The Secret Daughter

The driver pointed. “Up ahead, through those magnolia trees, is Bellefontaine. In French, Bellefontaine means pretty fountain. There are fountains all over the grounds. I’m not sure how many.”

Noelani scooted forward as far as her seat belt allowed and craned her neck for her first look at Duke Fontaine’s home. A home he’d purportedly been willing to give up for her mother. Right! The gift of a lei promised that its recipient would return to the islands, but Duke had never made another trip to Maui. Plainly, by the look of this place, he’d gone on with his life in grand style while Anela pined hers away.

Noelani counted four fountains on a huge manicured lawn. Not even the downpour detracted from the effect of tall white pillars and wide balconies supporting a mansion larger than Queen Emma’s summer palace. As a special treat one time, Tutu took Noelani on a tour of their most beloved Hawaiian ruler’s part-time residence. This home was more ostentatious.

Unable to catch her breath, Noelani didn’t immediately realize the cab had pulled around to the back of the house. Awed by the home’s magnificence, and heedless of the falling rain, she stepped out for a better look. The fresh, rain-washed scent failed to cloak an acrid odor of charred wood.

Standing several yards away from a jutting porte cochere, Noelani saw that a section of the mansion had burned. Recently enough so that a workman was even now attempting to spread tarps over a gaping hole in the roof. He leaned far out from the top rung of an extension ladder. The man was bare-headed, and dark hair lay plastered to his skull. Faded blue jeans and a gray T-shirt were molded to his wet skin.

Suddenly the ladder slipped out from under the man’s sneakers and fell hard into a flower bed below. The man was left clawing at a sagging rain gutter. He managed to grab the tarp with one hand seconds before the gutter cracked and a large section canted crazily. If he continued to kick, the section would break and plummet him to the ground below. Granted, that section of the house was only one story tall, compared to three in the main structure. Nevertheless, the man could break his neck.

Heedless of her strappy leather heels and new linen suit, Noelani tore across the soft lawn, leaving her cabbie in the process of requesting her fare.

ADAM ROSS, WHO’D BEEN HIRED by Casey Fontaine to restore Bellefontaine to historical perfection, swore roundly at his ladder. He maintained a tenuous grip on the canvas tarp and had one elbow buried in a weak rain gutter that had sustained damage during a recent kitchen fire. It wasn’t bad enough that this storm had blown in from the gulf, calling a halt to the job of his dreams; now Adam feared he’d break a leg or worse and lose the contract altogether. “Dammit to hell!”

He kicked experimentally to see if maybe the ladder hadn’t fallen all the way to the ground. A warning crack and further sagging of the gutter forced him to freeze. Even at that, his hundred-and-ninety-pound weight was liable to rip the entire gutter from its shaky mooring.

“Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!” He kicked again, only halfheartedly.

“Quit swearing at the roof and hold still.”

Adam wondered if he’d imagined the woman who appeared to be digging through the honeysuckle below and to the left of his swinging feet.

“Are you hurt?” a low melodic voice inquired.

“A few scrapes,” he muttered. “Probably bruised a rib or two. If you can lift that ladder, sweet thing, chances are I’ll live.”

“Chances go down if you call me sweet thing again.”

Adam couldn’t see much of his Good Samaritan. But he fell instantly in lust with her sweet-as-sugar voice. Lately, women hadn’t figured in Adam’s life. He’d been too busy building a business after working his butt off to graduate from LSU in restorative architecture. Certainly he’d never been smitten with a woman based solely on her voice. That was about to change, however, if this one got him out of his current mess.

Damn, any woman capable of standing his heavy ladder upright the way the Amazon below had managed with the ease of a seasoned construction worker definitely owned a big piece of Adam’s heart.

Despite a downpour few women of Adam’s acquaintance would’ve ventured out in, this one had come from nowhere, raised his ladder and then climbed a few rungs to guide his feet to safety.

“Thanks,” he panted. “You saved my—” he’d been about to say job, but that sounded too parsimonious “—my life.”

“Hardly anything so dramatic. But you’re welcome.”

Now that the dangling man was safe and her heart had stopped hammering wildly, Noelani retreated and squinted up for a clearer look at him. She judged the man to be in his early thirties. Even on this overcast day, she could tell that his eyes were very blue. The steaming T-shirt plastered to his broad chest sported the logo of a local university. “Are you…Jackson Fontaine?” Her throat went dry as it struck Noelani that she might have given aid to her half brother.

Adam stared down on a mass of black hair framing a face that seemed to be all eyes. He also noted a lot of leg below a short black skirt. A very nice package from his bird’s-eye view. “Stay put,” he ordered, having more pressing matters at the moment than cataloging his helper’s pleasing attributes. “Could you hold the ladder, please? I’ll secure these tarpaulins so they won’t blow away.”

Either he hadn’t heard or else he chose to ignore her question. The fool hoisted himself off his safe perch onto the roof and left the metal ladder vibrating under Noelani’s fingers. She barely caught his request—or more to the point—his edict.

He must be Jackson Fontaine. Who but the lord of the manor would deem it his right to keep a woman standing in the rain while he covered his castle? Oh, well. She couldn’t get much wetter. And it was a warm rain. Since she needed to speak to him, anyway, she might as well ensure he didn’t break his fool neck.

“Hey, lady. How about you pay your fare and let me be on my way?”

Adam slipped again when he heard the rough male voice heckling his savior. He tied the last tarp and quickly descended the ladder. As he did, he saw that his helper was having trouble unsticking one of her spiky heels from the mud around the honeysuckle.

Skipping the last three rungs, Adam landed hard and grasped her elbow. He jetted her across the lawn to keep her from sinking those stilts she wore into the rain-softened grass.

She jerked away from his hold. “I can walk on my own.”

But Adam didn’t release her until they reached the asphalt drive. “The least I can do for causing you a problem is to pay your cabbie,” he said gallantly, peeling some bills off a money clip he’d dug, with great difficulty, out of the pocket of his soaking wet jeans.

Noelani wanted to get out of the rain before she squared the debt she now owed her host. As the driver snatched his fare and jumped back into the cab, she hefted her suitcases and again wobbled gingerly onto the wet lawn, aiming for the front door of the mansion. All at once she was left clutching air.

“We’ll go through the back door. It’s closer.”

His second abrupt order in no way endeared him to Noelani. She stomped after him, kicking mud off her shoes and muttering darkly.

Striding across slick cobblestones, Adam halted beneath a high-ceilinged breezeway. He propped her large suitcase against the wall and drew a hand through his dripping hair. “If you’re huffy because we’re going in the servants’ entry, sweet thing, don’t think you’re being slighted. This is where carriages used to deposit elegant women in ball gowns who visited the plantation during the social season.”

“Really? Well, I’m going to drip water all over the ballroom floor.”

Adam laughed. He was glad to see that this exotic-looking woman, who’d bowled him over with her competence, also possessed a sense of humor.

More used to giving orders than taking them, Noelani felt at a disadvantage. Flipping aside her soggy hair, she said, “If you’ll tell me how much my fare was, I’ll reimburse you.” She unzipped her purse.

“Forget it. You saved my bacon. We’ll call it even.”

“I’d rather not. If you won’t take cash, then I insist you deduct what I owe you from my portion of the inheritance.”

Adam blinked. As a good friend of Nick Devlin, the new husband of Casey Fontaine, Adam had observed the shock reverberating through the mansion when the siblings first discovered their father had a love child no one knew anything about. Adam recalled hearing that this secret daughter of Duke’s was coming for the property settlement. But not in a million years would he have imagined that he’d foolishly develop a sudden adolescent crush on the illegitimate Fontaine heir.

Damn, the rumors floating around didn’t do her justice. With her uptilted eyes and black hair falling halfway to a narrow waist, wet or not, she was a beauty.

But wait. She thought he was Jackson. A mistake Adam needed to rectify. “I’m Adam Ross, not Jackson Fontaine. At the moment, I occupy one of the family’s two garçonnières.” He jerked a thumb toward a squat tower Noelani had noticed and wondered about. “Jackson moved into the main house after his daughter came to live with him. Today he’s in New Orleans on business.”

Noelani gaped at Adam, feeling foolish but not at all sure how to extricate herself from this conversation. Certainly they were now both aware that she’d mistaken his identity.

“I restore historic homes,” he said pleasantly. “I guess you saw the fire damage.”

“As you aren’t family, Mr. Ross, would you be so kind as to direct me to Cassandra Fontaine?”

“Devlin,” he corrected smoothly. “Casey doesn’t go by Fontaine anymore. She married Nick last week. She’s out on the property overseeing the cane cutting. Their harvest was delayed but— That’s beside the point,” he muttered, getting a grip on his runaway tongue.

Noelani narrowed her eyes. This guy didn’t have a clue. You couldn’t cut cane in this deluge; it’d only mash the stalks into the mud.

“I suppose I could take you to Auntie E,” Adam continued. “She’s their aunt, uh…your aunt…not mine.” Adam floundered as the woman to whom he spoke seemed slow to comprehend. “Esme Fontaine is Duke’s sister. She lives here at Bellefontaine.”

More blank looks from the dripping newcomer.

“Esme’s the only one around right now. Megan’s nanny, Tanya, left to collect her from preschool right before you showed up. Jackson’s daughter, Megan—are none of these names ringing any bells with you?” he finally asked.

Shaking her head, Noelani rubbed her temples. She’d started out expecting to meet two relatives, and this man— Adam Ross—stood here blathering on about an aunt, a niece and a brother-in-law. Or would Nick Devlin technically be her half brother-in-law?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Adam said bluntly.

“Noelani. Noelani Hana. I’m… Duke Fontaine is… My mother, Anela Hana… It’s too difficult to explain,” she said, blinking back tears. “Look, I’ve had a long flight from Honolulu, and I’m wet to the skin. Do you think I could see someone about getting a towel?”

“Damn. Excuse my manners.” Adam reached around her and thrust open the screen, then the door. He grappled with her bags, accidentally brushing against her as he shoved his way inside, bellowing, “Auntie E! You have company.”

Turning apologetically to Noelani, Adam added, “Jackson thinks Esme’s losing her hearing. Casey claims Esme plays her TV so loud she wouldn’t hear if dynamite went off on this level. Excuse me a minute, please. I’ll go knock on her sitting-room door.”

Adam hurried away. Noelani found herself gazing around a tall-ceilinged shotgun hall, twelve to fifteen feet wide, that ran from one end of the house to the other. Scarred hardwood floors were glossy black. Large oil paintings of flowers and landscapes hung on walls illuminated by three chandeliers, whose diffused light shivered through hundreds of intricate crystal prisms. Off to her left, she saw Adam lope up a sweeping staircase.

Tiptoeing over to double French doors, Noelani peered through beveled glass panes into a room too elegant to be livable. The furniture looked uncomfortable, and there were no pillows, books or toys lying around. Everything shone with polish.

A noise had her jerking back, turning toward the stairs where a stiff-backed elderly woman slowly descended. Damn Adam Ross. He’d abandoned her to this aunt she’d never met.

Yanking discreetly at her wrinkled short skirt, Noelani also attempted to straighten the damp collar of her blouse. If she’d dared hope Esme Fontaine would be plump and jovial like her tutu, she would have miscalculated. The aunt wore a jade crepe dress sprigged with yellow flowers, an ensemble made dressier by a citrine choker and matching earrings. Not a hair of her perfectly coifed auburn hair was out of place. Even the jeweled collar worn by the small gray dog prancing at her heels cried out pampered wealth. She crooned to the animal in French.

As her father’s sister drew nearer, Noelani was faintly relieved to see curiosity and not hostility in the pale ocean-green eyes. She recalled her mother mentioning how captivating she’d found Fontaine’s green eyes. Noelani took immense satisfaction in knowing she, at least, didn’t share that family trait.

“So, you’re Duke’s secret daughter?” Esme murmured in a slightly nasal inflection, as if English wasn’t her first language. Noelani found it reminiscent of the many French-speaking South Seas islanders. Anela had spoken French fluently, and Noelani had a passable command of the language.

“Oui,” she murmured, considering whether or not she ought to curtsey.

“My dear, you are wetter than Adam indicated. I sent him to check the towels in your boudoir. We’ve hosted a round of guests this past week, what with two funerals.” She shook her head without displacing even a hair. “Even though Jackson knew the property settlement meeting was scheduled for tonight, he gave Betty Rabaud, our cook-housekeeper, the day off. But come, we mustn’t keep you shivering in the hall.” Esme scooped up the yipping dog and started back up the curving stairs.

Noelani shouldered her purse and her overnight case. She gamely grasped the handles of her two larger bags.

“Leave those,” Esme said sharply. “Adam will bring them. Won’t you, mon chèr?” She fluttered an age-spotted hand. Fire shot from her many rings.

Glancing up, Noelani caught sight of Adam Ross striding down the stairs. His nut-brown hair curled over his forehead as it dried. The man she’d more or less dismissed suddenly had alarm bells clanging in her head as he closed in on her.

Noelani stepped aside. Even if he was about as perfect a specimen of manhood as she’d ever chanced to encounter, she hadn’t come to Baton Rouge to dally with men. And if she did feel like indulging in a fling, she’d never choose some honey-voiced southerner. Her mother’s bleak existence had taught Noelani that much.

Work. Hard work. She’d found that to be far more satisfying than either of her own brief romances. Both had occurred while she was attending college and were irrelevant to her life—then or now.

Dropping her bags at Adam’s feet without a word, she carefully skirted his broad shoulders and ran up the stairs to catch Aunt Esme of the poker back.

Esme crossed a hall at the top of the stairs and flung open a white door. “This will be your room throughout your stay at Bellefontaine. I must say you aren’t what I expected. It appears your mother at least taught you to dress like a lady.”

Noelani thought of the suitcase brimming with shorts and jeans. She’d brought one suit and two semidressy outfits in case she had to be here a week or two. But she wouldn’t, not if the property settlement was tonight.

As she stepped into the room, everything else flew right out of her mind. “Oh! This room is beautiful. Look—carved pineapples on the bedposts. On the cornice, as well.”

“I thought you’d like the pineapple bedroom.” Esme seemed pleased.

“Oh—there’s a pineapple carved on the ceiling medallion.” Now Noelani saw that the bedspread, too, had been crocheted in a pineapple motif. “Do you grow pineapples at Bellefontaine?”

“Mercy, no. It’s generally thought that early Louisiana plantation owners hosted visitors from the islands.” Esme lowered her voice. “There’s an old custom in Louisiana of delivering a fresh, whole pineapple to guests on their arrival. It’s said that if guests overstayed their welcome, they’d wake up to a cut pineapple on their dressers, signifying it was time to leave.”

“Uh, thanks for the warning, but I’m not planning to overstay my welcome.”

Esme chuckled as she backed out the door. “You’re Duke’s daughter, all right. I do believe you’ll give Cassandra and Jackson a run for their money. If you’d like a tour of Bellefontaine after you’ve had a chance to freshen up, I’m in the last room at the south end of the hall. Dinner is at eight. Cocktails at the table tonight. Except for Adam, you and I have the place to ourselves until seven. Tanya, Miss Megan’s nanny, has taken the child to an after-school movie in town. Ah, here’s Adam with your cases.”

She moved to one side, allowing him room to enter. “I know you’re impatient to get back to work, Adam. However, I was telling Noelani we’re dining at eight tonight. I trust we’ll see you then?”

He gave a brief jerk of his chin, which sent a gold cross he wore around his neck swinging. Even though the room was large, he seemed to fill it as he entered and set her bags near the bed. Ignoring Noelani, he turned and went out again, chatting amiably with Aunt Esme about dinner.

Overwhelmed and more homesick than ever, Noelani flung herself across the crocheted pineapple spread. She blinked up at a frothy canopy hooked to the four corners of the tall bedposts. The tears that stung the backs of her eyelids didn’t fall—but only by the sheer force of her will. She hadn’t expected to be welcomed like a long-lost sister, but she didn’t need hired help like Adam Ross slighting her as a blatant reminder that she didn’t belong at Bellefontaine.

Vaulting off the bed, intent on changing out of her wet clothes, she made up her mind. By damn, she’d give Cassandra and Jackson a run for their money, just like Esme had predicted. Their money? Well, her portion of it, anyway.

They were divvying up Duke Fontaine’s guilt money tonight, and all the people involved knew it.

CHAPTER TWO

ADAM ESCAPED NOELANI’S ROOM not a second too soon. Her light, spicy perfume seemed to follow him. He’d promised Esme he’d show up for dinner, but he doubted it’d be an enjoyable occasion given the vulnerability he’d noticed in their guest’s eyes as they left her alone in the pineapple bedroom.

Once Jackson got back, maybe Adam would beg off. The storm had delayed his project; he’d had to cancel the roofers. It should be finished already, but he’d had trouble matching the mansion’s old shingles. The historical society’s rules for preservation made no exceptions when it came to building materials.

As Adam busied himself measuring for kitchen cabinet hardware, his thoughts kept straying—to Noelani Hana. He hadn’t liked leaving her in that big old room where she looked so small and lonely. Maybe not so small, he mused. He’d assumed that as a rule Hawaiians were short. She had to be five-seven or eight. Still, short compared to his own six-two. And she certainly wasn’t very big.

He had to stop thinking about her, had to keep his mind on his work. He didn’t need distractions, Adam reminded himself. Refurbishing Bellefontaine was his lucky break. Not only because of the generous fee he and Casey had negotiated or the way this job would enhance his reputation, but because of Bellefontaine’s proximity to Magnolia Manor, his old family home. His mom had been forced to sell it after a nervous breakdown that resulted in permanent hospitalization. Adam’s goal had always been to buy it back one day.

Right before Nick invited him to leave Natchez and bid on this job, Adam learned Magnolia Manor might soon be offered for sale by the state. He couldn’t help feeling the renovation of Bellefontaine had been an omen, bringing him within reach of his heart’s desire. So no matter how pretty, lost or vulnerable old Duke’s illegitimate daughter was, Adam had to forget her and stay focused on his objective.

Which proved easier said than done, especially as the afternoon wore on. Several times Noelani Hana’s laughter interrupted Adam’s work as she toured the house with Aunt Esme. No, he wouldn’t be skipping dinner tonight. Even though he should…

NOELANI NEEDED TO REST after the tour. Aunt Esme had brought Bellefontaine’s history to life, and Noelani’s head throbbed with facts. While she might forget these facts in time, the pride with which Esme had imparted her family history would linger. Built in the early 1800s, Bellefontaine had withstood the ravages of the Civil War. Noelani knew little about that war, but Esme made it sound as if it had been fought yesterday. For the first time, Noelani was glad she didn’t have what Esme called Yankee blood in her. Auntie E was a southern belle from the top of her coiffed hair to the toes of her designer shoes.

Rechecking her watch, Noelani thought she had an hour or two for a nap before changing for dinner. She drifted off quickly, and had no idea how long she’d slept when she awoke to voices and hurried footsteps in the hall. Her room was dark. Turning on a lamp, Noelani saw it was seven-thirty. She sprang off the bed in a panic. Her bags still sat where she’d left them after pulling out the slacks and blouse she’d hurriedly donned for her house tour. She felt rumpled again and pawed through the larger case, this time removing both of the dresses she’d packed. Why hadn’t she asked how dressy people would be tonight? She eyed a sleeveless red linen shift. The other, a black crepe, was definitely dressier. The red, she decided, digging out red sandals. Faced with meeting Duke Fontaine’s legitimate heirs, her spirits needed the bolstering red offered. She’d originally thought the family might be in mourning, but as Esme had worn a flowery dress today, Noelani doubted anyone expected her to wear black.

She splashed water on her face, then slipped into her dress and sandals. She started down the stairs with five minutes to spare. All the while, she prayed she wouldn’t be the last to arrive.

She was. Talk stopped dead. The men’s chairs scraped back the moment she appeared in the archway. Her knees knocked. Her palms were sweating. Determined not to show her nervousness, she breezed into the room. “Sorry I’m late. I fell asleep. Must be jet lag,” she said as though she were a seasoned traveler.

Esme was slower to rise. “You’ll sit here,” she directed. Her miniature schnauzer, Toodles, lay curled on a velvet pillow under Esme’s chair.

Noelani gripped the back of her assigned seat. A place mat peeked out from beneath off-white china. She spotted lead crystal and real silver. A soup bowl sat perfectly centered on her dinner plate, and a matching soup tureen steamed as it sat just so between etched, hand-blown glass fly-catchers. Esme had explained that before Bellefontaine was fitted for air-conditioning in the 1940s, the bottom of these globes were filled with sugar water to attract the flies that came into the house through unscreened open windows.

Noelani tried to remember what the odd contraption hanging beside the light fixture above the table was called. Ah, yes. A shoo-fly fan. According to Esme, a slave child would sit out of sight in a corner and operate the fan with a rope pulley, which controlled the sweeping blades. It was impossible for Noelani to comprehend what life must have been like back then.

Anytime she felt as nervous as she was now, trivia tended to cycle over and over in her head. Aunt Esme had given her plenty of trivial facts.

“Noelani, you’ve met Adam. Jackson’s at the end. His daughter, Megan, is to your right next to her nanny, Tanya Carson.” Esme inclined her head toward a thin young woman. “And this,” she finished breathlessly, “is Noelani Hana.” Esme smiled through a series of greetings. At last, she suggested they all sit again, and she requested Jackson serve the soup.