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 everyone 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
