Kitabı oku: «The Wager»
“I have no intention of selling the Princess.”
Olivia’s words hit Josh like a sucker punch, and he had to bite back the oath on the tip of his tongue. Yet when it came to the Princess, the very first hotel built by his grandfather, it was difficult not to let his emotions come into play. To see the Logan Hotel banner flying over the Princess again had been his dream for as long as he could remember. And once again, that dream remained just out of reach.
“Please hear me out,” she told him.
Josh nodded, settled back in his seat.
“I want to see the Princess returned to her throne, Joshua. Once I see that happen, I’ll turn over the reins. From the day your grandfather signed her over to me, she’s been run by a Jardine.”
“But your grandchildren have no interest in running the Princess. The only other Jardine left to run it is you,” Josh pointed out.
“Not necessarily,” Olivia told him. “There is another alternative.”
“Do you intend to tell me who this mysterious Jardine relative is?”
“My granddaughter. Or I suppose I should say, my other granddaughter.”
The Wager
Metsy Hingle
www.mirabooks.co.uk
My heartfelt thanks go to the following people who helped me give life to The Wager:
Dianne Moggy, Editorial Director of MIRA Books, for believing in me and this project. Without her support, this book would never have been written.
Karen Kosztolnyik, my editor, whose support, guidance and patience were invaluable to me in the writing of this book.
Tara Gavin of Silhouette Books for her support and endorsement.
Linda Hayes, friend and former agent, for her years of encouragement and advice.
Karen Solem, my agent and guiding force, for her enthusiasm and support.
Sandra Brown, my dear friend and mentor, for her encouragement and support.
Dave and Judi Burrus, dear friends and hoteliers, who introduced me to the business of luxury hotels.
R. A. Jardine, banker and friend, whose surname served as inspiration.
Linda Kay, Hailey North, Rexanne Becnel,Erica Spindler and Karen Young, fellow authorsand friends, for their support and encouragement.
The remarkable, talented staff at MIRA Books fortheir support and expertise.
And as always, a very special thanks goes to my children and family whose love and understanding enables me to spin tales of love, hope and happily-ever-after.
For Jim
My husband, My lover, my friend
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Prologue
The sound of skidding tires and metal crashing against metal finally stopped. So did the screams. Lying in the rain beside the mangled car, Laura Harte opened her eyes and listened. But all she heard now was the steady beat of the August rain and the distant hum of traffic from the San Francisco road. She drew in a breath and winced at the sharp ache in her ribs.
Then she caught it—the metallic scent of blood. Tamping down on a spurt of panic, Laura struggled to sit up and gasped as white-hot pain shot through her shoulder. Her stomach pitched. Her vision blurred, but not before she’d noted the odd angle at which her arm hung. Gritting her teeth, she managed to half walk, half crawl from the twisted car to the side of the dark road where her mother lay in a crumbled heap. The fear that had bolted through her when she’d seen the lights of the truck coming at them hit Laura again as she stared at her mother’s pale face. “Momma, can you hear me?”
Her mother’s eyelashes fluttered. “Looks like I ruined your big celebration,” she said, but the grimace that followed diffused the lighthearted remark.
“I don’t care about the awards banquet,” Laura soothed. Right now she didn’t care about her job, the promotion, anything—only her mother and the ragged sound of her breathing. “You’re going to be all right. Just hang on while I go get help.”
“No. There’s not enough time,” her mother said, her voice raspy. She caught Laura’s hand, held it. “There are things I need to tell you…things I should have told you a long time ago. About me, about your father.”
“Shh. Don’t talk anymore. You need to save your strength.” Biting back the panic threatening to choke her, Laura tried to keep her voice calm as she said, “You can tell me all about your great romance with daddy again later. Right now, try to lie still. I’m going up to the road to flag down help. We need to get you to a hospital.”
“T-too late for…hospital.”
“No, it’s not,” Laura insisted. She didn’t care if her mother was a nurse. She was wrong. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be too late. Then she heard it—the squeal of sirens—and nearly wept with relief. “Listen! Do you hear that? Sirens! That means help is on the way. All you have to do is hang on a little longer.”
Her mother squeezed her fingers, but her grip had grown weaker. “I’m sorry, baby. I always thought I’d have more time,” she said, her voice thready. “I need to tell you about your father…to explain…”
“I know all about Daddy.” Did her mother’s insistence on talking about her dead husband mean the injuries were even worse than she feared? Hadn’t she read somewhere that when a person was dying their thoughts focused on the past? No! Her mother was not dying, Laura told herself as tears ran down her cheeks and mingled with the rain. To comfort herself as much as her mother, Laura repeated the oft-told tale. “Daddy was a navy aviator who came to the base hospital where you worked as a nurse. He was the most handsome man you’d ever seen, with beautiful blue eyes and a kind smile. The two of you fell madly in love and after a whirlwind courtship, you got married.” The beautiful, tragic tale of her parents’ romance cut short by her father’s death in Vietnam had been as much a part of her life as breathing. Her father may have died before she was born, but Laura had grown up loving him.
“We were so much in love,” her mother whispered.
“I know,” Laura said softly, growing more terrified with each moment by her mother’s labored breathing and the gray cast to her skin. Then she heard it—voices calling out, footsteps. “Over here,” Laura cried out. “And please…hurry!”
“Laura,” her mother gasped. Her fingers tightened. “Remember I love you.”
“Momma, don’t—”
“Promise me you’ll go to Paul. Tell him—” A harsh cough stopped her.
“Don’t talk anymore,” Laura ordered, alarmed by her mother’s coughing and the pain in her dark eyes. The hand that held hers seemed to have grown colder.
“Go to Paul. Tell him I said to give you the key to the second box. And please, try to understand, darling,” she said, her voice growing weaker still. “Try to forgive me.”
“Momma, you’re not making any sense. What key? What box—”
But it was too late. Her mother’s eyes closed. The hand holding hers went limp. And then came that anguished animal scream of pain. It wasn’t until much, much later that Laura realized that the scream she’d heard that night had come from her.
One
“You don’t have to do this.”
Laura looked up from the second safety-deposit box she was about to open into the solemn hazel eyes of Paul Shaw, her mother’s attorney and oldest friend, the honorary uncle who had seen her through the bleakness of her mother’s funeral. “Yes, I do. It was the last thing…” Her voice broke, and Laura swallowed past the lump in her throat at the mention of that terrible night. “It was important to her.”
Reaching across the table, her uncle covered her hands with his own. “It’s only been a few weeks since the accident. You’ve barely recovered physically, let alone emotionally. Going through the rest of Juliet’s things now is only going to upset you. Why don’t you wait a few weeks? Give yourself a little more time.”
But going through the remainder of her mother’s legal papers and documents would be painful whenever she chose to do it, Laura reasoned. She still didn’t understand why her mother had needed a second safety-deposit box or why her uncle had been listed as a signer and not her. But whatever her mother’s reasons had been, they no longer mattered. She needed to do this for herself, Laura admitted. Once she had, maybe she’d be able to put the nightmare of her mother’s death behind her. “I’d rather just get it over with now.”
For a long moment, her uncle said nothing. He simply stared at her, his expression somber. “I guess you’re right,” he said finally, and released her hand.
Laura lifted the lid on the metal box, fully expecting to see more bonds, stock certificates and legal papers. Instead there was only a single manila envelope with a file folder inside it. After opening the folder, Laura frowned at the faded newspaper clipping of her father. Since Richard Harte had been killed shortly after marrying her mother, there had been very few pictures of him. And in those rare photos that she and her mother did have of him, he was dressed in his navy uniform.
But not in this photo. In this black-and-white shot, her father wore a tuxedo. And the bride standing beside him was not her mother. Stunned and more than a little confused, Laura glanced up from the news clipping to her uncle. “I didn’t realize Daddy had been married before,” she said. She would have sworn she’d known everything there was to know about her father. But then again, Laura reasoned, she could understand her mother not wanting to share this bit of information with her.
Setting the clipping aside, she picked up the next item—a birth announcement dated nearly twenty-eight years ago from a Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Jardine upon the birth of their son. There was a second announcement from the same couple dated three years later announcing the birth of twin daughters. Laura frowned again, puzzled as to why her mother had kept these announcements and why they were in her safety-deposit box. “I don’t remember Momma ever mentioning anyone named Jardine. Does that name sound familiar to you, Uncle Paul?”
“He was…an old friend.”
At the hesitation in her uncle’s voice, uneasiness began to stir inside Laura. Telling herself that she was imagining things, she reached for the next newspaper clipping. This one was less faded, and her father didn’t look quite as young as he had in the previous one. Once again he was dressed in a tuxedo and standing with the other woman. With trembling fingers, Laura smoothed out the piece of paper and read aloud the caption beneath the photo. “Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Jardine at the Krewe of Rex Mardi Gras Ball in New Orleans.” Suddenly the room started to spin. Her legs nearly buckled. “This can’t be right,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “There’s been a mistake!”
“Laura, honey…”
Frantic, she began digging through the rest of the folder’s contents. There were more newspaper clippings, announcements, magazine articles, all accompanied by photos of her father—her father, the man whose picture sat in her living room, the father she had been told had died before she was born. This man couldn’t be her father, Laura told herself as she tried to stifle her growing panic. Her father was dead. Richard Harte had died twenty-nine years ago, while this man…this man had clearly lived far longer, long enough to have a wife and a family. She repeated the words to herself like a litany as she dug through the rest of the newspaper and magazine clippings, the articles and photos all bearing her father’s image—and all identifying him as Andrew Jardine. A sob tore from Laura’s throat as she spied the clipping dated only a dozen years ago of this smiling man who so resembled her father with his arms wrapped protectively around two young girls. “Andrew Jardine and twin daughters at school fund-raiser,” the caption read.
Pain ripped through Laura like a storm. She squeezed her eyes shut, curled her hands into fists. How many times growing up had she wished that her father had survived that plane crash? That he’d been there to see her grow up—to carry her on his shoulders, to teach her to dance, to sit beside her at the father-daughter banquets at school? And how many times had she consoled herself with the knowledge that had he lived, her father would have loved her, been proud of the person she had become?
Opening her eyes, Laura stared at the face in the news clippings. This man wasn’t her father. He only looked like him, she reasoned. Her mother would never lie to her—certainly never about something so important. Sucking in a breath, she told herself there was a simple explanation for the resemblance between the two men. There had to me. “Uncle Paul, who is Andrew Jardine? And why…why does he look so much like my father?”
“Laura,” her uncle said, his voice heavy with anguish, “Andrew Jardine is your father.”
Laura flinched, the words hitting her like a blow. She stared down at the damning news clippings, the images of the father she’d loved and never known. No, she wouldn’t believe it, refused to believe it. “You’re lying,” she accused, her voice hitching. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “He’s not my father. My father was Richard Harte. His plane was shot down in Vietnam, and he died before I was born.” She knew the story by heart, had listened to her mother’s tales about their great romance, the idyllic marriage cut short by her father’s untimely death. This man couldn’t be her father because that would mean…
“Listen to me, Laura. There never was a Richard Harte. Your mother made up the name. Your father was Andrew Jardine. And he didn’t die in Vietnam. He died in New Orleans about five years ago.”
“You’re lying!” Sobbing, she glared at him through tear-filled eyes. “Why are you doing this to me, Uncle Paul? Why are you making up such horrible lies?”
“It’s the truth, Laura. I swear it on your mother’s grave. It’s the truth.”
Oh, God! He was telling the truth, she realized. All these years, her mother and her Uncle Paul had lied to her.
Which meant her life had been a lie.
She wasn’t Richard Harte’s daughter.
There was no Richard Harte.
The heritage, the good name she’d been so proud of all her life, they weren’t really hers at all.
Hysteria bubbled inside her. How many choices had she made based on who she’d believed herself to be? How many times had she found a relationship lacking because the man had not measured up to the sterling image of her father? When all the while her father had actually been…She choked back another sob.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
She thought of her mother, the person she’d loved and admired most in the world. How could you, Momma? How could you have lied to me all these years?
“I know what a shock this is for you, finding out this way—”
“Do you, Uncle Paul? Do you really have any idea how I feel?” Another bolt of pain ripped through her. Her heart ached as she stared at him—the honorary uncle she had loved and trusted all of her life. The man who had perpetuated the lifetime of lies her mother had told her. “I thought you loved me,” she told him, her voice breaking.
“Laura, I do love you. I’ve always loved you. You’re like a daughter to me.” He gathered her to him, patted her back the way he had when she’d been a child and had fallen and skinned a knee.
For a moment, because the ache inside her was so great, Laura took comfort in the feel of his sturdy shoulder beneath her cheek, the familiar scents of peppermint and pipe tobacco that she’d always associated with him. She wept, remembering how she’d crawled into her uncle’s lap as a little girl and listened to stories about his adventures in the navy and his close friendship with her father.
And not a word of it had been true.
The admission was like a knife in her chest. She lifted her head, took a step back and stared into his eyes. “How could Momma do this to me? How could you?”
“Neither of us meant to hurt you. Please believe that. Hurting you was the last thing either of us wanted.”
Laura mopped her wet cheeks with the handkerchief he offered her, then she clenched the white linen in her fist. “All these years I believed my father was a hero, that he and my mother had been deeply in love, devoted to each other.” The smiling face in the clippings on the table seemed to mock her as Laura recalled the child she had been, how each night she had gotten down on her knees and prayed for this man she’d believed to be in heaven watching over her. And all the while…all the while he hadn’t been in heaven. He hadn’t even been dead. He’d been alive and raising a family in New Orleans.
Pain ripped through her at the sight of him with his arms around the twin girls. She pressed her palm to her breast, trying to ease the ache in her chest. When her mother had died in her arms that night on the dark, wet road, Laura had been positive that nothing could ever hurt her so deeply again.
She had been wrong.
Learning of her mother’s deception and then having the memory of the father she’d loved stripped away from her was every bit as wrenching. It was like losing both of them all over again.
“I’m sorry, Laura. I’d sooner cut off my arm than hurt you.”
But he had hurt her…terribly. So had her mother. Wrapping her arms more tightly about herself, Laura ignored the twinge in her left shoulder, the reminder of the accident that had left her with a separated shoulder, bumps and bruises, but had taken her mother’s life. Oh, God! She swallowed back the spurt of anguish that came as she thought of her mother asking her to forgive her. This was what her mother had tried to tell her that night.
“Please, try to understand.”
“I don’t understand. I can’t,” Laura countered. She looked at the jumble of clippings and photos on the table. “And I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Believe that I love you,” her uncle told her, his voice softening. “And believe that from the moment your mother learned you were growing inside her and until the day that she died, she loved you, too.”
“Is that why she lied to me all these years? Is that why you lied to me?”
He brushed his fingers along her damp cheek where the last of the bruising from the accident had begun to fade. “It wasn’t my place to tell you. It was your mother’s.”
Laura stepped away from his touch. “And she chose to deceive me.”
Her uncle sighed. His hand fell to his side. “Juliet didn’t set out to deceive you. She only meant to help you. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”
“Why should I?”
“Because it’s the truth. You were so smart, even when you were just a little thing,” he explained. “You were barely able to talk when you starting asking questions about your father. Where was he? Why did the other daddies pick up their kids from school, but your daddy never came for you? You were so eager to have a father that you even asked me if I’d be your daddy.” A pained expression flitted across his face for a moment before he continued. “Anyway, your mother was worried about you. And she felt guilty for not being able to provide you with the daddy you seemed to want so much. That’s when she started telling you the stories about your father.”
“You mean the lies about my father, don’t you?”
“She only did it to protect you. She didn’t want you to think that your father hadn’t wanted you.”
But her father hadn’t wanted her, Laura reasoned as she looked at the photograph of him with his daughters and felt that sharp sting of rejection. “My mother should have told me the truth.”
“She wanted to—especially as you grew older. But she was afraid that you wouldn’t be able to forgive her, that you might even hate her.”
“So instead she let me believe in a father who never even existed,” Laura accused. The all-too-familiar ache that she had lived with since her mother’s death welled up inside Laura again. As much as she had loved her mother, right now, she almost hated her. And the admission both shamed and angered her. Above all, it hurt. So much. So very much. She wanted to scream at her mother and demand she explain. At the same time she wanted to bury her face against her mother’s shoulder, to hug her close and breathe in that combination of talcum powder and the rose scent that her mother wore. The tears spilled over once more, streamed down Laura’s cheeks. “How could the two of you do it, Uncle Paul? How could you make up those stories? How could you let me love someone who wasn’t even real?”
Her uncle washed a hand down his face. For the first time he looked old to her, Laura thought, as though the very life had gone right out of him. He picked up an aging photo of the handsome navy officer and the dark-eyed brunette and traced the worn edges with his index finger. “He was real, Laura. Not everything was a lie. Twenty-nine years ago your father really was my best friend. We were flight buddies serving in the same unit. And your mother really was a WAVE nurse working at the base hospital in San Diego when she met Drew.”
Drew. Hearing her father referred to by the strange name shook Laura. Andrew Jardine was her father—not Richard Harte. She clamped down on the churning in her stomach that came with the realization. This was something she had to face, a problem she had to deal with, she told herself. Drawing in a deep breath, she reminded herself that she dealt with problems every day in her job as the assistant general manager at the Ambassador Grand Hotel. She would deal with this problem as she would any other—by listening, gathering information and analyzing the data. Then she would decide how to proceed, how to deal with the fact that she wasn’t the person she’d thought she was.
“I was with Drew when he met Juliet for the first time. He was recovering from knee surgery and hadn’t been cleared to drive yet, so I took him to the hospital for his first physical therapy session. I remember it like it was only yesterday,” he said. Her uncle continued to stare at the photograph. “Drew and I were sitting in the waiting room, joking about how he had to get his knee in shape so he could dance at his wedding that summer. Then we heard this angel’s voice calling his name. When we looked up, there she was. This vision with wild dark hair and sparkling brown eyes. I think Drew fell in love with Juliet right there on the spot. And Juliet…well, she felt the same way about him.”
“Did she…did my mother know he was engaged?”
“Yes,” Paul admitted. “Drew was honest with her. He told Juliet right from the start about Adrienne.”
Laura’s heart sank. Her mother had known he was an engaged man. And the two of them had had an affair, anyway. She felt the bitterness of disappointment as she digested that information. Only now could she admit to herself that she had been hoping for some plausible explanation, some tale about them being star-crossed lovers, anything to excuse her mother’s actions. She had wanted, needed to believe that the relationship had been innocent, that she hadn’t been a mistake.
As though he knew what she was thinking, her uncle said, “Don’t judge them too harshly, Laura. They tried to fight their feelings for each other. But Drew was at the hospital three times a week for more than two months for therapy and Juliet couldn’t very well claim that she was unable to do her job because she was in love with her patient. She was a WAVE nurse. She didn’t have that option.”
“She could have walked away from him. And he could have left her alone.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to be in love, really in love, the way they were,” her uncle told her. “That type of love, it doesn’t happen for everyone. If you’re lucky, it might find you once. And when it does, it grabs you by the throat and takes charge of your heart and soul, and it refuses to let go.” The smile he gave her was fleeting. “Even if you’re able to walk away from it, how you feel about the other person doesn’t change. You don’t stop loving him or her. Juliet and Drew could no more have stopped loving each other than you or I could stop an earthquake from happening. Your mother was in love with Drew, and he was in love with her.”
“Then why didn’t they do the right thing? Why didn’t he break his engagement and marry my mother if he loved her so much?”
Paul rubbed a hand across his brow as though his head were aching. “It was complicated. The Jardine family is an old, distinguished family in New Orleans. Things were done differently in the South, particularly back then. Drew couldn’t just break off his engagement because he’d fallen in love with your mother. There were other people who had to be considered, other families whose livelihoods were dependent upon his marriage to Adrienne.”
“You make it sound like a business merger.”
“In many ways it was. Drew’s family was in the hotel business and so were the Duboises—Adrienne’s family.”
That bit of news came as a shock to Laura. Then she remembered the newspaper clippings with the photo of Andrew Jardine accepting an award in front of a hotel. A shudder went through Laura as she thought of the career she’d chosen in hotel management. Had her mother encouraged her interest because she’d known about the Jardine family’s business? Or had her choice of profession served as a painful reminder to her mother of the man she had loved and lost? Either option left Laura feeling sick inside.
“Drew was an only child with a widowed mother. He had responsibilities to her, to the other members of his family, to the people who worked for them. He couldn’t just walk away from those responsibilities.”
“So he walked away from his responsibility to my mother instead.”
Her uncle shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. He wrote to his mother, telling her about Juliet, that he loved her and wanted to break his engagement to Adrienne. Naturally, his mother was upset. Adrienne and Drew had grown up together, had been childhood sweethearts. Her parents were old friends and Olivia Jardine, your grandmother…”
A shiver went through Laura as she heard the woman referred to as her grandmother. She’d never had a grandmother. And though she’d often wished her mother had had an extended family, she didn’t want one now—not this way.
“…Olivia loved Adrienne like a daughter, and Juliet…well, your mother was a stranger and not even from the South. Olivia insisted Drew come home to discuss the situation before he did anything. So he did as she asked. He went back to New Orleans, and then he sent for Juliet.”
“What happened?” Laura asked, her curiosity overriding her hurt and disappointment.
“I’m not really sure. Neither Juliet nor Drew ever told me exactly what went down.”
They didn’t need to because she had a pretty good idea of what had transpired, Laura decided. Olivia Jardine hadn’t wanted anything to do with her son’s bastard child. Had her father wanted her? she wondered. Obviously, he hadn’t. She had been a mistake, the unexpected result of his fling with her mother. The realization left her feeling hollow inside. Turning away, Laura spied the clipping on the table of her father and his children. And as she looked at the photo of the Jardine family, Laura thought of her own life, all the years she had ached to know him, to be loved by him.
“Only your mother and Drew know what happened and why Juliet came back from New Orleans alone.”
“Unfortunately, they’re gone now and can’t tell us,” she said, her voice hoarse with the effort it took not to cry. “But here I am—their shameful mistake.”
“Your mother was never ashamed of you. She never considered you a mistake.”
“Somehow I doubt that the Jardine family would agree with her.”
Two
New Orleans, Louisiana
“It’s about time you showed up.”
Handing his coat to the houseman, Josh Logan glanced across the elegant parlor at Olivia Jardine. Despite the business rivalry between their families that spanned more than half a century, Josh admired the crusty old gal. “Good afternoon to you, too, Duchess.”
“Don’t call me by that ridiculous name,” Olivia reprimanded, pinning him with crystal-blue eyes that belied her eighty-one years. “I dislike it. And I dislike to be kept waiting. I called you over an hour ago.”
“And I came as soon as I could,” Josh countered as he made his way over to the iron-willed woman who had been at the helm of the Royal Princess Hotel for as long as he could remember. Even seated in the wheelchair, Olivia Jardine remained a formidable figure. With her head held high, her spine straight and diamonds winking at her ears, she reminded him of a queen. The royal moniker he’d tagged her with twenty years ago when he’d been a brash teenager still fit her perfectly. He could almost understand how a fiery, younger Olivia had managed to ensnare his grand-father’s youthful heart. But to this day, he still didn’t understand how Simon Logan had let his feelings for Olivia cost him the Princess Hotel.
“Considering your interest in the Princess, I’d have thought you’d be more eager to meet with me.”
Josh’s heart stopped, then started again at the mention of the Princess Hotel. It had been because he was so eager that he had deliberately waited after receiving Olivia’s summons. “I’m always eager to see you,” he said smoothly. “And as I said, I came as soon as I could.”
Olivia arched her brow. “Your grandfather could charm the skin off of a snake with his pretty words. I see you’ve inherited his charm as well as his looks.” Leaning forward slightly, she stared at his face out of eyes that seemed to measure him. “Tell me, Joshua. Have you inherited Simon’s spirit of adventure as well? Or do you shy away from taking risks?”
Josh smiled at the challenge in her voice and considered some of the more outlandish deals he’d pulled off over the years for Logan Hotels. “Oh, I’ve been known to take a risk or two,” he said evenly. “Of course, the prize would have to be worth the risk.”
“I assume you’d consider the Princess a suitable prize?” she asked smoothly.
Yes! Josh wanted to shout the word aloud, to pump his fist in the air. He did neither. And though it took every ounce of control he possessed, he managed not to give any hint of the excitement humming in his blood. This was it. The moment he had looked forward to for more than half of his thirty-three years—making good on his promise to his grandfather to reclaim the Princess Hotel.
As though it were only yesterday instead of almost twenty years ago, he remembered standing inside the lobby of the Princess with his grandfather….
“If only you could have known how it felt to own her, Josh, my lad. To see this vision in your head take shape, to watch mortar and glass and brick come together, to see the dream you’ve carried inside you come to life and create this thing of beauty. Ah, and she was a beauty, my Princess—even before I lost her to Livvy and she fancied her up with those antiques and expensive whatnots. All a body had to do was walk through her doors, stand on these polished marble floors in the lobby to know it, too. One look up at those crystal chandeliers gleaming like giant diamonds or a whiff of those pretty flowers stuffed in the giant urns, and a person felt like he was royalty. That’s why I named her the Princess.”
“Let’s buy her back,” Josh urged.
“Oh, I’d like to, lad. Believe me, I’d like to. It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember. But I’m afraid Livvy won’t sell her. I’ve asked more than once, but she loves the Princess as much as I do. No, I’m afraid the Princess is lost to us.”
“But it should be yours. You built her,” Josh argued.
“Aye, I did, lad. But I lost her fair and square. She belongs to Livvy now—not to us Logans.”
“I’ll get the Princess back for you, Granddad. I swear I will. Someday she’ll belong to the Logans again. I promise.”
And that day had finally arrived. The rumors had been circulating for months in the business community that the old luxury hotel was taking financial hits in the fiercely competitive New Orleans market. The fact that Olivia was slowing down and had refused to turn over the reins to anyone had made selling the property the logical thing to do, Josh reasoned. Olivia Jardine was a shrewd businesswoman—shrewd enough to know that the only person likely to pay her top dollar for the aging hotel was the family of the man who’d lost it to her in that crazy bet fifty-six years ago.
“Am I to assume from your silence that you consider the Princess worthy of a few risks?”
“Given my most recent offer to buy the place, I think you already know the answer to that. I take it you’ve had a chance to review the offer?”
“I glanced at it,” she said, her tone noncommital, her expression inscrutable. She maneuvered her wheelchair over to the antique table and pointed to the chair opposite hers. “Do sit down, Joshua. I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at you.”
Josh did as she instructed and took the seat across from her. “It’s a good offer.”
“It’s a fair offer,” she corrected him. “Tell me, Joshua. Just how badly do you want the Princess?”
“Bad enough to pay you more than it’s worth, but not enough to kill you for it.”
Her mouth twitched, and for a moment Josh thought she might actually smile. She didn’t. Instead she said, “I appreciate your honesty. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you.”
“Thank you,” Josh said, eager to end this cat-and-mouse game that Olivia was playing with him.
“So I’ll be equally honest with you. I have no intention of selling the Princess.”
Her words hit him like a sucker punch, and he had to bite back the oath on the tip of his tongue. Reminding himself of his first rule in negotiating with an opponent—to never reveal what he was feeling—Josh managed to keep his expression neutral while frustration churned inside him like acid. It was a skill that he’d honed in his eight years as head of acquisitions for Logan Hotels and one that had paid off handsomely for him and his family. He’d dealt with tougher negotiators than Olivia Jardine and for hotels of far greater value. Yet when it came to the Princess, the very first hotel built by Simon Logan, it was difficult not to let his emotions come into play. The Princess had always been more than brick and mortar and stone to him, Josh admitted. He’d fallen in love with the place as a boy while listening to his grandfather’s stories. To see the Logan Hotels banner flying over the Princess again had been his dream for as long as he could remember. And, once again, that dream remained just out of reach.
“You have a good poker face. I’ll give you that.”
“Are we playing poker, Duchess?”
“In a manner of speaking.” She paused. “But before we go over the rules of this particular game, I could use a brandy. Why don’t you pour us each a glass?”
Josh did as she asked, filling the heavy crystal glasses with the expensive vintage while he reined in his emotions. After he handed Olivia her glass, she took a sip, then leaned back in her chair.
The urge to toss back the brandy was so strong, Josh deliberately drank slowly, savoring the bite of the liquor and wanting to wash away the taste of disappointment in his mouth. When he reclaimed his seat, his emotions were in check once more. Deciding there was no point in pushing Olivia, he remained silent and waited for her to continue the game.
“I’m sure by now you’ve heard the rumors that the Princess is losing money.”
He had. Despite the size of the city, New Orleans remained very much a small town in many respects. There was little that went on in the business or personal lives of its more prominent citizens that stayed a secret for long. And the Jardines had always been news makers. “I’ve heard the Princess has been feeling the pinch from the competition.”
Olivia snorted. “You and I both know that the Princess has been feeling more than a pinch. I’ve lost a small fortune keeping the doors open this past year alone. And I’m sure you also know that my family and financial advisers believe I should sell it.”
“Maybe they’re right, Duchess. I’ve offered you a good price. Why don’t we save ourselves some time and dispense with the game-playing. Just tell me straight-out what price tag you’ve set on her.”
All humor faded in an instant. “There isn’t a price tag,” she told him. “The Princess is not for sale. At least not at this time.”
“But—”
“Hear me out,” she said, lifting her hand.
Josh nodded, settled back in his seat.
“When your grandfather built the Princess it was with the intention that she become the grand lady of New Orleans. After Simon…lost her to me in that foolish bet, I made sure that she lived up to his dream. I turned her into the finest hotel in this city,” she told him, an intense light in her eyes. “I want to see the Princess returned to her throne, Joshua. Once I see that happen, I’ll turn over the reins.”
Josh couldn’t help it. Hope stirred in his blood again. “If it’s help you need, I can recommend a good management company, put together a team for you and help you turn the place around before you sell it to me.”
Olivia shook her head. “I don’t want some stranger running the Princess. From the day your grandfather signed her over to me, she’s been run by a Jardine.”
Josh sighed. “Katie told me she offered to take over running it for you months ago, and you turned her down.”
“Katherine already has her hands full running the Regent. And before you suggest Alison, it’s out of the question. She has enough on her plate taking care of her daughter and helping her sister.”
“And Mitch isn’t an option,” Josh added, referring to Olivia’s grandson.
“Mitchell made it clear years ago that he wasn’t interested in the hotel business. Besides, it appears his security business is doing quite nicely.”
“That leaves Adrienne.”
“My daughter-in-law would be the first one to tell you that she’s far too busy with her charities and social functions to even consider working at the hotel, let alone trying to manage it,” Olivia informed him.
“The only other Jardine left is you,” Josh pointed out.
She sighed. “And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m getting too old to deal with the daily demands of running the hotel.”
“Which brings us back to my suggestion—bring in an outside manager to get the hotel back on its feet before you sell it to me. It’s your only option.”
“Not necessarily,” Olivia told him. “There is another alternative—one that would keep operation of the Princess in Jardine hands.”
His curiosity piqued, Josh couldn’t shake the feeling that the old gal was up to something that he wasn’t going to like. “Do you intend to tell me who this mysterious Jardine relative is, or am I supposed to guess?”
“My granddaughter. Or I suppose I should say, my other granddaughter.”
“All right. You’ve got my attention, Duchess,” Josh said. “You care to explain that?”
“It’s quite simple. I have a fourth grandchild.”
Before Josh had time to recover from the shock of that statement, Olivia continued, “Recently I learned that Andrew has another child. A daughter, the result of a…a liaison that Andrew had with a young nurse in San Diego before his marriage to Adrienne.”
Speechless, Josh could only stare at her. A Jardine with a child out of wedlock? While the rest of the world might have entered the new millennium, in this tight-knit corner of the South the moral climate remained stalled in another century—particularly when it concerned a member of one of the city’s most prominent families. The social mores simply didn’t allow for an admission to anything as potentially scandalous as the existence of a love child. And while, personally, he didn’t give a damn what the city’s holier-than-thou upper-crust members thought or wrote about him in their gossip columns, Olivia Jardine did care. She always had. A member of the city’s old guard, she lived by a different set of rules. So did most people in her circle. And Olivia had always insisted her family toe the line of responsibility that came with their good name. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t expect you to say anything. For now, I’d just like you to listen.”
But as he listened, Josh couldn’t figure out why on earth Olivia had decided to tell him about what must surely be a great embarrassment for her. Nor could he believe that she could seriously be considering bringing this supposed granddaughter into the family fold.
“The girl’s name is Laura Harte. She’s twenty-eight and lives in San Francisco. She works for a hotel there as an assistant general manager.”
“She’s in the hotel business?” Josh asked, and wondered at the odds of Olivia’s illegitimate grandchild being in the same field of business. More than likely, the girl had been steered into that particular career direction by a clever mother with eyes on the Jardine fortune, he decided. Otherwise, he’d have to chalk up the ironic twist of fate as a coincidence. And he didn’t believe in coincidences.
“I understand your reaction. I had a similar one when I first heard,” she explained, evidently detecting his skepticism. “That’s why I hired a private investigator and had her checked out. Here’s a copy of the report.”
Intrigued and still unsure why Olivia was telling him all this, Josh picked up the file she’d slid across the table. Opening it, he shuffled through the paperwork. Quickly he scanned the detective reports, birth certificate, old school and employment records. But when he came to the photograph, he paused. With four beautiful sisters and a healthy appreciation for the feminine gender in general, he was no stranger to striking women and had been involved with more than a few.
Laura Harte was definitely a striking woman.
It was her hair, he reasoned. The color of a summer sunset—dark flame shot with gold. The wild color seemed at odds with the no-nonsense style she’d chosen. And there was something about the angle of that stubborn chin that reminded him of Olivia. So did that in-your-face confidence he read in her blue eyes. Then there was her mouth. It was too wide for her narrow face, he reasoned. But her smile…her smile was part siren, part angel, he decided, and felt the inexplicable tug of desire. This was crazy, he told himself, whooshing out a breath as he dropped the folder back onto the table top. Definitely not his type. He liked petite blondes with curves—not tall, skinny redheads.
“The girl lost her mother a couple of months ago,” Olivia told him. “According to the information I received, she’s only recently learned the truth about who her father was.”
“It’s an interesting story and I’m glad that you felt you could share it with me. You have my word that I won’t say anything.”
“I never thought you would. But sooner or later, the word will get out.”
“Not from me,” Josh assured her. “But what I don’t understand is why you told me? You’ve apparently already made up your mind to have this Laura Harte take over operation of the Princess.”
“I told you because I need you,” Olivia informed him, an odd note in her voice. “In fact, my entire plan hinges on you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I need you to go to San Francisco and meet with my granddaughter and convince her to come to New Orleans to meet her father’s family.”
Caught off guard by the request, Josh asked, “But why me? I mean, it would seem more appropriate to send a family member. Maybe Mitch or Katie or even Alison? After all, this woman is their sister.”
“Half sister,” Olivia corrected him. “They don’t even know the girl exists yet. And when they find out, I’m not sure they’ll welcome the news.”
She was probably right, Josh realized. As Olivia’s heirs, the Jardine siblings stood to inherit a fortune. Regardless of how sizable the inheritance, the sudden appearance of another sister would mean a cut in the others’ shares. Josh took another swallow of his brandy, felt the smooth heat at the back of his throat and tried to imagine how he would feel if he were Mitch, Katie or Alison. How would he feel if he were to learn that he had another sister who was the result of an affair his father had had years before with another woman? Try as he might, the idea refused to compute. Probably because he still had both of his parents, and they were clearly in love with each other. On the other hand, the Jardine trio had lost their father years ago. Knowing how much they had all worshiped the man, Josh suspected the news that their father had had feet of clay would not be welcome—especially not by Katie. Of Andrew’s three children, Katie had been the one closest to her father. “When do you plan to tell them?”
“When the time is right. In the meantime, I need you to go to San Francisco and convince Laura to come to New Orleans.”
Josh shook his head. “You don’t need me, Duchess. Considering the state’s forced heirship laws, this Laura Harte stands to inherit a fortune as your granddaughter someday, as well as a portion of her father’s estate. My guess is one phone call from you telling her that will be all the convincing that she’ll need.”
“I did call her, and the girl informed me that she’d been well provided for in her mother’s will and that she had no need or interest in the Jardine money. She also said she had no interest in meeting me or in establishing any type of relationship with her father’s other children.”
“Obviously she’s not nearly as bright as those reports indicated.”
“Or perhaps she’s smart enough to realize that material wealth isn’t nearly as important as most people believe.”
For a moment Josh thought he saw pain flicker in Olivia’s eyes. Despite the headaches this woman’s refusal to sell the Princess had caused him over the years, he couldn’t help but feel sad for her. Growing up in a family far less reserved than the Jardines, Josh didn’t stop to consider his action. He simply reached across the desk and squeezed Olivia’s fingers. “Whatever her reasons for refusing, the loss is hers, Duchess. She could have learned a great deal from you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, and withdrew her hand. She straightened her shoulders, her expression as stern as her voice, then said, “But I have no intention of accepting her refusal. That’s why I’m sending you to San Francisco, so you can convince her to come.”
Josh shook his head. “Count me out, Duchess. This is a family matter. I’m not about to get involved. Maybe you can send one of your attorneys and let him or her explain to Miss Harte exactly what it is she’s saying no to.”
“I want you to go, Joshua.”
“Duchess—”
“I want your opinion of the girl.”
“Why? It looks to me like you’ve already checked her out thoroughly,” he told her, motioning to the file folder.
She dismissed the report with a wave of her hand. “I’m not interested in the opinion of some overpriced detective or lawyer who will candy-coat things and tell me what they think I want to hear.” She leaned forward. “I want your opinion.”
“I appreciate your confidence in me,” he said, and meant it. “But I don’t see what my meeting her could possibly tell you that you don’t already know.”
“Modesty doesn’t suit you any better than it did your grandfather, Joshua. I’ve heard you have very good instincts when it comes to people. I want to know if my granddaughter has inherited more than the Jardine eyes. I want to know if she’s got the grit of a Jardine and can be trusted with the Princess.”
Because he didn’t know what to say, Josh remained silent.
“Will you do it? Will you go to San Francisco and convince Laura to come to New Orleans?”
Torn between his own desire to reclaim the Princess and the anxiety he heard in Olivia’s voice, Josh opted to be honest with her. “You know I want the Princess. My helping you bring this Laura Harte here to run it would be like cutting my own throat. You’d only end up turning it over to her. The smart thing for me to do is not to help you and let the place continue to bleed money. Eventually you’ll have to cut your losses. And when you do, I’ll buy the hotel.”
“But that’s where you’re wrong,” she informed him. “I told you, I’m not interested in selling the Princess. And I assure you, I am not going to change my mind.”
Frustrated, Josh said, “Then I guess we’re both wasting our time.”
“Oh, sit down,” she ordered when he started to rise. “I said I wouldn’t sell you the Princess. But if you’ll help me, convince my granddaughter to come home to run the hotel, then I’ll give you a chance to win it.”
Josh narrowed his eyes. “Win the Princess? How?”
“The same way that I won her from your grandfather.”
“I’m listening,” Josh told her, intrigued even though he tried not to be.
“If my granddaughter turns out to be the woman I believe she is, I’ll turn over management of the hotel to the two of you. You’ll have six months to turn the operation around. At the end of that time if the hotel shows a profit, no matter how small, I’ll sign over ownership to Laura and—”
“Forget it. I’m not interested in working for you, Duchess. And I’m not interested in a partnership with your long-lost granddaughter,” Josh countered, sure he knew where Olivia was heading. “I’ll buy the Princess from you right now. Name your price.”
“You’re just as pigheaded as your grandfather was,” Olivia accused, her mouth tightening. “For Simon it had to be all or nothing, too. That’s why he insisted on that foolish wager with my father. If Simon won, I would break my engagement to Henry Jardine and marry him. If I won, Simon would sign over the Princess Hotel to me and get out of my life forever.”
“And you won.”
“Yes, I won,” Olivia said. Wheeling over to a secretary situated in a corner of the room, she opened a drawer and retrieved a small package before returning to where Josh waited. She placed a deck of cards bound with a faded gold ribbon in the center of the table, then lifted her gaze to Josh’s. “I’m offering you a similar wager, Joshua. I’ll give you a chance to win back Simon’s Princess. Convince Laura to come to New Or-leans, to work with you and turn the hotel around. If you’re successful, at the end of the six months, the two of you will draw cards just as your grandfather and I did fifty-six years ago.”
“And the stakes?” Josh asked, unable to believe what she was offering him.
“The deed to the Princess.” She loosened the ribbon from around the cards, placed the deck in front of him and met his gaze once more. “One game. High-card draw. Winner takes all.”
“It sounds almost too good to be true.”
“I asked if you were a risk-taker. You assured me you were—if the stakes were right.”
The stakes were more than right. They were downright incredible. He shoved a hand through his hair.
“Joshua?”
“Six months isn’t much time to turn a hotel operation around,” he argued as he began to analyze the pitfalls in the crazy scheme. “What if we can’t pull the hotel out of the red that quickly?”
“Then all bets are off. I keep the Princess.”
“And there’s always the chance that even if we succeed in pulling the hotel out of the red, that Laura will win the card game.”
“True. But I can’t help thinking you might have better luck convincing Laura to sell you the hotel than you’ll have with me.”
Of course, she was right. Still, it was too easy, Josh thought. The way she had laid out the plan, the worst thing that could happen is he’d be right where he was now—without the Princess. On the other hand, he could win and end up owning the Princess for nothing more than a little of his time and effort. Or he could find himself negotiating with Olivia’s granddaughter to buy the place. He thought of the woman in the photograph again, remembered the unshakable confidence in those blue eyes, that stubborn take-your-best-shot tilt of her chin.
“I must admit, I expected more eagerness on your part at a chance to win back the Princess.”
She was playing with him, Josh realized as he rubbed at his chin. “Unlike my grandfather, I try to look before I leap.”
“Then why don’t I see if I can help you make up your mind?” she replied calmly. Her lips curved slightly, and he knew she was about to put him between a rock and a hard place. “Either you go along with things as I’ve laid them out, or you’ll have to wait until I’m dead before you get another chance to bring the Princess under the Logan Hotels banner.”
When he still hesitated, she said, “Just so you know, I had my annual physical last week. Despite whatever rumors you may have heard and the fact that I might use this chair occasionally, my doctor claims I’m in excellent health and could live another twenty years. And if you think that I won’t be able to sustain the losses at the Princess, you’d better think again. The other Jardine properties and investments are even healthier than I am.”
“You’re a hell of a poker player yourself, Duchess.”
“So I’ve been told,” she replied.
Josh thought of his grandfather again, remembered the way the older man’s face had lit up whenever he’d spoken about the Princess, the way his eyes had glowed with pride as he’d talked about building the hotel. And he remembered the promise he’d made to him all those years ago.
“What’s it going to be?” Olivia asked.
He was crazy to even consider this, Josh told himself. His grandfather had been dead for more than five years. Did it really matter if he kept his promise now that he was gone?
It mattered, Josh admitted. He’d made a promise, and his grandfather had taught him that a man always lived up to his promises. He stared across the table at Olivia, and couldn’t help but feel that he was about to make a bargain with the devil, a bargain he would come to regret.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Yes, Duchess. We have a deal.”
And as he tapped his glass against Olivia’s to seal the bargain they’d made, Josh’s gaze fell to the open folder on the desk where Laura Harte’s picture stared up at him. There it was again—that slam-in-the-gut punch of attraction. And he couldn’t help wondering if he had inherited Simon Logan’s impulsive streak after all.
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