Privacy Policy

The Wedding Planner's Baby
by Amanda Ashby

Copyright © 2017 by Amanda Ashby. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

“It’s perfect. And do the wishes really come true?” Bec’s client Tara asked as she rubbed her swollen belly and glanced over at the old covered bridge, which had taken on a gothic appearance in the pale October sun.

Tara’s long, dark hair was tied back. Her porcelain skin was glowing and her brown eyes were dewy with happiness. If Bec were a lesser person, she probably would’ve hated the bride-to-be on sight for looking so perfect while six months pregnant. But as it was, she couldn’t help liking Tara King. Or the fact she wanted to book a very expensive wedding.

That part I really like.

“We believe they do,” Bec said in what she hoped was an Emmy-like voice, since her middle sister was the only one who believed in the power of the bridge. Emmy normally would’ve been the one to show a potential bride around the farm. But since she’d fallen in love, lost her sanity, and disappeared off to Hawaii, the task had fallen to Bec. Not that she minded. If she could book another wedding, it would mean she’d have more money for when the baby arrived.

When the baby arrives.

Definitely not words she expected to be saying at the age of twenty-two. Because while her sisters and her friends all knew exactly what they wanted to do with their lives, Bec didn’t have a clue.

Well, apart from having a baby. Apparently, that was happening regardless.

“And thank you for seeing me at such short notice. You’re the only wedding planner who hasn’t acted like I’m crazy for getting married to someone I’ve only known for six months. I think they’re worried we’ll cancel,” Tara confided as she looked lovingly to where her fiancé was having an in-depth talk with Charlie about whether they could use the old shed as a makeshift bar.

“I guess you could say my definition of crazy has undergone a change in the last few weeks.” Bec resisted the urge to discreetly pat her own flat belly. At ten weeks, there wasn’t much to see, and she was in the strange place where reality and fantasy hadn’t quite collided, which meant she sometimes woke up thinking she was backpacking her way around the world, going wherever the wind blew her.

Then she’d open her eyes and find herself back in her small cottage at the bottom of Wishing Bridge Farm.

Working as a wedding planner, of all things.

The weirdest part was she’d hated the farm as a teenager and had only come back to ensure Emmy went ahead with the sale of the place. And now I’m going into business with her. Still, it had the bonus of keeping her busy. And if she was busy, she couldn’t think, and if she couldn’t think, she couldn’t—

“Are you okay?” Tara asked and Bec dragged her concentration back. She’d been drifting of a lot lately.

Her best friend Coop, who’d been reading up on pregnancy, had decided it was hormones, though Bec was sure it was more down to heartbreak, betrayal, and a good healthy dose of being pissed off.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” She forced herself to focus on Tara and her ridiculously good skin.

“We’d love to have our wedding here on the twenty-ninth of May next year, if it’s still available.”

“Yes, it is,” Bec assured her, since the other bookings were for April and September.

“That’s wonderful.” Tara clapped her hands with pleasure, and Bec grinned. Her own life might be going down the tubes, but making someone else happy was surprisingly rewarding.

“What’s wonderful?” Bec’s older sister, Pepper, appeared on the path. As usual, her hair was scraped back from her head in a neat bun, and even in old jeans and a plaid shirt, she looked serious and ready for action. Then again, Bec couldn’t remember a time when Pepper hadn’t looked serious and ready for action.

“Tara and Kevin have booked for next year.”

“Excellent.” Pepper gave a curt nod. “I can take care of them for a few minutes while you go to your cottage. You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Bec’s stomach tightened the same way it had done every time the phone rang or tires crunched along the driveway. “Who is it?”

“Someone named Lincoln Mathews. He arrived by taxi and said it was urgent, so I told him to wait on the porch while I came to find you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Lincoln Mathews?

Bec’s breathing quickened and the world stopped turning.

“Just as long as he knows the twenty-ninth is already booked.” Tara beamed, oblivious to Bec’s complete meltdown.

“I can assure you he isn’t here about a wedding.” Bec gritted her teeth as she tried to control her breathing.

Or perhaps he was.

After all, he’d lied about everything else. Who was to say he didn’t have a secret fiancée somewhere? She clenched her jaw.

“Is everything okay?” Pepper leaned forward and studied her face. Bec gulped. Her older sister wasn’t known for her perception, which told Bec just how visible her shock must be. I need to get a grip. She licked her lips and turned to Tara.

“Would you excuse us for a minute. I need to speak to Pepper about something.”

“Of course. I’ll go and tell Kevin the good news.”

“Great.” Bec plastered on a smile and waited until Tara left before lowering her voice and clutching at Pepper’s arm. “You have to tell Lincoln to leave. I can’t think why you even let him stay in the first place.”

“Um, because you’re a grown woman. Your visitors are none of my business.”

“It was none of your business when I decided to go to Argentina for six months, but that didn’t stop you from having an opinion,” Bec retorted, though her sister, as always, was oblivious to sarcasm. It was an irritating trait.

“What’s going on? Who is this guy?” Pepper’s navy eyes widened. “This is him, isn’t it? The father.”

“Shh!” Bec yelped, even though there was no one around.

“What do you mean, shh? Are you saying he doesn’t know? We talked about this. No matter how much you’re in denial, the father has a legal right to be informed,” Pepper said, and Bec remembered why she liked traveling. When she was on the road, she didn’t need to explain herself to anyone. Didn’t need to be accountable.

Especially to her know-it-all older sister.

“And I do plan on telling him when I’m at the three-month mark. All the books agree it’s a good time.” Personally, Bec would’ve preferred sometime in about twenty years. Okay, ten. But that’s my final offer. “Which means I still have fifteen days left.”

“If you haven’t told him, then why’s he here? Please tell me you didn’t dump him and run away.”

Bec sighed.

Contrary to popular belief, running away wasn’t her default setting, but trying to convince Pepper of that was pointless. Besides, right now she had bigger things to deal with. Because if Lincoln was here, there could only be one reason. A reason that nothing to do with their unborn baby.

The excitement of booking another wedding faded.

“I’ve got something he wants. Some photographs. Of the naked variety,” Bec admitted.

She was rewarded by Pepper’s confused expression. “Naked photos? What possessed you to do that?”

“The fact that he’s very beautiful. Especially with no clothes on,” Bec said. And I loved him from the first time I saw him.

Unfortunately, while Tara’s love at first sight had resulted in everlasting happiness, Bec’s had only lasted one week and ended up looking like something Quentin Tarantino would film.

Pepper frowned. “That still doesn’t explain why he’s here.”

“His family was worried I might do something with them, and tried to buy them off me. For a lot of money. That’s why I came home.”

“How much did they offer?” Pepper asked, flicking into lawyer mode.

“That’s irrelevant, and don’t even think of telling me I should’ve taken the money,” Bec warned, recognizing the expression hovering around her sister’s mouth.

“I know you don’t want to ask him for any money, but there’s stubborn, and there’s stupid. And with a baby on the way, you can’t afford to be either.”

Bec gritted her teeth. “Which is why I’m out here booking weddings. In case you hadn’t noticed, they pay lots of money.”

“They pay lots of money next year. When the event is over. Don’t forget the whole reason we wanted to sell the farm in the first place was because of all the debts. And while the last wedding Emmy organized has definitely helped, it’s not enough. We need more money, and we need it fast.”

See, this is why no one invites Pepper to parties. She had a bad habit of lowering the mood.

“Don’t forget we have the Hayride Fiesta in a few days,” Bec reminded her. She’d organized it last week, and while it might not bring in quite as much money as a wedding, she was still proud of it.

“Driving a bunch of preschoolers around on a tractor isn’t going to solve our problems. Or yours.”

“So I’ll get a job, then, in a bar or a coffee shop,” Bec said. “But, please, can you just go and tell him I’m not here? I’ve left the country and you don’t have a forwarding address. Then in two weeks I’ll call him. Promise.”

“He already knows you’re here, and I’m not going to tell him otherwise. This is your mess, Bec. It’s about time you learned to clean up after yourself.”

Bec was silent as Pepper marched back to old Charlie and the happy couple.

So, that went well.

The problem now was what was she going to do?

Obviously, she couldn’t face Lincoln, which meant she could either sneak down through the farm and call Coop to collect her from the road below, or she could just go to one of the many hiding spots she’d used as a child. Or, she could—

Crap.

The sound of rustling leaves told her that the decision was out of her hands. She straightened her spine and reluctantly turned around to see the guy who’d ruined her life walking toward her.

Unfortunately, her eyes hadn’t got the memo that he was bad news, and before she could stop them, they greedily drank him in.

He might be the most horrible, autocratic liar on the planet, but his dark soul certainly wasn’t reflected in his perfect face or body.

Curse him.

Streaky blond hair fell over his forehead, and her fingers twitched to touch it. His strange eyes, neither green nor blue, tilted down at the corners, gazing steadily at her like she was the only person in the world he could see. As for his smile…

No. No smile. In fact, no looking. She squeezed her eyes shut and began to hum.

He finally spoke. “Bec, it’s not going to work. Closing your eyes won’t make me go away.”

“You don’t know that,” she retorted. “Coop once dared me to see how long I could keep my eyes shut, and I lasted for three hours—without falling asleep.”

“Fine. It’s been a long flight, so I’ll just go sit on this bridge of yours, and when you decide to open your eyes, we can talk.”

His English accent was smooth and clipped, with just a hint of amusement in it. Her skin prickled in a way old Bec would’ve found irresistible. However, she was quickly discovering old Bec and pregnant Bec couldn’t afford to have things in common.

She shut her eyes tighter.

“If I wanted to talk to you, I would’ve returned your calls,” she told him, wondering what her chances were of walking back to her cottage with her eyes closed. “Can’t you take a hint?”

“Apparently not,” he said, his voice louder. Had he just moved closer to her? Because that was just plain cheating. She folded her arms and tried not to be affected by the way his cologne caused her skin to pucker. No doubt it was incredibly expensive and upmarket just like he was, according to his mother.

“Well, you should learn. No one likes someone who can’t take a hint.”

“And no one likes someone who runs away before someone else has a chance to explain,” Lincoln said, and Bec growled as she finally opened her eyes.

A-ha! He did move closer.

“I didn’t run away, because running away would imply I belonged where I was. Which, as your mother assured me, I most certainly did not.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d felt that way, but she’d promised herself on the flight home it would be the last. She’d create a home for her and the baby. A home that would make them happy, secure, and complete. Somewhere they belonged.

“That’s why I’m here. If you could just let me explain.” A muscle in Lincoln’s jaw flickered, and his lips compressed.

She shook her head.

So not going to happen.

Besides, what was there to explain? That the sweet guy she’d met in Italy—the one who’d shared gelato with her, who’d said he wanted to be an artist and that, if he had his way, he’d never wear shoes again—was actually a freaking English lord.

Bec flinched. She’d only discovered his deception when his mother, Lady Ashford, came into the dive of a bar where Bec was working. At the time, it hadn’t seemed particularly strange her new boyfriend, who was still in Italy for another fortnight, would send his mother to see her in the East End of London. After all, she’d had all sorts of wild and wonderful experiences since she’d left home.

So, she’d chatted away while pulling pints and serving customers. However, when the invitation came for Bec to go to the house for lunch, everything had changed.

Because it wasn’t a house, it was a manor.

And as Lady Ashford sat in a room filled with oil paintings of long dead relatives, surrounded by faded but expensive carpets and far too many chairs and ornaments, she’d explained exactly who and what the family was.

That everything Lincoln had told Bec was a lie.

He wasn’t just an artist. He was the head of a great estate, and it was his duty to play that role to perfection. Then came the final insult—the large check in return for the photographs. As far as bombshells went, it was a great one. Explosion, shrapnel, the whole works. But the result was clear. Bec could never again have anything to do with Lincoln’s mother. Or Lincoln. Because she’d heard too many lies in her life. She didn’t need to hear any more.

The fact that he was also the father of her unborn child was a small complication.

“Please, just go back to England.” With your horrible family in your horrible house full of horrible traditions that stupid American girls like me can’t possibly understand. “I already told you I wasn’t ready to discuss anything yet.”

“No, you didn’t.” Lincoln rubbed his chin and a series of fireworks went off in her belly. Chin rubbing equals fireworks? How was that even possible? “The only time you even responded was when you sent me a picture of a purple unicorn.”

“That’s right. The universal symbol for needing more time,” Bec retorted as she dragged her badly behaved gaze away from his chin.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get the subtext, but I’m here now, and I’d like to clear the air between us. I know this is awkward.”

Yeah, I’m pretty sure you don’t.

At least she hoped he didn’t, and she discreetly patted her stomach, pleased that in her black jeans and plain T-shirt, she didn’t look pregnant. Which was good, because seeing him confirmed there was no way she could tell him about the baby face-to-face. Which is why I’m sticking to the original plan to call him in two weeks, with the safety of the Atlantic Ocean between us.

“There’s nothing you can say that’ll excuse what happened,” she said.

“I accept that, but at least let me apologize. It’s the British thing to do.”

“And the American thing to do is to tell you to take a hike,” Bec said before sighing. “Okay, let’s get this over with. But fair warning—I’m still mad at you.”

“Warning duly noted,” he said as he cautiously followed her back along the path until they reached the small cottage at the bottom of the farm. Bec had been sixteen when she’d begged her Aunt Ivy to let her move into it. Her older sisters had thought she was crazy to give up her perfectly good bedroom up at the big house, but Bec had always loved the sense of independence it had given her.

“I guess we should go inside,” she said, trying to hide her reluctance as she pushed open the door. Lincoln followed her, his hypnotic eyes wide, seeming to take everything in.

“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.