The Heiress

“Self-esteem?”

Grace reeled backward, as if he had slapped her. “You knew a career was important to me when you married me!”

“And I also knew it shouldn’t have mattered that you grew up in a small town, the daughter of parents who owned and ran a dry-cleaning store,” Tom said bitterly. He looked at his ex-wife, his heart aching. “You were everything to me, Grace. Everything. But you never let yourself believe it.”

“WELL?” Chase said when Grace met her son and his new wife for dinner at a popular downtown-Charleston restaurant.

Chase had come straight from the offices of Modern Man magazine, and was dressed, as usual, in pleated khaki trousers and a short-sleeve linen shirt perfect for the balmy September weather. Bridgett, a financial advisor, and noted author in her own right, was wearing a trim black skirt and silky black-and-white cardigan set. Grace smiled. The two of them looked so strikingly handsome together. Chase, with his wavy dark-brown hair, lively slate-blue eyes and tanned athletic presence. Bridgett, with her auburn hair, deep chocolate eyes and slender feminine frame. And more important, Grace thought, they were happy. And so much in love with each other, it filled her heart with joy.

Grace sat down and spread her napkin across her lap. “I didn’t get anywhere with him, either.”

“So he’s still on the yacht.” Chase returned to his own seat after helping Grace with her chair.

Grace nodded at both Bridgett and Chase, marveling again at how happy—how very much in love—they looked. “Yes,” she said quietly. “But you’ll be relieved to know that your father’s not drinking so much as brooding.” Feeling sorry for himself, angry at the world, at her.

Chase scowled as he opened the menu. “I’d go try and talk to him myself but I want to slug him.”

Having already decided what she wanted—the crab soup and a salad—Grace closed her menu wearily. Chase was her strongest defender, as well as her first-born and oldest son, but in this case he was also dead wrong. She regarded her son steadily and said, “This isn’t your fight, Chase. It’s mine.”

Chase clenched his jaw, at that moment looking very much like his incredibly strong-willed and stubborn father. “Wrong, Mom.” Fierce resentment gleamed in Chase’s slate-blue eyes. “When Dad betrayed you, he betrayed the whole family.”

Grace sighed and shook her head. “You still have to forgive him,” she advised calmly.

“Why?” Chase challenged. “You obviously haven’t, and it’s been what—more than twenty years now?”

What could Grace say to that? It was true. All these years and she hadn’t been able to put it out of her mind, hadn’t been able to believe Tom’s stepping out on her was merely a cry for help. But what if she’d been wrong? What if Tom’s lovemaking with Iris was as emotionally unsatisfying as her tryst with Paulo had been? Had she thrown it all away, refused to ever trust Tom again, for nothing?

CHARLOTTE WAS in the library, updating her social calendar on the computer Iris had given her and taught her how to use, when Richard walked in. He’d spent the afternoon playing tennis at the club, but was now dressed in his customary suit and tie. Knowing now was as good a time as any, Charlotte broached the subject that had been on her mind constantly for days, before he could leave for that evening’s dinner-meeting with their accountant.

“I want to hire a private detective to locate Daisy.”

The look in his eyes becoming pure resentment, Richard’s jaw clenched. “It’s out of the question.”

“Why?” Gearing up for battle, Charlotte saved the data she had just entered and watched as Richard opened the wall safe in the library. “We can afford it.” The growing success of the family antiques business, and their financial stake in it, had seen to that.

Richard released a long breath and turned to Charlotte in exasperation, “Daisy will come home when she’s ready.”

Would she? Charlotte wondered. “She’s been gone for days now,” Charlotte pointed out, unwilling and unable to suppress her worry. “We haven’t heard a word from her.”

“Which, given her likely mood, is probably just as well.” Richard moved the handgun and box of ammunition he insisted they keep for their personal safety to one side and withdrew a fat envelope of cash. He took out a number of bills and returned the envelope to the safe, setting it on top of Charlotte’s jewelry case and copies of their insurance papers, wills and real estate deeds. “Right now, Daisy is behaving like a temperamental child.” Richard shut the door to the safe, covered it with the painting and slid the money into his wallet before looking at Charlotte once again. “And I for one am glad Daisy is not here misbehaving for all our friends to see.”

“I still want to find her,” Charlotte retorted steadily.

“And I still say no.”

Richard gave Charlotte a look to let her know the conversation was closed, then exited the room. Seconds later, the front door shut behind him. The big house was cloaked in silence.

Charlotte stared at the photos of family that decorated the shelves to the right of the heavy antique desk. She didn’t know when or why or even how it happened, but the truth was indisputable now. Somewhere along the way, she had failed both her daughters. Perhaps even their son, Connor, too. During the crisis of Iris’s pregnancy, Charlotte had been so certain she and Richard were doing the right thing, keeping the affair and pregnancy from ten-year-old Connor, and sending Iris to that austere convent in Switzerland to have her baby in secret. Iris hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t wanted to give Daisy up, but Charlotte and Richard had worked together to convince Iris that her life—indeed, all their lives—would be ruined if she didn’t do as they said.

In return, Charlotte had promised Iris that she and Richard would love Daisy and bring her up as their own. Iris would never have to worry or wonder what had happened to her baby—she would be able to see Daisy every day because they would grow up as sisters. And Charlotte had kept her promise. She had loved Daisy every bit as much as she had loved her own two children, if not more. But she had also known in her heart of hearts that Daisy was her first—maybe her only—grandchild. And consequently, she had tended to be too lenient with Daisy, as grandparents were wont to do. Whereas Richard had gone the other way and been too strict. Poor Daisy had been caught in the middle from day one, as their adopted daughter. No wonder she’d floundered around and felt there was something amiss. Because, Charlotte thought fiercely, there had been.

Now, Daisy knew the truth.

She knew they had all lied to her.

And she couldn’t forget and she couldn’t forgive.

Was Daisy ever going to come home? Charlotte wondered.

And what would she do when she did?

CHAPTER FIVE

IT TOOK JACK ONE MONTH, two days and sixteen hours to find out where Daisy had run off to, and another half day to travel to Nevada. When he finally made it to the crummy studio apartment she had rented at the edge of town, he was mad as hell, and exhausted to boot. And she didn’t look much better when she opened her door to him. Her fair skin held the golden glow of desert sun and she was dressed as sexily as ever, in snug, worn, navel-baring jeans, tangerine tank top and western boots. Her wavy hair was as clean and silky-looking as always and caught up in a clasp on the back of her head. But there were shadows beneath her eyes and a weariness in her body language that hadn’t been there before.

Not that she was about to let him know that, however, Jack noted as their eyes clashed. “I was wondering when you would show up.”

Jack took the open door for invitation and followed her inside. The place was a mess. Although it was nearly noon, what looked like a breakfast of a glass of milk and a sweet roll sat on the table. The sofa bed was still pulled out and unmade. There were clothes, shoes and toiletry items scattered all over the place. He shut the door behind them, noting the laptop computer, printer and digital camera that were hooked up together. Even as they spoke, what looked like color tourist photos were spitting out of the printer one after another. Which explained how she had been getting by once her cash ran out. “It would have been sooner if you’d let me know where you were,” he said.

“What? And take all the fun out of it?” Daisy plucked her glass off the table and took a sip of milk. Expression sobering slightly, she continued, “I was going to contact you soon anyway.”

Jack had expected as much—when Daisy was ready. She was too confrontational to let what had happened between them that night go by without being addressed. Not that he was taking the blame for everything. She was at fault here, too. Figuring she would want him to give as good as he got, he said back, just as dryly, “To return my car, repay the cash you stole and reimburse me for the $2358.29 in credit card charges you racked up the last two days?”

Daisy shook her head, took another sip of milk, and still holding his gaze, said, “To tell you I’m pregnant.”

Her matter-of-fact tone hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. Jack tensed, attempting to frame a retort, only nothing came out. Finally, he said, “That’s not funny, Daisy.”

An emotion he couldn’t quite identify glimmered in her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know.” She waved her hand through the air, some of her customary rebelliousness coming back to her stance. “There’s a certain irony to it, don’t you think? I mean, the bastard of Tom Deveraux having the love child of his most trusted employee slash henchman. If you ask me—” her lips curved with mocking pleasure “—it’s like something straight out of a trashy novel.”

He was beginning to realize she wasn’t kidding. “Except this is real life, Daisy.”

Daisy sighed and put down her milk. “Ain’t that the sad truth,” she agreed.

Jack came closer. Unable to help himself, he looked at her stomach—it seemed as flat as always, but then if the baby was his, and his gut was telling him that it was, she was only four and a half weeks or so along. He swallowed around the unaccustomed tightness in his throat and returned his gaze to her face. “You’re sure about this?”

Daisy wiped her hands on a napkin and walked down to the other end of the narrow kitchen countertop. She plucked a piece of paper out from beneath a little sample bottle of what appeared to be vitamins and handed it to him. “I went to the Lake Tahoe clinic two days ago.”

He noted that the receipt said the clinic had billed her for a pregnancy test, new patient exam and consultation.

In a bored tone, Daisy continued, “You can go check out the test results for yourself if you want. I told them you were the father and you might be coming by.”

Still struggling to absorb the fact that he was going to be a father—that he was going to have a baby with Daisy—never mind figure out what this was going to mean to him, his life and everyone around them, Jack handed back the receipt. “That’s not necessary,” he said stiffly, guilt—and his own sense of failed responsibility—along with the news of his impending fatherhood, combining to hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. He forced the words through numb lips. “I believe you.” Just as he now believed they were in one hell of a mess, that was likely only going to get worse as time went on.

Daisy tilted her head as she studied him with narrowed eyes. After a moment, she noted softly, “You haven’t asked if the baby is yours.”

No. He hadn’t. And why hadn’t he? Jack couldn’t say why he was so sure. He only knew his gut was saying it was his kid. And his street smarts about people, whether they were good, bad or somewhere in between, were never wrong. Daisy might act out wildly, but she would never lie to him about something like this, especially given the way she had grown up, not knowing to whom she had been born. “I’m sure because I know you,” he stated firmly, more sure of that with every second that passed.

For reasons Jack couldn’t understand, his faith in Daisy’s honor upset rather than reassured her. “And how do you know?” she retorted, the deeply cynical look returning to her face. “Oh!” She snapped her fingers as if something just hit her with amazing insight. “I forgot. You and my biological father have been tracing my movements ever since I decided to try and find my real parents a few months ago.” She trod closer, bristling with a mixture of indignation and contempt. “That’s kind of ironic, too, don’t you think? That I hired the same private investigator my biological father hired to keep me from finding out what the Templeton and Deveraux families would’ve preferred I not ever know?”