His Son, Her Secret

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s the only way to keep Percy safe, Leona, and you know it.”

  If they weren’t married, what was to stop her father from charging in like a bull elephant at any second? Byron had been out of the picture for a year. He didn’t know the specifics of family law, but he was pretty sure his absence would count against him. He would beat Leon—he was the boy’s father—but it would be a long, exhausting battle.

  Memories of his mother mixed in with all the current confusion—not just the screaming fights, but how his father had had all of her things loaded into a moving van before he’d served her with divorce papers. How his mother had never quite recovered from being kicked out, from being steamrollered in court and losing her children.

  Could Byron let that happen to Leona? Could he live with himself if she was the collateral damage in yet another Beaumont-Harper legal battle?

  He should. She’d lied to him—twice. And not about whether or not she’d spent too much money or hated his cooking or any of those petty things other people lied about. She’d lied about who she was and the fact that she’d given birth to Byron’s son.

  And yet... He couldn’t do it. Because Leona was right about one thing—it didn’t really matter who’d done what a year ago. He couldn’t bear to think of her being destroyed like his mother had been. That was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  He could barely think right now. Babies and apartments and a wedding. A ring. And a restaurant. Couldn’t forget that.

  And applesauce. He turned to the stove—yeah, it was done. He shut the burner off to let it cool. For some insane reason, he wondered if Leona had chocolate chips. If ever there was a time for cookies, this was it.

  He turned back to Leona. She stood there looking as if he’d threatened her to within an inch of her life. Maybe he had. But what were his options? He could not let Leon Harper get his claws into Percy. Everything else was secondary.

  “At least until we’re sure your father can’t take over,” he rationalized. “And you can still have a private bedroom. I...” He took a deep breath. “I cared for you a great deal. I hope that we can at least be friends.”

  She dropped her gaze and he had the distinct feeling that he was making things worse. “Friends.”

  “For Percy’s sake.”

  “Can I...think about it? Tomorrow’s Friday. We probably couldn’t get an appointment to get married for a week or two anyway.”

  “Sure.” He tried to sound friendly about it, but he didn’t think he made it. “But I’ll start looking for places tomorrow.” Because even if she didn’t marry him, they still needed to live together.

  But she’d marry him. She had to.

  He should go. He’d just asked her to move in and marry him within the space of a few minutes, and the pull to make cookies was only getting stronger. She needed to think, too. “When will I see you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I have to go to the office and update my boss on the project and draft a few ideas for you. I promised,” she added with a watery smile.

  “Lunch, then? I’ll have something ready for us.”

  “Not at the mansion, right?” Another small shudder went through her.

  “No,” he readily agreed. He didn’t want another run-in with Frances. “At the restaurant.”

  “All right. Tomorrow around noon.”

  He transferred the applesauce into the container and sealed it. “For Percy,” he said, holding out the still-warm sauce.

  “For Percy,” she agreed.

  She didn’t sound happy about it.

  * * *

  Byron went straight to the kitchen. It was late, though—George was already gone. The normally warm, bright room was dark and quiet, except for the echo of his footsteps off the tiled floors.

  He flipped on the lights and assembled ingredients. Chocolate chip cookies were a must. For lunch tomorrow, he told himself. And he could try a few sandwiches. It was reasonable to think that he’d want to have a simple lunch menu.

  He fell into the familiar routine of creaming the sugar and folding in the chips while the oven preheated. He didn’t even have to think about this recipe anymore.

  Had he really asked Leona to marry him? Because she’d given birth to a son—his son, the one with matching red hair?

  He needed a ring. He hadn’t bought one the first time around. A ring would show her he was serious about this.

  “There you are.”

  Byron spun to see Frances standing in the doorway. Instead of the gown she’d been wearing earlier, she was in a pair of pajamas—thick, fleecy ones with a bright turquoise plaid pattern. She looked fifteen years younger than their twenty-nine years.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he lied. “Does something have to be wrong?”

  Frances gave him a knowing smile. “You’re baking cookies and God only knows what else at ten at night? You and I both know that something’s wrong.” A shadow darkened her face. “It’s Leona, isn’t it? I can’t believe you hired her, Byron. Do you enjoy getting jerked around?”

  He slammed a bowl down on the island countertop.

  “Jeez,” Frances said, giving him a long look. “Spill it.”

  He didn’t want to but Frances was his twin. They couldn’t keep secrets from each other if they tried. “You’re going to tell me why you suddenly moved back home?”

  An embarrassed blush raced over her cheeks. “I made a bad investment.”

  “You’re broke?”

  “Don’t tell Chadwick. You know how he is,” she pleaded. “I can’t stand to hear another ‘I told you so’ from him.”

  “Frannie...”

  “Whatever,” she said, brushing away his concern with a cynical shrug of her shoulders. “I’ll be fine. Just getting back on my feet. But that’s neither here nor there. Now spill it. You’re baking cookies because...”

  He took a deep breath. If he did it fast... “I have a son.”

  Frances’s cynicism fell away. “You what?”

  “Just like our old man, huh? Get a woman pregnant and then bail on her,” he said bitterly. “Leona has a baby boy named Percy. He’s got red hair.” That probably wasn’t the most important thing to know about the boy, but Byron felt it was the thing that sealed the deal.

  “Who else knows?”

  “Her family.” Frances made a face of revulsion. “She lives with her sister, who watches Percy. They don’t have anything to do 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.”

  Seven

  “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.”

  “When can I see Percy again?”