The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret. Sarah M. Anderson
with their father.”
“Oh, I see. And this is what she told you? Because we all know how very trustworthy she is. Do I need to remind you that this is the woman who didn’t even see fit to tell you she was Leon Harper’s daughter, even after you’d started sleeping with her?”
“No, you do not need to remind me of that,” he snapped. “It doesn’t change the fact that Percy is my son.” He realized he was whisking the cookie batter with more force than was required. He made himself set the bowl down.
“And you’re sure,” Frances asked.
“Yes.”
She shook her head in some combination of disbelief and pity. “God only knows what she’s been saying about you. And her father? You have to get that kid away from her.”
“I told her we had to get married. Immediately.” Frances gasped in true horror.
“Are you nuts? You want to marry into that family of—vipers?”
“That’s why I have to marry her—to make sure Harper can’t take Percy away from us.”
“Listen to you. Us. There is no us. There’s you and a woman who broke your heart and then hid a baby from you.” Unexpectedly, her eyes watered. “I already lost you for a year. You weren’t here because of that woman. No one else understands me like you do. I missed having my twin here.”
The last thing he needed right now was more guilt. “I missed you, too. But I’m back now,” he told her.
Frances sniffed. “Isn’t there another way? Do you have to marry her?”
“Yes.” He got out the scoop he used for the batter and began to dish it out onto the baking mats. “It’s the only way to make things right.”
Or more right. After all, he hadn’t spoken of undying love, of treasuring her forever. This was a marriage of necessity. They would have separate rooms. Her sister was going to live with them.
“You need to be careful, Byron.”
He wanted to say, when was he not careful? But he knew what Frances would say to that—if he’d been careful the first time, he’d have realized that Leona Harper was Leon Harper’s daughter. And, of course, if he’d been careful, he wouldn’t have had a child he never knew.
But he hadn’t been careful. He’d just wanted her. It hadn’t mattered whose daughter she was. It hadn’t mattered that every time he tried to ask about her family, she changed the subject. What had mattered was that they were together.
Well. He was finally going to make that come true. They would be together—for the sake of their son, if nothing else.
“I’ll call Matthew. He’ll get the lawyers going on it.” There. That was a perfectly reasonable thing to say. After all, if he’d learned anything from his father, it was that marriages were temporary and a man with a fortune should always have a prenup.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He scooped out the second-to-last cookie’s worth of dough and then offered the bowl to Frances. That’d always been her favorite part, licking the bowls. “Look, I just found this out tonight. I’m still trying to get my head wrapped around it.”
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.”
“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.