by Amanda Ashby
“W-what do you mean?” Her stomach dropped, and the nausea she’d been fighting off threatened to rise to her throat.
“I mean you’re not getting rid of me so easily. I think we should get married.”
Chapter Three
As a rule, Lincoln wasn’t a spontaneous kind of person. Years of living up to his family’s expectations had taught him being spontaneous and being responsible didn’t always go hand in hand. But in the last month he’d done two reckless things: fallen for an American girl on the beach in Italy, and now asked her to marry him.
Make that three. Because Bec was having a baby.
My baby.
He rubbed his chin and tried to ignore the horror in Bec’s eyes at his proposal.
“You can’t be serious.”
Not that he could blame her. After all, who did that? Who proposed on a whim? Except he couldn’t see any other alternative, apart from being an absent father. And he already knew what that looked like.
He’d seen the strain on his mother’s face as she tried to balance the accounts and keep the family legacy alive while caring for him and Theo. The strain of not sleeping, of trying to ignore the scandalous stories in the press as mistress after mistress came forward with tales of debauched nights. Then the biggest scandal of all had happened. His father became involved in a bad property deal, and when he realized the estate would go bankrupt because of it, he’d committed suicide.
Eighteen-year-old Lincoln, his mother, and Howard had spent the last eight years doing everything they could to hold it together while searching for investors and ignoring the ongoing tabloid interest in their family. And while Lincoln had long ago become immune to anything he read, the idea of dragging Bec into the world he’d grown up in was abhorrent.
Unbearable.
Not going to happen.
He might not have planned to become a father, but just like he’d accepted the responsibility he had to his family, he was going to accept this, too. And it was Bec, the only woman he’d ever seen a future with. However, he was sensing that now wasn’t a great time to tell her just how much she’d affected him. Especially since she was the one who’d walked out.
“I’m completely serious. If you knew the full extent of my father’s glorified relationship with the British press, you’d understand why I need to give you my name. Because if they found out, if someone tipped them off, your life would become hell.”
“Please, this isn’t the Victorian times. Nothing’s going to happen to me because I’m an unmarried mother. Besides, no one even needs to know the baby is yours. I’m very discreet.”
Lincoln choked. “The first time you met my mother, you told her you took nude photos of me. Discreet is the last word I would use to describe you.”
Gorgeous, yes. Free-spirited, definitely. Hot as a firecracker, absolutely. But not discreet.
Besides, despite how crazy it sounded, it made sense. He’d long ago promised to never be like his father, never walk away from his responsibilities, which was why he’d stayed at Snowden Manor when all he wanted to do was run.
And it was why he’d marry Bec and make sure their baby was protected, regardless of what she thought of him. Because this wasn’t just about what they wanted, it was about what was best for the child.
It’s the least I can do.
Bec pushed her lips together as she walked up to him and poked him in the arm, as if checking to see if he was real. Unfortunately, he was. A storm spread through his veins, full of electricity and wildness.
Okay, not a great time to get turned on.
“You know, that’s not traditionally the way someone answers a marriage proposal,” he said, as much to hide the effect her touch had on him. He needed to focus and so he dragged out the reserve he’d spent years perfecting.
“Except you didn’t propose. You just said we should get married. So, I wanted to check if you were sober. I figured if you were drunk you’d fall over. Or, at least sway.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“No.” She sighed. “Which is a pity because if you were, then this might be more easily forgotten.”
His mouth went dry. “Does that mean you won’t marry me?”
“Of course that’s what it means. I’m not sure why you thought it was an option.”
Because the world I come from is ruthless and cruel, and I don’t want them to hurt you the way they hurt me.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” He shifted his gaze, not willing to see the contempt in her eyes. “For the baby. You grew up an orphan. Can’t you see getting married would be good for our child?”
“No, I can’t,” Bec said, as her checks flushed and her fists tightened, giving her the appearance of a mini dynamo. “The fact I grew up with no parents is precisely why I’m refusing. When we moved to the farm, Emmy and Ivy immediately clicked, and so did Pepper and Charlie, who were like two very old, bad-tempered peas in a pod. And I had no one.”
“Pepper is neither old, nor a man,” Lincoln pointed out, which earned him a withering glaze.
“I had no one,” Bec repeated. “I know how it feels to not be wanted. To not belong. So, if you think I’m going to marry you because you feel obligated, you’re wrong.”
“Bec…” He ran his hand along his jaw, but before he could finish she held up her hand and shook her head.
“Don’t ‘Bec’ me. And stop doing that thing with your mouth. It’s distracting.”
“What?” He frowned, as he only just resisted the urge to touch his lips. I have a mouth thing? One look at the mounting tension around her shoulders told him not to push it. “Okay, no thing. But, we should still discuss how we’re going to manage things. I have a right to worry about how my child’s raised.”
To make sure they know their father loves them.
“Again, there is no we. I don’t want anything from your family. Or from you.” Bec wrapped her hands protectively around her stomach, her blue eyes shimmering. His pulse quickened, and his body hardened. Nice going. She’s pregnant with your child, finds you disgusting, and all you can think about is ripping off her clothes.
“Do you really think you can do this on your own? You’re living in a cottage that’s almost falling down, in a town you hate. What are you going to do for money?”
“I’ve got the wedding business.”
“So, you’re going to plan weddings and look after a baby at the same time? I’m not sure you realize how much work it will be. You need to let me help. We need to talk about this and work out what my role will be, both emotionally and financially. Bec, I want to be part of this.”
“And I want to make this headache go away, but we can’t always get what we want.”
“You think this is what I want?” he said, his mind returning to Italy and how the gnawing tension in his shoulders had gone away. How waking up to the honey and sunshine aroma of her skin, instead of profit and loss columns that never added up, was intoxicating. How he’d been happy. Across from him, the color drained from her face and too late understanding slammed him. She thinks I don’t want the baby. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Bec edged away, as if worried he might be contagious. “I have no room for anything else right now. It’s just me and the baby. So, unless you’re here to book a wedding, I don’t have time to speak to you.”
Lincoln walked after her. He was normally known for his reserved nature and his ability to think clearly, but so far he’d tried to buy her off, proposed to her, and insulted her. All in one day.
He needed to fix this. He had to show her that he wasn’t the jerk she thought he was. That despite what had happened with the photos, he wasn’t some pompous lord with a sense of entitlement. But to convince her, he needed to spend time with her. He thrust his hand into his pocket. The check Howard had written was still sitting there. Unless you’re here to book a wedding…
“Actually, that’s exactly what I want to do.”
“No. The wedding is for someone else,” he said, glancing around the barn for inspiration. None was forthcoming.
“Really.” Bec tightened her mouth. “And when is this alleged wedding going to take place?”
“I don’t know. What dates do you have that are free?”
“None.”
“I’m serious. I want to book a wedding, and I want to pull out all the stops.”
“This might be a joke to you, but I take it seriously. You can’t just book vendors and food and flowers and then not show up, because while you can go home, this place is now my home. I have a reputation to worry about.”
Not to mention a baby. Which was why he was doing this.
“There will be a wedding.” He folded his arms. How hard would it be to find a couple who wanted a free wedding? He’d have them lining up at the door. And in the meantime, he’d have Bec’s undivided attention, an opportunity to convince her he wasn’t the guy she thought he was. “I want to sort an arrangement for our child. I care about how they’re brought up, and if buying a wedding is what it will take, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
“No. Please, can you just leave? Unless you want to see a pregnant woman cry.” She shook her head as her lower lip began to tremble. Lincoln stiffened as her eyes watered up. The last thing he wanted to do was walk away while there was still so much to discuss. But even worse was seeing her get upset. It wasn’t good for her. Or the baby.
He swallowed his instincts, and instead of wrapping her in his arms, he gave her a swift nod. “Okay, I’ll go. But this isn’t over.”
“Correction—it was over the minute I left England,” she retorted, and then walked out of the barn, leaving him alone. Still, regardless of what she said, there was no way he was going anywhere.
I’m not my father. I don’t bail when things get tough.
Now he just had to convince her of the fact.
…
Bec liked many things. Rainbows. Kittens. Waterfalls. Waterfalls with rainbows going across them while kittens played nearby. But one thing she didn’t like was being woken up in at seven in the morning. Unfortunately, no one had told the contractors, who were currently doing goodness knows what to the outside of the cottage, using some very noisy power tools. Worst thing was, she couldn’t complain to anyone, since it would look like she didn’t want the cottage to be repaired before the baby was born. Which of course she did. Just not at seven in the morning.
Crash.
The noise grew louder, and Bec screwed up her face. Her chances of getting back to sleep were zero to none. She pushed back the tattered old comforter Ivy had sewn. It had seen better days, but like everything else on the farm, her sister Emmy had refused to throw it away.
She forced her toes into her favorite slippers, which were shaped like elephants. Normally, she could never be in a bad mood when she had fluffy elephants on her feet, but then again, normally she wasn’t pregnant.
No. No thinking about being pregnant. And especially no thinking about how the Lincoln she’d met in Italy had somehow transformed into a cold-hearted robot of a man who thought it was okay to propose marriage just to save his family from social embarrassment. Who did that?
Her cheeks heated up as yesterday’s conversation leaked back into her mind.
I think we should get married.
She’d been tempted to say yes to his offensive proposal, just so she could embarrass him further. Perhaps wear a mini skirt and bare feet when he took her to meet the queen. Not that she was entirely sure he knew the queen, but the way his mother had carried on, it was highly likely. Unfortunately, tempting as it was to humiliate him, she couldn’t say yes because if she did, what kind of life would she have?
The kind where he’d only married her out of a sense of obligation. After all, if there hadn’t been a baby, he never would’ve asked her. She was just his vacation fling. The girl he hooked up with while he was playing at being a regular guy. Definitely not the kind of girl he’d normally marry. Not by choice.
The grim truth caught in her throat as she shuffled out to the small living room, only to see Pepper sitting there, arms folded and a frown on her face.
Bec rubbed her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you to wake up.” Pepper stood and straightened her skirt, while outside the window several builders were erecting scaffolding. Bec wrinkled her nose and tried to remember if they’d arranged to do something this morning. But, as far as she could recall, the only thing on her schedule was to brood and sulk. “Though how you can sleep through this noise is a wonder.”
“Isn’t it just.” Bec reminded herself it wasn’t okay to hate your sister just because she was a morning person. “So, was there something I can help you with, or are you just here to enjoy the noise?”
“Actually, I’m here to help you.”
“Er, okay. A cup of peppermint tea would be a good start,” Bec said as she cautiously sat down in the closest chair, her eyes never leaving Pepper’s. “And an explanation. What’s going on?”
“I have news.” Pepper walked over to the open-plan kitchen and flicked on the electric kettle before searching for a clean cup. She clicked her tongue after discovering all the cups were still in the sink. Bec sighed as her sister quickly rinsed one off and dropped a teabag into it before turning back around. “I’ve just taken a booking for a wedding for next month. Your new client is expecting you to meet them in town at nine o’clock.”
“Tara’s changed her mind on the dates? I thought she wanted to wait until after the baby was born. And why would she want to get married so close to Thanksgiving?”
“No, this is for someone else.” Pepper calmly placed the teacup on the table before picking up a pile of papers. “I guess they don’t care about Thanksgiving.”
Bec blinked then let out a horrified groan. Don’t care about it, or come from a country that doesn’t celebrate it? Her throat went dry.
“Pepper Watson, you had better not be saying what I think you might be saying,” she finally managed.
“Lincoln came by the farmhouse last night and signed the contract,” Pepper said in a business-like voice.
Bec opened her mouth and then shut it again as she reached for the paperwork her sister was holding. It had been Pepper’s idea to use it, and she flipped to the second page. Lincoln’s name stared back at her, right next to where Pepper had signed on behalf of Aunty Ivy’s Vintage Weddings.
She’d been foolish to think that after their conversation yesterday he’d go back to England and wait for her emails. Content to send a birthday card and a present over once a year. After all, he was Lord Ashford. He probably had people running around after him since he was a kid. He was used to getting what he wanted. And while he doesn’t want me, he does want my baby.
Stars swam in front of her eyes, and she glanced down at her elephant slippers before finally trusting her voice to come out as more than a squeak.
“Let me get this straight, Lincoln Mathews—the father of my child. The guy I specifically told you I don’t want to see ever again—came to book a wedding. And you let him. Without even talking to me.”
“That’s right. He explained what happened and how bad he felt about it. And how he wants to do the right thing.”
“By booking a fake wedding?”
“It’s not fake. There’s a couple who work on his estate in England who haven’t been able to afford their wedding. He’s going to give it to them as a present.”
“Oh, how very Downtown Abbey of him. Most people just send a toaster.” Bec folded her arms. “And the answer’s still no.”
“Bec, he’s willing to pay a lot of money for this. You’ll
never guess how much.”
“You’d be surprised.” Bec remembered the large check he’d tried to give her to ensure she didn’t leak the naked photographs. As if money can fix everything, from photographs to babies. Heat filled her cheeks as she picked up the paperwork and ripped it in half. Well, she tried to, but there were so many pages that in the end she just twisted it. She gritted her teeth and pulled the first page off and crumpled it up, before repeating the process on every piece of paper. When she was done, she leaned back in the chair. “And by the way, in case you were wondering, I’ve just cancelled the deal.”
“No, you haven’t.” Pepper reached down to the leather briefcase and retrieved an identical copy. “This is legally binding. You can’t get out of it. It’s booked.”
“And I’m telling you to unbook it,” Bec said. “He’s only doing it because he’s worried news of the baby could hurt his precious family name.”
“Whether you like it or not, this man is the father of your child. You’re the one who said you wanted to be a wedding planner, and yet as soon as things get tough you want to run away.”
“Who are you? How can you even suggest this?” Bec snapped. She caught sight of a pile of tablecloths she’d spent yesterday afternoon sorting, and the urge to throw them at Pepper was overwhelming. The only thing stopping her was that they wouldn’t have enough impact. Her eyes fastened on the teacup. That would probably be more effective.
Then again, the most effective thing would be for Bec to just leave Wishing Bridge Farm and let Emmy run the business on her own. Because what had seemed like a good idea was quickly taking on nightmare qualities.
Especially the part where Lincoln Mathews thought it was perfectly okay to go behind her back and book a wedding with Pepper. Just because he can’t take no for an answer.
“Okay, I get that you’re mad. I really do. And I’m truly sorry.” Pepper reached out and moved the teacup. Bec didn’t know if it was out of habit, or because she could guess Bec’s intention. Either way, it didn’t improve her mood. “But I’m doing this to help you. To make sure you and the baby have everything you need. To sort out a workable arrangement with the baby’s father and get some money behind you. Emmy agrees with me.”
