CHAPTER 9
“BEAU?”
HE TURNED in the hallway, the peak from his baseball cap shading his eyes. His gaze remained firmly aimed at his feet.
“Yes, ma’am?”
Wonderful, Mother had got to him too. “Augusta, please.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Lips that had kissed mine? I sensed a certain familiarity, unless my overactive imagination was playing tricks.
“Not allowed to call you that, ma’am.”
“Okay, sir.” I stressed the second word. Two could play at that game. “I’d like to get some more bookshelves installed in the study I share with Angie. Is that something you can do?”
“I’m sure I can.”
Beau’s accent sounded pure English, without a hint of the sexy French lilt Midnight slipped in on occasion. And he had a beard. It may have been a short beard, and neatly trimmed, but Midni
