Page 25 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

He’d spent two days trying to track Beatrice Medford down after she’d run out of his loft. He would have preferred to hear from her, but her sister would have to do. For now.

The fury, though, which had been building all weekend, tightened its stranglehold on his throat. He forced himself to breathe through it.

Don’t let her see you give a damn. That’s the only way to deal with these people.

But what the hell was Beatrice playing at? And where had she gone? Because her father didn’t even know.

The old bastard had shown up at the Foxx Grand in Belgravia on Sunday morning, after Mason had been forced to contact him in an attempt to locate his daughter. Medford had been all obsequious smiles and bonhomie, believing Mason and his daughter were now an item. It had taken Mason about ten seconds to realise Medford had no idea where she was. And once Mason had told him he hadn’t seen her since Saturday morning, the old man’s pale blue eyes had filled with irritation—but no sign of affection or concern.

It had given Mason pause.

But the moment of hesitation—about the way he’d spoken to her—was swiftly quashed.

She’d obviously gone off in a huff. Because Mason had figured out the truth. Perhaps she hadn’t been home yet because she didn’t want to break the bad news to her old man that there would be no marriage proposal from their latest billionaire mark—but there might be an unplanned pregnancy. Unfortunately, that didn’t alter the fact she could even now be carrying his child, which meant he needed to find her. Pronto.

He paced in front of the lift, waiting for her sister to appear.

He was going to give Beatrice hell when he finally located her—for putting him in the untenable position of having to contact Jack Wolfe’s wife to ask her where her sister was, like a lovesick fool. Instead of a man who lived up to his responsibilities.

He dismissed the memory of her face, the pale skin pallid with shock, her huge blue eyes sheened with distress while she shot out of his apartment as if her feet were on fire.

A memory which had resurfaced at regular intervals since Saturday morning. But which he refused to dwell on.

If she hadn’t wanted him to call her out, she shouldn’t have come on to him in the first place. And made him think she had given him something precious, when her virginity had just been another bargaining tool.

The lift bell pinged, but as the doors slid open he found himself straightening, taken aback by the fierce look in Katherine Wolfe’s eyes as she marched out.

‘Mason Foxx, I presume,’ she remarked with enough derision to be insulting. ‘You bastard. Where is my sister?’ she demanded, her glare hot enough to melt lead.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied, raising his voice to match hers.

Unlike her father, though, who had been indifferent to his younger daughter’s whereabouts, Katherine Wolfe looked ready to start ripping his place apart to find her sister.

‘You must have some idea,’ she countered. ‘Because, other than my housekeeper, you appear to be the last person to have seen her. And if you don’t want me calling the police in the next ten seconds...’ she jerked her phone out of her purse ‘...and demanding they question you, you’d better tell me what you did to her on Friday night.’

‘Are you nuts?’ he shouted, the prickle of unease at the mention of the police only infuriating him more. Once upon a time he’d been terrified of the law. Scared the things he’d once had to do to survive might come back to destroy his new life... But not any more. ‘If I knew where Beatrice was,’ he added, ‘why the hell would I have contacted you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she sneered, stuffing her phone back into her purse. ‘Your very cryptic message about needing to get in touch with her ASAP. Why do you need to get in touch with her?’

‘That’s between me and Beatrice and none of your business.’

‘Well, I’m making it my business, Romeo. Did she spend Friday night with you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, damned if he would lie about that. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

‘And then you just kicked her out the next morning after you slept with her, is that it?’ Katherine Wolfe’s glare narrowed. ‘Of all the heartless...’

‘I didn’t kick her out. She left,’ he said, beyond furious now. Who did this woman think she was? And what exactly was she accusing him of?

‘But you must have said something,donesomething, to have upset her,’ she demanded again.

‘Why must I?’ he replied, getting royally sick of the third degree. But, even so, a prickle of unease crawled up his back. The memory of Bea’s devastated expression the next morning—and the feel of her body, relaxed and trusting against his when he’d woken up, coming back full force.

‘Because my housekeeper said she arrived at our place on Saturday morning, bedraggled and distraught,’ Katherine Wolfe replied. ‘She left me a weirdly cryptic note that didn’t make a lot of sense. And then she disappeared.’

‘She...what?’ he asked, his fury fading as another unwanted memory blindsided him. Of when he’d thrust heavily inside her, and she’d flinched.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Hadn’t known she was a virgin. Because she hadn’t told him. But why hadn’t she contacted him since that night? It had been over forty-eight hours and he hadn’t been able to get in touch with her.

---