Читать книгу The Secret Daughter - Roz Fox Denny - Страница 9

Maui, Hawaii

“HI, MIDORI.” NOELANI HANA breezed full-tilt into the executive offices of Shiller Cane Company, the same way she’d moved through life for most of her twenty-seven years. Her long, straight hair settled like dark rain over her olive-toned shoulders as she skidded to a stop in front of Bruce Shiller’s secretary. “What’s so urgent to make the boss send a runner to the mill to get me? I’ll have our vat computers running fine before the first load of cane’s delivered, if that’s what he’s worried about.”

“He didn’t give a reason, just opened his door and told me to find you ASAP.”

Noelani peeled off her leather work gloves and tucked them into the back pocket of her khaki walking shorts. “Guess I’d better go see. Oh—has he met with those truck farmers again? You know, the ones who proposed turning the cane fields into a tomato patch or some ridiculous thing?”

“Bruce hasn’t mentioned them in weeks. He’s still muttering about selling, though. You know this is the fourth year in a row our profits have dropped.”

Noelani knocked on Shiller’s door. Pasting a smile on her face, she burst gaily into his office. “You rang, oh great master?”

Seated behind a huge mahogany desk, a gaunt, sixtyish man, with a weathered face and white hair, glanced up. Probably for the first time ever, he didn’t return Noelani’s smile. “Take a seat.” Rocking back in his chair, he idly twirled a pencil.

Unable to read his expression Noelani grew uneasy. “If this is going to be another lecture about flagging profits, Bruce—don’t worry. I’ll coax more from our worn-out equipment. We haven’t given the new computer program I wrote a chance to show what it can do.”

“Sit, Noelani. I didn’t call you here to talk about the mill.” Tossing the pencil aside, he peeled open a creamy envelope and removed an official-looking letter.

She did as he asked this time, throwing herself into a chair. Bruce’s office was like home. Until her mother died of lymphatic cancer, Anela Hana had kept Shiller’s books. Noelani had barely turned thirteen the day Bruce informed her Anela had died. It was the only other time she recalled seeing such deep sorrow in Bruce’s eyes, and her stomach reacted accordingly.

“Noelani, it grieves me greatly, but I have the task of telling you that Duke Fontaine and his wife, Angelique, died in a plane crash.” Bruce Shiller pushed the letter toward her. “This lawyer, Shelburne Prescott, says you’re named in your father’s will, along with Cassandra and Jackson Fontaine. They, of course, live at Bellefontaine. Duke’s plantation…on the mainland,” he clarified as Noelani stared at the letter without touching it.

“He had other kids? Well, if they’re named Fontaine, I guess they’re legitimate.”

“Noelani!”

She crumpled the page and threw it back across the desk. “What am I supposed to feel, Bruce? Sorrow…for someone who didn’t give a damn about me? I’ve never even met the man!”

“You should’ve gone there after your mother died.”

“I didn’t need him. I had Grandmother. And I had you.” She shook her head. “Did he come to her funeral or even send flowers? I know you notified him.” Furious now, as she always was when she thought about the man her mother had thrown away her life for, Noelani twisted a lock of hair. The auburn streaks and her five-foot-six-inch height were attributes she’d probably inherited from Duke Fontaine. If Noelani felt curious about anything, it was what traits, if any, she shared with half siblings she hadn’t known existed until this minute.

“Duke cared enough to name you in his will. His sugarcane operation makes mine look like small potatoes, kid. You think it’s not obvious that you’re practically killing yourself in my mill, trying to achieve what Duke’s children have by birthright?”

The initial shock of Bruce’s news had begun to fade. In purely mercenary terms, Noelani considered what she could do with a windfall of cash. Do here—at Shiller’s, she hastily corrected. Except…wasn’t there always a catch when it came to money? In this case, she’d have to admit she was Duke Fontaine’s bastard.

She eyed the balled-up letter belligerently. “I can’t imagine that Duke’s legitimate kids want me appearing on the scene to muck up their lives. How old are they?”

“Cassandra is thirty or thirty-one. Jackson’s a little younger. Nearer your age. Girl, you owe it to yourself to at least go see what this inheritance is all about. Who knows, you may like Louisiana and Duke’s family well enough to stay.”

“Never! If I have an inheritance coming, let them mail it. Depending on how much it is, maybe we can upgrade our equipment.”

“Noelani, you’re not sinking money into my operation.”

“Why not? You’ve been more of a father to me than Duke Fontaine ever was. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I want to buy you out when you retire. Please, Bruce, would you phone Prescott and ask him to mail whatever I have coming from the estate?”

The man across the desk sighed. “All right. I’ll ask. But then we have to talk about what’s happening to the sugar industry in Hawaii, Noelani.”

Five minutes later, she’d heard enough of his one-sided conversation to know Prescott wasn’t going to merely cut her a check.

Bruce confirmed as much after signing off. “Duke’s will states you have to be present at the property distribution settlement to inherit. His firm’s wiring you a ticket out of Honolulu for tomorrow. So you’d better go pack. Your connecting flight leaves Kahului in five hours.”

“Forget it! Let them keep Duke Fontaine’s guilt money. I don’t need anything from him. I never have,” she blazed.

“Noelani, do this for your mother. Anela never stopped loving him. Anyway, aren’t you curious? Over the years you’ve asked questions about your biological dad. This is your chance to get answers.”

Vaulting from her chair, Noelani stalked to the door, angry tears glistening in her eyes. “That’s dirty pool,” she finally said in a hard-edged voice. “Okay, I’ll go. But the minute his affairs are settled, I’m on the next plane home to Maui. Have Midori’s son tend my computers while I’m gone, okay? If it was up to me, I wouldn’t touch a cent belonging to Duke Fontaine. I will, though, because I want to buy Shiller’s when you retire. Maybe this will allow us to be a contender in the world sugar market again.”

“Noelani…wait. I’m thinking seriously of sell—” Bruce heaved his arthritic bones from the chair and hobbled around the desk. She slammed the door, cutting off a statement she didn’t want to hear.

NOELANI OPENED ONE EYE and was relieved to discover that the 747 she’d boarded at Honolulu International was safely aloft. This was her first ride in a jumbo jet. Not that she’d care to broadcast her inexperience. Easing her death grip on the armrests, she tugged at the short black skirt of a linen suit she’d worn to meet the family in mourning.

An elderly woman seated next to Noelani smiled. “I’m always nervous during takeoff and landings, too. Are you continuing beyond Dallas?”

“Uh…yes, I’m going to Louisiana.”

“A vacation, how nice. I hear New Orleans is having a mild fall.”

“It’s not a vacation. I’m visiting family. Near Baton Rouge. They grow sugar.” Noelani shocked herself by referring to the Fontaines as family. Then, uncharacteristically, bared her soul to a stranger. “Actually, they’re my father’s family. I lived with my mother, who was Hawaiian.”

“So you’re hapa haoli. Your Caucasian half must account for the lovely auburn highlights in your hair. They’re quite striking, my dear. Is your father Scottish?”

“I don’t know. We never met, and now he’s gone.” Noelani shut her eyes. “I was ten before my hair turned this funny color. My tutu, that’s my mom’s mother, said I was born with jet-black hair like all the other Hawaiian kids in our village—on Maui. My mother kept the books for Shiller’s. The largest sugarcane plantation in the islands,” she added proudly.

The woman’s face fell. “Divorce affects so many families these days.”

Noelani didn’t bother to set her straight.

“It’s a shame, dear, especially as sugar must’ve been something your parents once had in common. But I’m sure your father’s relatives will appreciate that you’ve come so far to pay your respects.”

“Hmm.” Noelani mumbled something noncommittal as she recalled her first glimpse of Duke Fontaine’s photo. She’d often seen Anela crying as she gazed at a snapshot of a stranger. Noelani recalled stealing into her mom’s bedroom to get a better look at the picture one day, after kids at school had taunted her about her lack of a father. Instinctively, she’d known it was the man in the faded photograph.

Noelani’s seatmate moved on to another subject. “Hawaii is a wonderful vacation spot. I own a time-share on Kauai and fly over for two weeks every year. Is it boring, living full-time on an island?”

“Boring?” Noelani was never bored. But then, she had nothing else with which to compare her life. “Ours is a seaside town. Two out of three adults work in cane. Shiller’s office operates year-round, so my mother never really got time off, even though the mill shuts down for two months to overhaul equipment. Social life picks up considerably during that period. My tutu took me to all the luaus, hukilaus and huli hulis.”

“I’m familiar with luaus, where they pit-roast a pig. Locals net fish, I believe, at a hukilau. Huli huli is beyond my scope,” the woman said, and then laughed.

“Mainlanders would probably call it a chicken barbecue. But we use a sweet molasses-based sauce. And islanders grab every opportunity to sing, dance and eat.”

“I’ll bet you do the hula.”

“No way. I’m a good kick-boxer, though.”

“My, that sounds more like something men would do for sport.”

Because their lunch was served, Noelani let the subject drop. Her grandmother had believed it was a fitting outlet for a young woman’s pent-up hostilities. She’d signed her only granddaughter up for lessons at age thirteen, insisting it’d help Noelani work through her grief and anger. A wise woman, her tutu.

Following lunch, Noelani’s seatmate took a nap. The woman slept all the way to Dallas. Noelani barely had an opportunity to say goodbye, as she had to run to catch her connection to Baton Rouge.

Her arrival there was greeted by pouring rain. Thunder shook the baggage terminal. If this was mild weather, as her seatmate had intimated, Noelani hoped she didn’t encounter bad weather during her brief stay in Louisiana.

And her stay here would be brief.

Gazing out at the ominous skies, Noelani was engulfed by a wave of homesickness. She watched people chatting with those who’d come to pick them up and felt more alone than ever.

In Dallas, she’d seen greeters carrying signs with the names of various travelers. She peered around, hoping to see someone displaying her name—maybe even one of her half siblings. Until now, Noelani hadn’t realized how much she’d counted on being met by someone from Duke’s family.

What were they like, these relatives she hadn’t even known about?

As the carousel began to empty it became patently obvious that Duke’s kids weren’t imbued with the famous southern hospitality her mother had touted the one and only time Noelani succeeded in getting her to speak about the man she loved. She was always shuffled off to her tutu whenever she asked questions about her father, but on that one occasion Noelani refused to be ignored. In a rare unguarded moment, Anela described her absent lover as a dashingly handsome and charming southern gentleman. A hard man with a soft heart. Anela said then she’d love Duke Fontaine until the day she died. Noelani was sure she had.

It wasn’t until much later that Noelani inadvertently learned that Duke had neglected to mention his marriage at the outset of his relationship with Anela. According to Tutu, Duke had also wanted to divorce his wife and leave his Louisiana home, but Anela refused to hear of it. It wasn’t until after he’d left Maui that she discovered she was pregnant—a fact that never altered her decision to let him go.

Talk about decisions… After ten minutes of watching the baggage department clear out, Noelani collected her bags and went in search of a cab. If money to help shore up Shiller’s mill hadn’t been her prime objective in coming to this dreary place, she’d have asked the driver to take her straight to a hotel.

But according to a terse telegram from Jackson Fontaine that had accompanied her ticket, a room awaited her at Bellefontaine. It was that address Noelani reluctantly gave the cabbie.

Through a streaked window, she watched the skyline of Baton Rouge disappear in a mass of black clouds. Her cab crossed a wide, churning expanse of muddy water the driver said was the Mississippi River.

Never before had Noelani felt so out of her element.

Soon the city gave way to wet fields of tall cane. The knot in her stomach began to uncoil. As a child she’d played hide-and-seek in similar cane rows. Friends often broke off stalks and chewed them for the juice, but Tutu had warned it would ruin her teeth, so Noelani rarely sneaked a nibble. But, oh, how she loved the smell of burnt sugar that used to hang like mist in the air when they burned fields. More of life’s changes, she mused, watching field after field slide past. Agricultural developers had introduced new cane that was too tough to chew, followed by better fertilizers, which made it more advantageous to plow under old ratoons. As well, environmentalists had forced an end to burning.

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.