The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret. Sarah M. Anderson
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“I’ll walk you out,” Byron offered, which made Frances hiss at him. But he ignored his twin and held the door for Leona.
“Good meeting you, too,” George called out after her. “Come back anytime.”
Which was followed by Frances gasping, “George! You’re not helping...”
And then Leona and Byron were down the hall, the sounds of the kitchen fading behind them. They walked in silence through the massive entry hall. The evening had been, up to this point, an unmitigated disaster. Byron’s cooking was amazing and, yes, George was just as sweet as she’d always pictured him.
But Byron had this habit of looking at her as if he wanted her, which didn’t mesh with the otherwise icy shoulder he’d given her. He confused her and after everything he’d put her through, that seemed like the final insult.
She could not let him get to her, just like she couldn’t let Frances’s undisguised hatred get to her. Byron had left. He’d done exactly what his father had done and simply walked away. He didn’t care for her—certainly not enough to fight for what they’d had.
She simply could not allow herself to care for him. It was not only dangerous to her heart, but also to Percy’s well-being. She had to protect her son.
Thus resolved, she expected to say goodbye to Byron at the front door and call it a day. But Byron opened the door and stepped outside with her, pulling it shut behind her.
She walked past him, shivering in the chilly autumn air. She would not lean into him and let his warmth surround her. She did not need him. She did not want him. She could not let him ruin everything she’d worked so hard for and that was that.
Once the door was shut, he took a step into her. He wasn’t touching her, not yet. “I’m sorry about Frances,” he said in a quiet voice. “She can be a little...protective.”
A part of Leona—the old part that cowered before her father—wanted to tell Byron it was all right and she’d smooth things over. But that part wasn’t going to save her son. So she didn’t. “Obviously.” He looked confused, as if he couldn’t guess that his sister would have been less than helpful in tracking Byron down. “I have no interest in reliving the past. That’s not why I’m here.”
She didn’t know what she expected him to do—but lifting his hand and cupping her cheek like she’d said something sweet wasn’t it. “Why are you here, then?”
“For the job.” To her horror, Leona felt herself leaning forward, closer to his chest, to his mouth. “Byron...”
But before the words could leave her lips, a noise that sounded like a herd of elephants came through the door. Byron grabbed her by the arm and led her away. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.
As they walked, his hand slid down her arm until his fingers interlaced with hers. It wasn’t a seductive gesture, but it warmed her anyway. He’d always held her hand whenever they were alone, whether they were watching a movie or watching the sun set over the mountains. She leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked. If only things had been different. If only...
She jerked to a stop less than five feet from her car. And the telltale car seat in the back.
“What?” Byron asked.
“I just...” She fumbled around for something to say and came up with nothing.
So she did the only thing she could think of to distract him.
She kissed him.
It wasn’t supposed to be sexual, not for her. It was supposed to distract him while it bought her enough time to think of a better exit strategy.
But the feeling of Byron against her drove all rational thought from her mind. She melted into him. His hands settled on her waist and, as the kiss deepened, the pads of his fingertips began to dig into her hips. He pulled her into him. Her bag dropped to the ground as she looped her arms around his neck and held him tight.
She hadn’t allowed herself to think about this, about how he used to make her feel. She’d made herself focus on how much she hated him, hated how he’d abandoned her—she hadn’t allowed herself to remember the good parts.
Heat flooded her body and pooled low in her stomach as she opened her mouth for him. She wanted this, wanted him. She couldn’t help it. She’d never been able to stay away from him. Some things never changed.
“I missed you,” he whispered against her neck before he kissed the spot right under her ear.
Her knees wobbled. “Oh, Byron, I missed you, too. I—”
Suddenly, he pulled away from her so fast that she stumbled forward. His hand went around her waist to catch her, but his attention was focused on something behind her.
The car.
“What’s that?” he demanded, taking a step toward the backseat of the car.
“What?” Again, her voice was wobbly. Everything about her was wobbly because this was the official moment of reckoning.
“That’s a baby seat.” He let go of her. “You have a baby seat in the back of your car.” This statement seemed to force him back a couple of steps. He cast a critical eye over Leona.
She wanted to cower but she refused. She was done cowering before any hard gaze, whether it was her father’s or her former lover’s. So she lifted her chin and straightened her back and refused to buckle.
“You—you’ve changed.”
“Yes.”
“You had a baby?”
She had to swallow twice to get her throat to work. “I did.”
Byron’s mouth dropped open. He tried to shut it, but it didn’t work. “Whose?”
Leona couldn’t help it. She wasn’t cowering, by God, but she couldn’t stand here and watch, either. She closed her eyes. “Yours.”
“Mine?”
She opened her eyes to see that Byron was pacing away from her. Then he spun back. “I have a baby? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was—I was going to.”
“When?” The word was a knife that sliced through the air and embedded itself midchest, right where her heart was. “And what? You had to kiss me? This I have to hear, Leona. I have to know the rationale behind this.” He crossed his arms and glared at her.
No cowering. Not allowed. “I— You— You left me. I can’t lose him.”
It was hard to tell in the dim light from a faraway lamppost, but she swore all the color drained out of Byron’s face. “Him?”
“Percy. I named him Percy.” She bent over and retrieved her tablet from her bag. After a few taps, she had the most recent picture of Percy up on the screen. The little boy was sitting on her lap, trying to eat a board book. May had taken the photo just a couple of weeks ago. “Percy,” she said again, holding the tablet out to Byron.
He stared at the computer, then at her. “I left? I left you pregnant?”
She nodded.
“And you didn’t think it was a good idea to let me know you were pregnant? That you had my son?” His voice was getting louder.
“You left,” she pleaded. Now that he knew, she had to make him see reason. Why hadn’t she assumed he’d be this mad at her? For a ridiculous second, she wanted to beg for forgiveness, say whatever it took to calm him down—whatever it took so that he wouldn’t take her son from her.
But she wouldn’t beg. Not anymore. She’d fight the good fight. “You were gone by the time I got away from my father and I was afraid that your family would take