The Wedding Planner's Baby (Sisters of Wishing Bridge Farm) Page 2
“So, this is where you grew up. It’s a lot less Bec than I thought it would be.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but just because you think you know me, doesn’t mean you do,” she said, not bothering to add that most of the “Bec-ness” had been removed when Emmy’s boyfriend had moved in (and ended up seducing her in the sweetest, most romantic way possible). Not that there would be any seducing going on in the cottage, romantic or not.
Her seducing days were over.
Finished.
Never to be seen again.
Lincoln flinched. “I deserved that. You’re right. I don’t know you, but I’d been looking forward to the opportunity to learn. So, imagine my surprise when I returned to England to discover you’d gone. Fled the country.”
“What did you think was going to happen? That you’d tell me you were Lord of Snotty Manor and I’d fall at your feet?”
“Snowden Manor,” he corrected, before running his hand through his golden hair and letting out a groan. “Now I sound like my mother. And that’s why I’m here. I had no idea she would ambush you and make out I was something I’m not.”
“Oh, so you’re not the head of some fancy old English family, then?”
“Okay, yes, technically I am,” he said. “But I’m still me. I’m still the guy you met.”
“Well, here’s a tip for that guy. Next time he meets someone, he should try telling them the truth,” she replied.
He flinched. It had the unwanted side effect of narrowing his divine eyes.
Today, with the dark shadows underneath them and the pale sun flooding the room, they looked more blue than green, and Bec found herself once again falling into them. It was like diving into the Mediterranean Ocean. Like going on a breathtaking adventure, her body a receptor to his touch. Her heart pumping. Her—
God, what’s wrong with me?
“Perhaps that guy found it refreshing to spend time with someone who didn’t know who he was. That someone could like him just for himself,” Lincoln said, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having on her.
“Seriously, are you playing the ‘poor little rich boy’ card on me?” Bec blinked.
He shook his head. “No. And I don’t expect you to understand why I hide the truth. But I hope you’d at least know I’d never have allowed my mother to talk to you like that.”
“So you’re saying it would’ve been better if you’d tried to bribe me instead of your mother?”
He gritted his teeth. “Are you purposely being obtuse?”
I’m not purposely trying to be anything.
Least of all pregnant with your child.
She rubbed her brow. She should’ve just returned the damn phone calls, and then he wouldn’t be standing here now, making this entire thing so much more difficult. Either way, she needed to get this over with so she could return to her preferred state of denial. For another fifteen days, at least.
“Look.” She took a deep breath. “It was nice of you to come all this way, so let’s just say I accept your apology and leave it at that.”
“I wish it were that simple. But the bigger question is how did my mother even know about the photographs?”
Bec was silent. They’d met in Italy when the Frisbee he’d been throwing landed on her beach towel and knocked over her bottled water. From there it had been hours of delicious flirting and banter, which had led to a night of—
Come back.
She hollered her favorite mantra, which was designed to get her out of her head and into the present moment. No point dwelling on something that was never going to happen again. But—after the thing she was never going to think about again—she’d been so swept away by his perfection she’d taken a series of naked photographs on her camera.
None of which were even close to the pornography his mother suggested. They were works of art, showing every delicious contour and muscle of his athletic body.
Lincoln shifted, his gaze penetrating. Oh, yeah. He’s probably expecting me to answer. She gulped as her first conversation with his mother flashed into her mind.
“Actually, I might have told her about them.”
He opened his mouth and then shut it again as he studied her face. Then he coughed. “So, just to be clear, you told my mother you’d taken naked photographs of me? Her son.”
“Hey, orphan here. How am I meant to know about these things?” Bec said, dropping her head to hide from his probing gaze.
“Most people just know,” he said.
“As my sisters will be happy to tell you, I’m not most people. But look, lesson learned. No more over-sharing. I promise. So, are we done here?”
He took a deep breath and pressed his mouth together, causing an uncomfortable sensation to stir in her stomach. Coop had often accused her of having a sixth sense, and while Bec wouldn’t go that far, she did often know when something unpleasant was about to happen.
Like right now. Oh, crap.
“While I don’t agree with my mother’s methods, she did have a point. I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but in England my father had a very scandalous, very public reputation. It’s taken us eight years to even come close to repairing the damage. If these photos were to come out, it could be very bad.”
Bec’s throat tightened.
During the week they’d spent together, Lincoln hadn’t talked about his father, but it had only taken a quick internet search on her flight home to discover just how disgraceful the tenth Lord Ashford had been up until his suicide eight years ago. Plus, Lincoln’s shallow breathing and pale skin weren’t comforting.
“What are you trying to say?”
He sucked in a lungful of air and reached out to touch her fingers.
A fire curled to life in her stomach, and she whipped her hand away from him before the flames could spread through her body. Being in the same room with him was dangerous enough.
Touching was definitely out of the question.
He flushed, as if he’d been stung. “I’m here to make the same offer my mother made. I’m here to buy the photographs back.”
“Buy?” The room started to spin as the tiny slither of hope she’d nursed disappeared. Lincoln was as bad as his mother. If he reacted like this to some photographs, what would happen when he knew about his love child? How had she reached this place? “Do you really think I’m for sale?”
He lowered his head, trying to catch her eye. She refused to give him the satisfaction. “I know it sounds bad. But the lawyers—”
Wait? Now there were lawyers?
Her throat tightened, and it took all her willpower not to put her hand on her stomach. There was more at stake than just her wounded ego. She needed him to be gone so she could use her fifteen days to figure out a Plan B. One that didn’t involve lawyers. Or talking. Or gazing at eyes the color of the ocean after a summer storm.
Shoot. When I have some spare time I need to sit down and question my sanity.
“Lincoln, enough. I don’t want your money, and you don’t need to worry about the photographs. They’re all gone.”
Color drained from his face. “You sold them?”
“I deleted them.” She clenched her fists and forced herself not to care that he believed she was capable of something like that.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
No.
Well, almost.
After the horrible conversation with his mother, once the rage had lessened, Bec had deleted the photos. Because, despite what Lady Ashford thought, Bec wasn’t out to hurt anyone. But when she reached the last one, she hadn’t quite been able to destroy it, and so she’d decided to keep one. Just for personal use, as a reminder of the Lincoln she’d meet in Italy. The one who was a carefree backpacker like herself. Not some fancy Lord with a palatial manor and a name that needed to be kept purer than the driven snow.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” She nodded, making a mental note to delete the last one. Besides, she didn
’t need a photograph to remember the encounter. The baby inside her would do that job just fine. “And I’m sorry. I should’ve just told your mother at the time.”
“My mother can be overwhelming,” he said in a dry voice. “But it was never my intention for you to be dragged into my complicated family life.”
And it was never my intention to get pregnant and leave you, when all I want to do is reach out and touch your hands and trace a line up your forearm, until I—
Come back.
“I guess it’s for the best. It’s obvious we’re two very different people, with different obligations,” she said.
“You’re right,” he said, as his head seemed to move closer to hers. Okay, that couldn’t be good. Well, old Bec might like it, but pregnant Bec wasn’t allowed to. Which meant she wasn’t allowed to study the curve of his throat, or the way his straight, white teeth were now only inches from her. His breath drifted across her skin.
However, this time she wasn’t the one who mentally hauled herself back. It was Lincoln who pulled away, his face red—with horror, no doubt, as he realized he was about to kiss the girl who’d caused his family so much trouble.
Heat rose into her cheeks.
Pregnant and repulsive.
This was turning into a craptastic kind of day.
She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her chest. Yes, she’d tell him. But it couldn’t be today, without a plan, or without a blindfold to stop her from getting distracted.
“I’d better go, but I hope you have a good life, Bec. And, for the record, I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted to things to end between us.”
That makes two of us. Unfortunately, thanks to the baby growing in her belly, nothing was going to turn out quite like they’d planned.
Chapter Two
Lincoln threw the last of his clothes into a small overnight bag and looked around the room where he’d been staying. It was decorated in a mishmash of eras—cowboy wallpaper teamed up with garish shaggy purple carpets and a cactus-shaped lamp along with two gold beanbags. If John Wayne and Austin Powers had a love child, this would be it.
Still, thanks to what happened yesterday, he wouldn’t be staying there any longer. His conversation with Bec had gone as well as he could possibly hope. The photos had been destroyed, which would keep his mother happy, and it hadn’t cost any money, which would keep Howard, the estate’s long-time manager happy. Unfortunately, neither of those things made Lincoln particularly happy.
Especially the part where she refused to look me in the eye.
Or that she seemed to be hiding something. Which could only mean one thing—she had a new boyfriend. Of course, he could’ve asked her outright, but it seemed pointless. She’d been perfectly clear. Bec didn’t want to stand in the same air as him, so there was no use making the situation worse than it had to be. Like that was even possible.
He scowled as he jammed his cell phone into the pocket of his jeans. He still had several hours until his flight, and unless he wanted to lose his sanity entirely, he’d do well to stop thinking about Bec Watson
After all, even if she hadn’t ignored all his calls and flinched at his touch, the fact she was back in Sunshine, USA, was enough to tell him what they’d had was over.
Really, really, over.
Because, the girl he’d met in Italy—the one with the owl tattoo, the impish grin, and the impossibly direct conversation—had said if she ever went back to her hometown, it would mean only one thing. The apocalypse had happened.
And right now, he had a very bad feeling he and his family had been that apocalypse. It wasn’t flattering.
His jaw tightened some more.
Of course, flying out to see her hadn’t helped. Because nothing says, “I’m a total prick,” like trying to buy off the woman you slept with. But, it had to be done. His mother and Howard were right. One hint of a scandal and the investor they’d lined up to save the family estate from bankruptcy would pull out. Making Lincoln Campbell Edward Mathews, the eleventh Earl of Ashford, the person responsible for losing Snowden Manor, the estate that had been in his family for five hundred years. Something even his debauched, drunken, good for nothing father hadn’t quite managed to do.
The worst of it was Lincoln would’ve been happy for that to happen. To hand in the unwanted role as Lord Ashford and go and live by the beach with his oil paints and his music. But this wasn’t just about him. It was about his younger brother and his mother. I might be happy to trade in the family name, but they wouldn’t.
Besides, thanks to Bec, he’d discovered he was just as lousy at being plain Lincoln Mathews as he was at being Lord Ashford, and any hope he’d had of sorting things out had been extinguished. It was depressing, and he was pleased when his cell phone rang and his younger brother’s name appeared on the screen.
“Ho, my fine friend,” Theo said by way of a greeting. “So, how did your covert negotiations go? I always thought if one of us was going to follow in the old man’s footsteps it would be me, but it seems my older, reserved brother has had other ideas.”
“There’s no scandal,” Lincoln said, well used to his younger brother’s flair for the dramatic. It had only increased since he’d started studying drama at college. “And how did you even know? I can’t believe mother willingly told you.”
“Well, not willingly. But you’d be surprised what an extra glass of sherry can do.”
“You got her drunk?” Lincoln blinked.
“Please,” Theo said, not sounding remotely contrite. “It was merely stress relief. So, details please.”
Lincoln ground his teeth. “There’s nothing to tell. It was just a fling.”
“A fling that involved naked photos,” Theo corrected. “Which means whoever she is, I think I’m going to get on well with her.”
“Unfortunately, we’ll never know.”
“No future?” Theo said, as Lincoln tried and failed to dislodge the image of Bec standing above him taking photos, laughing and chatting, while her own body was only covered in a skimpy pair of white panties and her Italian tan. But it was no good. It was going to be a hard sight to erase.
“No,” he said with more force than he intended. It had the desired result of pushing the unwanted memory away. At least for now. “Though, to be fair, getting the full tour of the house and lunch served in the gold room before being handed a check by our mother probably didn’t help matters.”
Theo let out a whistle. “The gold room, huh? The old girl doesn’t mess around.”
“No, she doesn’t. I guess our father gave her a lot of practice,” Lincoln said, referring to the procession of mistresses that would turn up with all kinds of threats. He might not have appreciated what his mother had done to Bec, but he did understand what had motivated it. Protect the family name, no matter the cost. And I’m following in her footsteps.
None of which improved his mood.
“The less said about our father, the better,” Theo said. “By the way, I bumped into Victoria yesterday, and she was asking after you. You know what she’s like.”
“All too well,” Lincoln said in a tight voice. Victoria was the daughter of his mother’s oldest friend. She was also due to inherit a vast fortune, which was why his mother had been promoting the match for a long time. In essence, it was a way for Victoria to buy into an estate that was a lot older and more prestigious than her own family history. The only one who wasn’t keen on the idea was Lincoln, who’d explained to Victoria on more than one occasion that he only considered her a friend. Unfortunately, Victoria didn’t seem to be bothered by his reluctance, and even after he’d found the potential investors, she still kept trying to change his mind.
Lincoln had never known whether to be flattered or alarmed. Whereas Theo just found it amusing, which was why he liked to stir the pot whenever he could.
“So, when will we see you back on our fair shores?” his brother asked, seeming to sense Lincoln wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with.
“And I might even come and collect you from the airport. Text me your details. And try not to get into any more trouble on the way,” Theo said. Lincoln ignored it, just like he’d ignored all of his brother’s jokes. Theo might think he was too starched up, too reserved, but, after seeing what happened to their father—a man whose inner compass had guided him to drink, gamble, and sleep around—it was hardly a surprise.
He said a quick good-bye and walked down the rickety stairs of the bed and breakfast to where the owner, Miss Dottie, was waiting for him.
“Stan just called. He’ll be here in five minutes,” the elderly lady said by way of a greeting.
“Stan?” Lincoln frowned.
“Your taxi driver,” Miss Dottie said, in a voice that implied everyone in the world should know who Stan was.
“Ah.” Lincoln recalled the bearded guy who’d driven him to Wishing Bridge Farm yesterday. He’d probably said his name, but Lincoln had been too fired up at seeing Bec again. Too busy rehearsing how he’d ask for the photos and then convince her he wasn’t some ruthless English guy with an overbearing family and a heart of stone. Perhaps even make her consider giving him a second chance. I think I need to work on my pitch. “I see. Well, that’ll give me time to settle up the account.”
“Of course. It’s a pity you couldn’t have stayed longer. We have a great quiz night tomorrow at Beer and Cupcakes.” Miss Dottie busied herself with an old-fashioned ledger while Lincoln extracted his wallet.
“My plans changed unexpectedly,” he said, not sure what Beer and Cupcakes was or why they’d be having a quiz.
“That’s what I told Bec when she called here this morning.”
“What?” Lincoln looked up with a start. “You spoke to Bec? About me?”
“Yes. She wanted to see if you were staying here. More specifically, she wanted to check that you were leaving. I didn’t realize you were friends with her.”
That’s because we’re not. I’m just the guy she had a fling with before discovering the truth and not liking me enough to wait for an explanation.