A Beaumont Christmas Wedding

by Sarah M. Anderson

  If it hadn’t been for her face—and those pale green eyes, like polished jade, and that hair—he might not have recognized her.

  But he did. Everything about him did.

  “It means,” Phillip whispered back, “that Jo’s friend is here for the wedding. Whitney Maddox—she’s a respected horse breeder. You will knock this crap off now or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? You haven’t been able to beat me up since we were eight and you know it.” Matthew tensed. He had a scant half inch on Phillip but he’d long ago learned to make the most of it.

  Phillip grinned at him. It was not a kind thing on his face. “I’ll turn Jo loose on you and trust me, buddy, that’s a fate worse than death. Now knock it off and act like a decent human being.”

  There was something wrong about this. For so long, Matthew had been the one who scolded Phillip to straighten up and fly right. Phillip had been the one who didn’t know how to act in polite company, who’d always found the most embarrassing thing to say and then said it. And it’d been Matthew who’d followed behind, cleaning up the messes, dealing with the headlines and soothing the ruffled feathers. That was what he did.

  Briefly, Matthew wanted to be proud of his brother. He’d finally grown up.

  But as wonderful as that was, it didn’t change the fact that Whitney Wildz was not only going to be sitting down for dinner with them tonight, but she was also going to be in the Beaumont wedding.

  He would have to rethink his entire strategy.

  “Dinner,” Jo called out. She sounded unnaturally perky about it. There was something odd about Jo being perky. It did nothing to help his mood.

  “I really wish you had some beer in the house,” he muttered to Phillip.

  “Tough. Welcome to sobriety.” Phillip led the way back to the table.

  Matthew followed, trying to come up with a new game plan. He had a couple of options that he could see right off the bat. He could go with denial, just as Phillip and Jo seemed to be doing. This was Whitney Maddox. He had no knowledge of Whitney Wildz.

  But that wasn’t a good plan and he knew it. He’d recognized her, after all. Someone else was bound to do the same and the moment that someone did, it’d be all over. Yes, the list of celebrities who were attending this wedding was long but someone as scandalous as Whitney Wildz would create a stir no matter what she did.

  He could go on the offensive. Send out a press release announcing that Whitney Wildz was the maid of honor. Hit the criticism head-on. If he did it early enough, he might defuse the situation—make it a nonissue by the big day. It could work.

  Or it could blow up in his face. This wedding was about showing the world that the Beaumonts were above scandal—that they were stronger than ever. How was that going to happen now? Everything Whitney Wildz did was a scandal.

  He took his seat. Whitney sat to his left, Phillip to his right. Jo’s ridiculous little donkey sat on the floor in between him and Whitney. Good. Fine. At least he didn’t have to look at Whitney, he reasoned. Just at Jo.

  Who was not exactly thrilled with him. Phillip was right—Matthew was in no mood to have Jo turned loose on him. So he forced his best fake smile—the one he used when he was defusing some ticking time bomb created by one of his siblings. It always worked when he was talking to reporters.

  He glanced at Phillip and then at Jo. Damn. The smile wasn’t working on them.

  He could feel Whitney sitting next to him. He didn’t like that. He didn’t want to be aware of her like that. He wasn’t some teenager anymore, crushing in secret. He was a grown man with real problems.

  Her.

  But Phillip was staring daggers at him, and Jo looked as though she was going to stab him with the butter knife. So Matthew dug deep. He could be a gentleman. He could put on the Beaumont face no matter what. Being able to talk to a woman was part of the Beaumont legacy—a legacy he’d worked too hard to make his own. He wasn’t about to let an unexpected blast from his past undermine everything he’d worked for. This wedding was about proving his legitimacy and that was that.

  Phillip glared at him. Right. The wedding was about Phillip and Jo, too. And now their maid of honor.

  God, what a mess.

  “So, Whitney,” Matthew began. She flinched when he said her name. He kept his voice pleasant and level. “What are you doing these days?”

  Jo notched an eyebrow at him as she served the lasagna. Hey, he wanted to tell her. I’m trying.

  Whitney smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I raise horses.” She took a piece of bread and passed the basket to him. She made sure not to touch him when she did it.

  “Ah.” That wasn’t exactly a lot to go on, but it did explain how she and Jo knew each other, he guessed.

  When Whitney didn’t offer any other information, he asked, “What kind of horses?”

  “Trakehners.”

  Matthew waited, but she didn’t elaborate.

  “One of her horses won gold in the World Equestrian Games,” Phillip said. He followed up this observation with a swift kick to Matthew’s shin.

  Ow. Matthew grunted in pain but he managed not to curse out loud. “That’s interesting.”

  “It’s amazing,” Phillip said. “Not even Dad could breed or buy a horse that took home gold.” He leaned forward, turned on the Beaumont smile and aimed it squarely at Whitney.

  Something flared in Matthew. He didn’t like it when Phillip smiled at her like that.

  “Trust me,” Phillip continued, “he tried. Not winning gold was one of his few failures as a horseman. That and not winning a Triple Crown.”

  Whitney cut Matthew a look out of the corner of her eye that hit him funny. Then she turned her attention to Phillip. “No one’s perfect, right?”

  “Not even Hardwick Beaumont,” he agreed with a twinkle in his eye. “It turns out there are just some things money can’t buy.”

  Whitney grinned. Suddenly, Matthew wanted to punch his brother—hard. This was normal enough—this was how Phillip talked to women. But seeing Whitney warm to him?

  Phillip glanced at Matthew. Be a gentleman, he seemed to be saying. “Whitney’s Trakehners are beautiful, highly trained animals. She’s quite well-known in horse circles.”

  Whitney Wildz was well-known in horse circles? Matthew didn’t remember any mention of that from the last article he’d read about her. Only that she’d made a spectacle of herself.

  “How long have you been raising horses?”

  “I bought my ranch eleven years ago.” She focused her attention on her food. “After I left Hollywood.”

  So she really was Whitney Wildz. But...eleven years? That didn’t seem right. It couldn’t have been more than two years since the last headline.

  “Where is your ranch?”

  If Matthew had known who she really was, he would have done more digging. Be Prepared wasn’t just a good Boy Scout motto—it was vital to succeeding in public relations.

  One thing was abundantly clear. Matthew was not prepared for Whitney, whatever her last name was.

  “Not too far from Bakersfield. It’s very...quiet there.”

  Then she gazed up at him again. The look in her eyes stunned him—desperate for approval. He knew that look—he saw it in the mirror every morning.

  Why would she want his approval? She was Whitney Wildz, for crying out loud. She’d always done what she wanted, when she wanted—consequences be damned.

  Except...nothing about her said she was out of control—except for the way she’d fallen into his arms.

  His first instinct had been to hold her—to protect her. To claim her as his. What if...?

  No.

  There was no “what if” about this. His first duty was to his family—to making sure this wedding went off without a hitch. To making sure everyo
ne knew that the Beaumonts were still in a position of power. To making sure he proved himself worthy of his father’s legacy.

  At the very least, he could be a gentleman about it.

  “That’s beautiful country,” he said. Compliments were an important part of setting a woman at ease. If he were smart, he would have remembered that in the first place. “Your ranch must be lovely.”

  A touch of color brightened her cheeks. His stomach tensed. She was beautiful, he realized. Not the punk-rock hot she’d been back when he’d watched her show, but something delicate and ethereal.

  Mine.

  The word kept popping up in his head, completely unbidden. Which was ridiculous because the only thing Whitney was to him was a roadblock.

  Phillip kicked him again. Stop staring, he mouthed at Matthew.

  Matthew shook his head. He hadn’t realized he was staring.

  “Matthew, maybe we should discuss some of the wedding plans?” Jo said it nicely enough but there was no mistaking that question for an order.

  “Of course,” he agreed. The wedding. He needed to stay on track here. “We have an appointment with the seamstress tomorrow at ten. Jo, it’s your final fitting. Whitney, we ordered your dress according to the measurements you sent in, but we’ve blocked out some additional time in case it requires additional fittings.”

  “That sounds fine,” she said in a voice that almost sounded casual.

  “Saturday night is the bachelorette party. I have a list of places that would be an appropriate location for you to choose from.”

  “I see,” she said. She brushed her hand through her hair.

  He fought the urge to do the same.

  What was wrong with him? Seriously—what was wrong with him? He went from attracted to her to furious at everyone in the room and now he wanted to, what—stroke her hair? Claim her? Jesus, these were exactly the sort of impulses he’d always figured had ruled Phillip. The ones that had ruled their father. See a beautiful woman, act on the urge to sweep her off her feet. To hell with anything else.

  Matthew needed to regain control of the situation—of himself—and fast.

  “We’ll need to get the shoes and jewelry squared away. We need to get you in to the stylist before then to decide how to deal with your hair, so we’ll do that after the dress fitting.” He waited, but she didn’t say anything.

  So he went on. “The rehearsal dinner is Tuesday night. Then the wedding is Christmas Eve, of course.” A week and a half—that didn’t leave him much time to deal with the disruption of Whitney Wildz. “The ladies will get manicures that morning before they get their hair done. Then we’ll start with the photographs.”

  Whitney cleared her throat—but she still didn’t meet his gaze. “Who else is in the wedding party?”

  He wanted her to look at him—he wanted to get lost in her eyes. “Our older brother Chadwick will be walking with his wife, Serena. Frances and Byron will be walking together—they’re twins, five years younger than I am.” For a second, Matthew had almost said we—as in he and Phillip. Because he and Phillip were only six months apart.

  But he didn’t want to bring his father’s infidelity into this conversation, because that meant Whitney would know that he was the second choice, the child his father had never really loved. Or even acknowledged, for that matter. So he said I.

  “That just leaves the two of us,” he added, suddenly very interested in his plate. How was he going to keep this primal urge to haul her off under control if they were paired up for the wedding?

  He could not let her distract him from his goals, no matter how much he wanted to. He had to pull this off—to prove that he was a legitimate Beaumont. Ravishing the maid of honor did not fall anywhere on his to-do list.

  “Ah.” He looked up when he heard her chair scrape against the floor. She stood and, without looking at him, said, “I’m a little tired from the drive. If you’ll excuse me.” Jo started to stand, but Whitney waved her off. “I think I can find my way.”

  Then she was gone, walking in a way that he could only describe as graceful. She didn’t stumble and she didn’t fall. She walked in a straight line for the stairs.

  Several moments passed after she disappeared up the stairs. No one seemed willing to break the tense silence. Finally, Matthew couldn’t take it anymore.

  “What the hell? Why is Whitney Wildz your maid of honor and why didn’t either of you see fit to tell me in advance? Jesus, if I’d known, I would have done things differently. Do you have any idea what the press will do when they find out?”

  It was easier to focus on how this was going to screw up the wedding than on how his desire was on the verge of driving him mad.

  “Gosh, I don’t know. You think they’ll make a big deal out of stuff that happened years ago and make Whitney feel like crap?” Phillip shot back. “You’re right. That would really suck.”

  “Hey—this is not my fault. You guys sprung this on me.”

  “I believe,” Jo said in a voice so icy it brought the temperature of the room down several degrees, “I told you I was asking Whitney Maddox to be my maid of honor. Whitney Wildz is a fictional character in a show that was canceled almost thirteen years ago. If you can’t tell the difference between a real woman and a fictional teenager, then that’s your problem, not hers.”

  “It is my problem,” he got out through gritted teeth. “You can’t tell me that’s all in the past. What about the headlines?”

  Phillip rolled his eyes. “Because everything the press prints is one hundred percent accurate, huh? I thought you, of all people, would know how the headlines can be manipulated.”

  “She’s a normal person,” Jo said. Instead of icy, though, she was almost pleading. “I retrained one of her horses and we got to spend time together last winter. She’s a little bit of a klutz when she gets nervous but that’s it. She’s going to be fine.”

  “If you can treat her like a normal person,” Phillip added. “Man—I thought you were this expert at reading people and telling them what they wanted to hear. What happened? Hit your head this morning or something?”

  Matthew sat there, feeling stupid. Hell, he wasn’t just feeling stupid—he was stupid. His first instinct had been to protect her. He should have stuck with it. He could do that without giving in to his desire to claim her, right?

  Right. He was in control of his emotions. He could keep up a wall between the rest of the world and himself. He was good at it.

  Then he made the mistake of glancing at that silly donkey, who gave him a baleful look of reproach. Great. Even the donkey was mad at him.

  “I should apologize to her.”

  Phillip snorted. “You think?”

  Damn it, he felt like a jerk. It didn’t come naturally to him. Chadwick was the one who could be a royal pain simply because he wasn’t clued in to the fact that most people had actual feelings. Phillip used to be an ass all the time because he was constantly drunk and horny. Matthew was the one who smoothed ruffled feathers and calmed everyone down.

  Phillip was right. Matthew hadn’t been reading the woman next to him. He’d been too busy thinking about old headlines and new lust to realize that she might want his approval.

  “Which room is she in?”

  Jo and Phillip shared a look before Phillip said, “Yours.”

  Three

  Whitney found her room on the first try and shut the door behind her.

  Well. So much for her little fantasy about a Christmas romance. She doubted that Matthew would have been less happy to see her if she’d thrown up on his shoes.

  She flopped down on her bed and decided that she would not cry. Even though it was really tempting, she wouldn’t. She’d learned long ago this was how it went, after all. People would treat her just fine until they recognized her and then? All bets we
re off. Once she’d been outed as Whitney Wildz, she might as well give up on normal. There was no going back.

  She’d thought for a moment there she might get to do something ordinary—have a little Christmas romance between the maid of honor and the best man. But every time she got it in her foolish little head that she could be whoever she wanted to be...well, this was what would happen.

  The thing was, she didn’t even blame Matthew. Since he recognized her so quickly, that could only mean that he’d read some of the more recent headlines. Like the last time she’d tried to redeem Whitney Wildz by lending her notoriety to the Bakersfield Animal Shelter’s annual fund-raising gala dinner. She’d been the keynote speaker—or would have been if she hadn’t gotten the fancy Stuart Weitzman shoes she’d bought just for the occasion tangled up in the microphone cords on her way up to the podium.

  The headlines had been unforgiving.

  Whitney shivered. Boy, this was going to be a long, cold two weeks.

  As she was getting up to turn her fireplace back on, she heard it—a firm knock.

  Her brain diverted all energy from her legs to the question of who was on the other side of that door—Jo or a Beaumont?—and she tripped into the door with an audible whump.

  Oh, for the love of everything holy. Just once—once!—she’d like to be able to walk and chew gum at the same time. She could sing and play the guitar simultaneously. She could do complicated dressage moves on the back of a one-ton animal. Why couldn’t she put one foot in front of the other?

  She forced herself to take a deep breath just as a male voice on the other side of the door said, “Is everything all right in there, Miss...uh...Ms. Maddox?”

  Matthew. Great. How could this get worse? Let her count the ways. Had he come to ask her to drop out of the wedding? Or just threaten her to be on her best behavior?

  She decided she would not cower. Jo had asked her to be in the wedding. If Jo asked her to drop out, she would. Otherwise, she was in. She collected her thoughts and opened the door a crack. “Yes, fine. Thanks.”