”

Leona notched an eyebrow at him. That was better, he thought. He loved it when she was snarky and sarcastic—not shell-shocked. “I don’t remember your asking me anything. I seem to remember more of a direct order.”

Byron pulled the small, robin’s-egg-blue box out of his pocket. Leona gasped. “Ah. Yes. That was a mistake.” He opened the box. The sunlight caught the emerald-cut diamond and threw sparkles across the tablecloth. “Leona, will you marry me?”

If only he’d asked her a year ago...but even as he thought that, he remembered how she’d hidden her name, her family from him. Would she have said yes, if he’d asked her then? Or would she have laughed in his face? Would it have changed everything—or would it all still have happened exactly the same way?

Anything snarky about her fell away as she gaped at the ring, then him, then back at the ring. She reached out to touch the box but pulled her hand back. “We need to discuss work,” she finally said in a firm voice. “Mr. Lutefisk is very particular about his employees having personal conversations while they’re on the clock. He’ll be calling to check in about an hour from now. He’s letting me handle this project on my own, but he keeps close tabs on all of his employees’ projects.”

What a load of crap. She was stalling and he didn’t like it. “Leona. This isn’t just a ‘personal conversation.’ This is our life—together.”

She gave him a baleful look that, despite all of his best intentions to not let her get to him, made him feel guilty. Then fire flashed through her eyes. “I work. This is my job. You can’t think that hiring me and proposing means you get to control every minute of my life, Byron. Because if so, I have an answer to your question. I don’t think you’ll like it.”

In spite of himself, he grinned. “When did you get this feisty?”

“When you left me,” she snapped. “Now are we going to discuss the job for which you hired me or not?”

The accusation stung. “That’s not how I remember it going down,” he said, frustration bubbling up.

She shrugged out of his grasp and sat down at the table as if she was mad at the chair. “I’m not talking about it now. I. Am. Working.”

“Fine. When can we discuss nonwork stuff?”

“After five.”