The Scandalous Heiress

How much of her past did Clayton know? Apparently he had been very thorough in his investigation, but juvenile records were sealed. That he had brought her this far meant he couldn’t disprove the information he had received.

She felt, rather than saw, his curious stare. His scrutiny unnerved her. She slumped deeper in the soft leather seat and did her best to ignore him. She failed miserably.

Outwardly Clayton was a flawless example of the male species. Tall and lean, he personified every fantasy she’d dared to imagine, and a few she hadn’t thought of yet. He had invoked a sexual awakening in her that was better left in a dormant state.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked any questions about your family.”

“We haven’t established that they are my family,” she reminded him. He wasn’t convinced. Apparently the very fact that she worked in the diner was a strike against her.

“Well, your coloring is right.”

“Only five million people in New York have brown hair and brown eyes.”

He shook his head. “It’s different. Both William and Joseph have that same shade. Almost but not quite black.”

“How lucky for them,” she said drily.

“Not really. Judging by Richard, you’ll all go completely gray relatively early.”

“Are you going to clue me in as to who William and Joseph are, or do you assume I already know?”

His gaze remained on the long road ahead. She noticed a hint of a smirk. “Don’t tell me you can’t remember your beloved cousins.”

Her patience snapped. “I’m not sure which bothers you more—the fact that I might be Richard Hawthorne’s daughter or the thought that I’m not. Either way, I’m getting damned tired of your insinuations.”

Clayton groaned. She was so close to the truth, he marveled at her perception. He wasn’t sure which outcome he wanted more. As a child, he had witnessed the kidnapping of Megan Hawthorne. The memory still haunted him. Twenty years of false leads and outright cons had killed any hope he’d had for a favorable outcome. But twenty years of silently blaming himself had never allowed him to stop trying.

Every detail about Mikki fit. A little too well. Why had some anonymous person come forward now? Granted, anyone who had followed the case could have pieced together enough information to get his attention. That same person had to know that a DNA test would reveal a phony. So, why hadn’t he insisted that Mikki submit to one before bringing her to meet Richard?

“Stop,” Mikki shouted.

Instinctively he slammed the antilock brakes. His heart hammered in his chest. He scanned the area, expecting to find something in the road. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to stretch my legs.” She slipped out of the car before he could stop her.

Mikki sprinted across a baseball field with the exuberance of a child. Although numerous benches lined the local park’s trails, she plopped herself down in the middle of center field and turned her face up to the sun.

Once his pulse rate slowed, he stepped outside, too. How odd, he thought. He traveled this road every day and had never noticed the small park before.

He glanced at his watch, then shrugged. What difference would a few more minutes make? He closed the distance between them.

As he drew alongside of Mikki, she cupped her fingers around his ankle, halting his last step. For one moment he was reminded of the way Megan, the toddler, used to latch on to him when he had tried to leave a room. That little imp had been the only member of the Hawthorne family besides Richard who hadn’t treated him like a poor, orphaned charity case, and he’d failed them both when it counted.

“Be careful. You almost stepped on a flower,” she said.

He shook off the faded memory. Back in the present, the feel of her firm grip on his leg brought another image to mind. More sensual, but equally as disturbing. He willed his body to remain rigid. “What flower? That’s a common weed.”

She let go of his leg and plucked the yellow cap from the grass, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s a dandelion, but then anything common would probably be a weed to you—myself included.”

Common? No, Mikki was unique. She was three miles away from a meeting that might change her life forever, and she preferred to roll around in a field of grass.

“Take a load off your feet, Clayton. Or are you afraid of getting grass stains on your rear end?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Am I throwing you off schedule?”

He wouldn’t admit now that he had indeed made a schedule. His trip to New York had been treated like any other business trip. Only Mikki wasn’t a client or an employee, and he couldn’t make her conform to the strict timetable he had set for himself. “We have a few minutes, I suppose.”

Amusement flickered in her dark eyes. “Is there too much starch in your collar, or are you always this stuffy?”

He grinned and dropped down on the plush grass next to her. “It comes naturally.”

“I’ll bet it does.” A soft giggle bubbled over her full lips.

“I guess you’re nervous.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Is there a reason I should be?”

“I don’t know. There’s a chance that you are Richard’s daughter. How do you feel about that?”

A warm breeze rustled the leaves. She pushed back a strand of hair from her cheek and sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t met the man yet.”

“But the idea of being rich must be appealing.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that a question or an accusation?”

“Question.”

“Are you rich?”

He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “I do all right.”

“And is your happiness based on your money?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” She wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “Funny. I got the impression that this has everything to do with you. Otherwise, you would have sent a lawyer or private detective to find me instead of coming in person.”

Again, he was amazed by her insight. Yes, he had a vested interest in finding Megan Hawthorne and a hell of a lot to lose if she turned out to be a brilliant con artist. Other than Richard, no member of the Hawthorne clan believed Megan was still alive.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“I thought it was rhetorical. Anybody who says they’ve never dreamed of being rich is already nch or a liar. I’m also realistic enough to know that dreams don’t come true and I had better not give up my day job.”

“And a gem of a job it is.” He cursed the thoughtless comment the second the words were out.

“It’s honest and I eat for free. And most customers leave tips for the service.”

Clayton bowed his head. “I guess that was directed at me.”

“You bought me a plane ticket. Put in perspective, it’s the biggest tip I ever got for a cup of coffee. However, I wasn’t your waitress. Annie was.”

He didn’t know what to make of her. In the world in which he had grown up, her work would seem a drudgery, yet she had no complaints. “You’re a strange woman, Michelle Finnley.”

“It’s part of my overwhelming charm.”

Behind the veil of sarcasm, she had a gentle smile and infectious laughter that inspired trust. She also stirred feelings he’d do well to deny. A con artist was only successful if she gained the confidence of her mark. Her stepfather had a long rap sheet of extortion and fraud, a career he might well have passed on to her. And she had picked his pocket with the light-fingered precision of the Artful Dodger.

“I imagine you can be quite charming when you put your mind to it,” he said.

“First, I’d have to find someone susceptible to my charms. I don’t think that’s you.”

He swallowed a cough. She had no idea. Then again, perhaps she did. “Why do you think that?”

“For one thing, you keep people at a distance. You don’t like to be touched.”

“That’s debatable.”

She crinkled her nose in exasperation. “I’m not talking about sex.”

“Then what’s the point?” he said and chuckled.

“That is my point.” She blew a wisp of bangs off her forehead with exaggerated frustration. “Every gesture you make has a specific purpose.”

He stretched out and propped his head on one hand. “You gathered all that from one meeting?”

“You learn a lot when you wait on people for a living.”

“What other things have you learned, Michelle?”

Mikki groaned. Again he had managed to make an innocent question sound like an accusation. Why did she bother trying to hold a serious conversation with him? He didn’t trust her. For the sake of her emotional well-being, she wanted to get the meeting with Richard Hawthorne over with and move on.

She stood and wrapped her arms around her waist. “We should get going.”

“All right,” he agreed, coming to his feet. “Richard is waiting.”

Could she expect the same wariness and skepticism from Richard as she had received from Clayton? Her heart thumped against her chest. She had tried not to set unreasonable expectations about her visit, but the part of her spirit that had always refused to accept the realities of the world still hoped for the fairy tale.

The remainder of the trip passed m silence. Her mind reeled with questions, but she didn’t voice a single one. She didn’t want to be accused of pumping him for information.

Colonial houses with manicured lawns lined the streets of the upper-class neighborhood. She gaped at the homes like a tourist seeing the sights of Beverly Hills. Unlike the pulsing city or quiet farmlands, suburbia had a delicate rhythm all its own. She blinked.

Toughen up, kid. You’re getting sappy and sentimental about a place where you will never belong.

Her resolve to block out her surroundings worked until Clayton brought the car to a halt on a dead-end street.

Mikki glanced at the house before her, set high on a hill. A numbness washed over her. Something about the massive Tudor mansion held her entranced. She had dreamed of a castle like this as a child. The only thing missing was the fire-breathing dragon. She glanced at Clayton. Well, maybe not. Judging by his heated stare, he looked about to breathe fire at any moment.

“What?”

“Rather impressive, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing toward the house.

“I guess.” She noticed a swimming pool and tennis court off to the side of the estate. “Is it some kind of private resort or a historical monument?”

“Neither.”

“Then why did you stop here?”

The wrought iron gate opened before them as if by magic. Then she noted the electronic device in Clayton’s hand.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re here,” he said simply.

As he drove up the winding driveway, Mikki could do little more than gape. She felt an overwhelming urge to run. There had to be a mistake.

“Say something, Michelle.”

“Holy Jeez, Toto. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Three

Richard rose as Clayton entered the study. For a man who had suffered a heart attack just one month earlier, Richard looked remarkably well. His face flushed with anticipation, and his eagle eyes were clearly searching for some sign of good news.

“I expected you earlier.”

Clayton felt the tug of a grin. “She’s not a woman to be hurried.”

“Where is she now?” Richard asked.

“I had her shown to a room to do whatever it is that women do when they lock themselves in the bathroom.”

Richard’s hearty chuckle echoed off the solid oak walls. “So, what was your impression of her?”

Clayton lowered himself in a chair across from the mahogany desk. Many of his personal impressions were not of the nature he could share with the man who might be her father. She was sexy, sensual and hypnotically compelling. A man would have to be blind and suffer sense deprivation not to notice her. And despite the impression the family had of him, he was neither blind nor without normal male desires.

Although he knew Richard would expect a full report, discussing Mikki as if she were a business prospectus left Clayton with an odd sensation. Guilt, he presumed, but why? She might be giving an Oscarwinning performance.

“Everything checked out so far,” he said.

Richard perked up with premature excitement. “So, is she little Meg?”

Little Meg. Clayton thought of the dark-eyed beauty. Mikki was not the pesky little brat he remembered from childhood, but a striking, complicated woman. “She might not be.”

“What are you saying, Clay?”

“Be careful. Don’t let your hopes cloud your judgment. This is not the first time.”

Richard waved his hand impatiently. “You can’t prove she’s lying.”

“Because she’s not claiming anything at all. She might be as innocent as she seems, but that doesn’t mean she’s Meg,” Clayton warned. He would be wise to take his own advice, because he had actually started to believe in the possibility himself.

He poured himself a shot of bourbon from the bar and swallowed the warm, amber liquid. To get through dinner, he would probably want a few more, but unfortunately, he needed to remain clearheaded for the night ahead.

Mikki sat on the edge of the sleigh bed. The last time she had seen a room like this, a customer had left a copy of House Beautiful at the diner. Though large and opulent, the room felt like a cage she had been locked in for viewing by the paying public. Restless, she decided to seek out Clayton.

She stepped into the hall. Her shoes clacked against the marble floor as she walked to the staircase. The light fragrance of fresh flowers was a welcome change from the humid smog of the city. At the bottom landing she paused to view a painting. She recognized the name of the artist, but the sterile cubist picture left her cold.

“A little early to be appraising the inventory.”

The deep voice, laced with contempt, gave her a start. She whirled around and met the chilling glare of the stranger. “Excuse me?”

He took a menacing step forward, then staggered. The smell of gin assaulted her. “So, Meg...”

“Mikki. And you are?”

A sneer marred his handsome features. “Don’t you know?”

“Should I?”

“What? No welcoming kiss for your favorite cousin?”

Not even if he was sober, she thought. So, he was one of the beloved cousins Clayton had spoken of earlier. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, although his behavior was adolescent. “Joseph?”

He tipped his head. “Right the first time. But then I expect that Clayton has coached you well.”

She laughed in spite of her anger. Clayton had been more guarded with his information than a courier holding national security secrets.

“It’s nice to see you entertaining our guest, Joseph.” Clayton’s timely arrival spared her from having to answer the accusation, but she doubted the grilling was over.

Joseph clenched his fingers into tight fists. “If it isn’t our esteemed president back from the hunt.” His gaze swept over Mikki. “Pick up a little roadkill on the trip?”

She wiped her palms against her linen skirt. “Last time I checked, I was still breathing.”

Clayton cupped his hand around her elbow. “He is better without a half bottle of gin in him. However, he prefers life from the bottom of the bottle.”

She realized that she was about to learn how slowly twenty-four hours could pass. With only Clayton to count on for support, her dreams were crumbling like stale crackers.

Joseph stumbled away and Clayton shrugged an apology. “I should have warned you.”

“Hey, no one will accuse you of failing to show a woman a fun time.”

“I’m sure my last few dates would disagree.”

“Maybe that’s because you didn’t bring them home to meet the family.”

His fingers tightened perceptibly. “They’re not my family.”

“I thought your aunt is married to Mr. Hawthorne.”

“That’s true. But in this family, blood is everything.”

No one knew that better than he did. For twelve years he had worked for Hawthorne Enterprises, the last four as president. A position he would lose if Richard’s condition worsened. Only a blood relative could inherit the company. If Mikki wasn’t the missing heir, William and Joseph would eventually gain control. The thought of those two pampered playboys ruining the business made Clayton ill.

He glanced toward Mikki. Her wide eyes reflected the effects of Joseph’s stinging comments. Just because she didn’t dress in a thousand-dollar suit or have her hair and nails done weekly, this didn’t take away from her natural beauty.

He searched for a compliment that would ease the hurt. “Dinner will be served soon.” He groaned inwardly. That was the extent of his charm and sophistication? How did this woman turn him into a social idiot?

“My head on a silver platter, no doubt,” she muttered.

“No. Rack of lamb, string beans almandine and new potatoes sauteed in sweet butter.” Mikki was strictly dessert. Luckily, he had sworn off sweets. Before his wandering thoughts gave him more than a toothache, he led her to the salon. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet first.”

She paused at the doorway and took a deep breath. After her confrontation with Joseph, he understood her reluctance.

His aunt rose as they entered the room. Her warm smile greeted them. “Clay. And you must be Meg.”

“Mikki,” he said, with deliberate emphasis, “I’d like you to meet my aunt Alicia.”

“No, no. She’s Meg. I can tell.” Alicia shook her head. His aunt wanted Michelle to be Megan Hawthorne almost as much as Richard. Alicia had never forgiven herself for failing to stop the kidnapping, and the family had never allowed her to forget. As if she could have overtaken two burly men with the help of one scrawny eleven-year-old. “Look at her, Clay. She’s only gotten prettier.”

Mikki looked to him for a response.

“Yes, she’s pretty, I suppose.”

“Well, don’t choke on the words,” she said for Clay’s benefit and offered her hand to Alicia. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“Please call me Alicia. Your father will be down any moment. The doctor told him to slow down, but he wouldn’t allow you to greet him in his bedroom like some invalid.”

“He hasn’t been well?” Mikki asked.

Alicia shot a stern glare at her nephew. “You didn’t tell her about her father?”

Clayton shook his head. “The subject never came up. Mikki shows a remarkable lack of curiosity about the Hawthorne family tree.”

“You flatter me,” Mikki said. “There’s nothing remarkable about it. You’re not convinced that I belong here. Why should I dare to assume I do?”

Alicia smiled sadly. “My Clayton is far too conservative and serious. He thinks everyone has an ulterior motive.”

Mikki blew a puff of air, lifting the wisp of bangs on her forehead. “That’s not conservatism. It’s paranoia.”

“Only if I’m wrong,” he said.

A moment later Clayton watched in astonishment as Richard made his grand entrance. His slow, shuffling steps implied a frailness that hadn’t been evident earlier. For some reason, he seemed to want to appear more weak and helpless than he actually was. Who was this charade for? Mikki, or the rest of the family?

“Hello, Michelle. I’m glad you accepted my invitation.” Richard extended his hand in a greeting.

Mikki touched him lightly, as if afraid of hurting him. “Thank you.”

“I trust the plane ride was uneventful.”

Clayton couldn’t stop the grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. From liftoff to landing, the trip had been an ordeal for her.

She glowered at him, then returned her attention to Richard. “It was fine, thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me Richard.”

A lull in conversation followed. Both Mikki and Richard seemed at a loss for words. They looked relieved when dinner was announced.

A relief that was shortlived once the rest of the Hawthorne clan descended on the dining room.

Mikki nervously twisted the napkin in her lap. A cold supper took on a whole new meaning. The verbal barbs moved around the table faster than the main course. Most were directed at her, coated in syrupy sweetness meant to sound like polite conversation. William and Joseph, flanking her like a pair of granite book ends, launched a subtle attack of patronizing questions apparently trying to trap her into revealing something incriminating.

Through all the carryings on, her glance kept returning to the patriarch at the head of the table. She searched for similarities between them, and she suspected he was doing the same. He hadn’t stopped staring at her since their introduction. His drawn face lifted in a smile from time to time. She wondered how Richard Hawthorne would be affected if this did turn out to be some elaborate hoax perpetrated by her stepfather.

“So, Mikki... May I call you Mikki?” Joseph’s arrogant grin mocked her.

“Sure, Joey. May I call you Joey?”

William snickered. “Charming, Clayton. Wherever did you find her?”

“In New York,” Clayton replied drily.

“The least you could have done is dressed her up a little better before you passed her off on Uncle Richard.”

“That’s enough, William!” Richard’s rigid tone silenced the room.

Conscious of her simple clothing in the presence of all the designer suits surrounding her, Mikki squirmed in her seat.

“Forgive me, Uncle. I just can’t stand to see another hustler building up your hopes. After all this family has given him, I’m surprised that Clayton would be a party to it,” William said.

Mikki shot a sideways glance toward Clayton. Despite an almost surreal control, his gray eyes sparked with fury. The undercurrent of tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“Michelle is our guest,” Richard said. “Show her respect.”

Mikki checked her watch. How much longer would this dinner take? Certainly Clayton didn’t expect her to spend the night in this house. She’d never thought to ask.

The conversation changed to business, giving her a moment of reprieve and putting Clayton on the receiving end for a while. William and Joseph wore their resentment of Clayton like a banner. The only ray of light was Alicia.

Clayton staunchly defended any hint of a nasty comment directed toward his aunt. Despite their bitterness, the brothers seemed to fear their stepcousin. Unfortunately, that left her as the target for their mudslinging once again.

“So, Mikki. I understand you’re a waitress in a diner. That can’t pay very much.” Joseph’s cool politeness masked an accusation.

“It pays the bills.”

“But not on a house like this, I’d wager,” William chimed in.

“I wouldn’t know. Would you?”

Apparently she’d struck a nerve. William’s face darkened. He finished his glass of wine and rose unsteadily. “I’ve had enough of this penniless street urchin.”

“Shut up,” Clayton growled through clenched teeth.

“No. If she’s Meg, I’m the king of England.”

“There is no king of England,” Mikki said.

“And Megan Hawthorne is dead. Why won’t you all just accept that?” William yelled.

Richard, shaking slightly, dropped his fork on his plate. “No. I won’t accept that.”

“If you’re so sure, Uncle, then she shouldn’t object to a blood test.”

Mikki swallowed hard. “Excuse me?”

“A DNA test.” William cocked his eyebrow. “Is there some reason you wouldn’t consent to one?”

Although the request shouldn’t have been unexpected, a wave of anger washed over her. She tossed her napkin on the table and sprung to her feet. “With all due respect to you and your wife, Mr. Hawthorne, I don’t care to know if I am related to this family.”

She turned and walked from the table with all the dignity she could muster. Behind her, the raised voices jumbled together, fading into oblivion as she sprinted out the front door.

Clayton pushed back his chair from the table. “Nice going. Now we’ll have to drag this out even longer.”

“Oh, what’s the difference?” Joseph snapped. “It’s not as if she could actually be Meg.”