The Danforths: Reid, Kimberly and Jake

THE DANFORTHS: REID, KIMBERLY & JAKE

The Cinderella Scandal

BARBARA McCAULEY

Man Beneath the Uniform

MAUREEN CHILD

Sin City Wedding

KATHERINE GARBERA

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

The Cinderella Scandal

BARBARA McCAULEY

To my readers everywhere – thank you!

You are all special to me. I wish you much love,

laughter and happiness.

BARBARA McCAULEY

has written more than twenty novels and lives in Southern California with her own handsome hero husband, Frank, who makes it easy to believe in and write about the magic of romance. Barbara’s stories have won and been nominated for numerous awards, including the prestigious RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America, Best Desire of the Year from Romantic Times and Best Short Contemporary from the National Reader’s Choice Awards.

Barbara loves to hear from her readers. Please e-mail her at www.barbaramccauley.com

One

Sheets of icy January rain rippled across the Savannah countryside. Lightning exploded in the dark sky. Thunder rumbled through the magnificent oaks that lined the private stone drive, rattled the wide, sweeping branches and shook the moss-covered trunks.

The night wasn’t fit for man nor beast, but when Abraham Danforth called his family to gather for a meeting, they came.

Though white-capped waves crashed on the beach below Crofthaven Manor, Reid Danforth was warm and dry inside the comfort of his car. Duke Ellington drifted quietly from the BMW’s CD player, blended with the sound of the pelting rain on the car’s roof and the whish-whish of the windshield wipers. After a long, hectic day negotiating a shipping contract with Maximilian Paper Products, one of Danforth & Co.’s largest clients in Austria, Reid was grateful for the peaceful thirty-minute drive to his family’s house.

A drive, Reid thought as he pulled in front of the tall, black wrought-iron gates, that was about to come to an end.

Releasing a long breath, Reid pressed the remote inside his car, watched the massive gates slowly part. A flash of lightning lit the huge Georgian-style mansion at the end of the driveway; thunder boomed like cannon fire. Light shone through large, leaded-glass windows. Even to Reid, who’d been raised here in between semesters away at boarding schools, Crofthaven was an impressive estate. Built in the 1890s by Reid’s great-grandfather, Hiram, the large mansion had been designed to survive. A trait Hiram had also firmly ingrained in his descendants.

Reid parked between two of the family’s three limousines and shut off his engine, sat for a moment and listened to the rain battering the roof of his car. It always took a few moments to make the transition between the real world and Crofthaven. Tonight his father would expect the entire Danforth clan to be attentive while he laid out the game plan for his upcoming senatorial bid. Family unity and support were critical to a successful campaign. Abraham Danforth did not know the meaning of failure, a fact that had made the already prosperous shipping magnate more wealthy than his forefathers. Wealthy enough to step away from the day-to-day operations of Danforth & Co. Shipping and launch a new career in politics.

Because he was already late, Reid stepped out of his car into the piercing rain and strode toward the front entry. When he opened the oversize oak door, a gust of wind whistled around him, then swirled inside the white marbled hall. On a table at the base of the majestic sweeping staircase sat a large crystal vase filled with white roses that scented the air, as did the heavenly smell of roast lamb and oregano.

‘‘Master Reid.’’ Joyce Jones, Crofthaven’s head housekeeper, appeared suddenly. Concern narrowed her brown eyes as she moved toward him. ‘‘I was worried about you.’’

‘‘I’m fine,’’ Reid reassured the woman he’d known the entire thirty-two years of his life. ‘‘Just finishing up some paperwork at the office.’’

Though the sixty-something housekeeper had never been especially demonstrative or affectionate, she at least had been a constant in Reid’s erratic upbringing. The same black uniform, the same sturdy work shoes. Even the simple knot of brown hair at the base of her head hadn’t changed, though lately Reid had noticed more than a few gray strands.

‘‘It’s nasty out there.’’ Joyce moved behind Reid to help him out of his damp trench coat. Out of habit, she brushed a hand over the shoulders of his black business suit, then straightened the back of his collar. ‘‘Martin is serving spiced rum and martinis in the parlor. Your father’s on a phone call in his office. I’ll tell him you’re here.’’

‘‘Thanks.’’

Loosening his tie, Reid made his way to the parlor, then paused in the doorway. Two of his brothers, Ian and Adam were huddled by the fireplace with his cousin Jake, no doubt discussing the chain of D&D’s coffeehouses they’d started in the Savannah area. Beside the bar, Reid’s youngest brother, Marcus—the lawyer in the family—was currently engaged in an intense legal discussion with their uncle Harold and cousin Toby, something about water rights on Toby’s ranch in Wyoming.

Reid thought of his mother and wished she could be here now to see how her five children had grown. Though he’d only been eight when she’d died, he could still remember how she’d enjoyed cooking for the family, and how much she’d loved to throw parties here. Many a time he and Ian had sneaked downstairs and watched while all the beautiful people in their beautiful clothes laughed and ate and danced to a band. He would never forget the night of his mother’s birthday party when Reid watched his father dancing with his wife under the silvery light of the ballroom chandelier.

She’d died the next week, and Abraham Danforth had never seemed the same since. None of them had been the same.

‘‘Reid!’’ His sister Kimberly broke away from the conversation she’d been having with their cousin Imogene. ‘‘Look at you. You’re all wet.’’

‘‘I’ve been telling him that for years,’’ Jake said from across the room as he lifted his martini glass in a toast. ‘‘The gang’s all here.’’

‘‘Where’s Aunt Miranda?’’ Reid asked Kimberly as she rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

‘‘Putting Dylan to bed upstairs.’’ Kimberly smiled at the mention of Toby’s three-year-old son. ‘‘I brought a scrapbook of fish I’ve been photographing and studying out at the island, and he wanted to look at them in lieu of a bedtime story.’’

‘‘Better watch out or we’ll have another marine biologist in the family,’’ Reid teased.

‘‘If you’d have been here earlier and heard him playing the piano, you’d change your mind about that,’’ Kimberly said. ‘‘He’ll be in Carnegie Hall by the time he’s ten.’’

‘‘My money says he’ll be there by eight.’’ Imogene placed a vodka martini in Reid’s hand. ‘‘Hello, cuz.’’

‘‘Ah, the proud aunt.’’ Reid grinned at Imogene, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘‘How’s the world of investment banking these days?’’

‘‘Two promotions in six months. Your tie’s crooked.’’ She tightened the knot he’d just loosened. ‘‘Impression is everything, hon. Speaking of, where’s Mitzi these days? You two are quite the handsome couple.’’

‘‘I have no idea where she is,’’ he said dryly. ‘‘Shopping, most likely.’’

He hadn’t seen Mitzi Birmingham in more than four months, thank the good Lord. For that matter, he’d been so busy at work putting things in order so he could take the next few weeks off and set up a campaign headquarters for his father, Reid hadn’t been dating anyone. Which was just fine with him. When it came to women, he seemed to be a magnet for every money-hungry, status-seeking female in Savannah. As soon as a woman found out he was the son of Abraham Danforth, that he was the director of Danforth & Co. Shipping and that he lived in a penthouse, they either smothered him with compliments and giggled at everything he said or played coy games. Or worse, they did all three.

He knew that the lack of a warm, willing female in his bed would catch up with him soon, but for the moment, at least, he was content to concentrate on his work.

‘‘Reid.’’

At the sound of his father’s deep voice, Reid turned. Nicola Granville, Abraham’s new campaign manager, stood by his side. ‘‘Dad. Miss Granville.’’

‘‘Nicola, please. Nice to see you again, Reid.’’

Reid had met the tall redhead once at his father’s office in town and spoken with her twice on the phone. At thirty-seven the woman had already made quite a name for herself in image consulting and politics, and Reid thought his father had made the right choice by hiring her. She was attractive, confident and hardworking. His father and Nicola would make quite a formidable team.

‘‘Nice of you to join us,’’ Abraham said evenly.

Though there hadn’t been the slightest hint of irritation in his tone, Reid knew his father well enough to recognize a reprimand when he heard one. Reid also knew better than to offer excuses.

At fifty-five, Abraham Danforth had seasoned into a politician’s dream. With his thick, dark-brown hair, deep blue eyes, broad shoulders and the famous Danforth smile, Reid had no doubt that his father would win the upcoming election, especially under the ‘‘Honest Abe’’ campaign slogan that Nicola had worked up.

‘‘Everyone.’’ Abraham’s voice stilled the ongoing conversations in the room. ‘‘For those of you who haven’t met her already, I’d like to introduce my new campaign manager, Nicola Granville. After dinner she’ll be outlining the upcoming campaign and family protocol.’’

While Nicola circulated around the room and met the family, Reid made his way over to his cousin Jake. ‘‘Where’s Wes?’’

‘‘On a business trip.’’ Jake lifted a brow. ‘‘Or so he says. You know Wes.’’

Reid smiled. Wes had been Jake’s roommate in college, but the Danforths all thought of Wesley Brooks as one of the family. Despite Wes’s reputation as a playboy, Reid knew that he would have been here if it had been possible.

Jake snagged a cracker with cheese as Martin passed by with a tray. ‘‘I heard you’ve found a building on Drayton to rent for campaign headquarters.’’

‘‘Just the bottom floor,’’ Reid said, sipping his martini. ‘‘I’ve spoken to the owner, Ivan Alexander, but I haven’t signed anything yet. I’ll meet with him tomorrow and take a look at the inside. He also owns the building and business next door, Castle Bakery.’’

Jake nodded. ‘‘They’ve got a good reputation. I’ve been meaning to get down there myself and check it out. We’re always looking for new items on the menu at D&D’s.’’ Jake leaned in and wiggled one eyebrow. ‘‘And I’ve also heard that Ivan’s got three daughters that look tasty, too.’’

‘‘Since you’re looking for some ‘new items,’’’ Reid said with a grin, ‘‘maybe you should handle setting up the campaign headquarters.’’

‘‘And deprive you of all the fun?’’ Jake dropped a hand on Reid’s shoulder. ‘‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’’

Before Reid could reply, Joyce announced that dinner was ready. As the family made their way to the dining room, the conversation turned to campaign strategies and procedures. The election was barely one year away, and Reid knew that the next twelve months were going to be busy. No doubt, there would be obstacles along the way, some predicted, some unseen. The entire Danforth family would be challenged, collectively and individually. Reid knew that he needed to stay focused and on track if he was going to help his father become a United States senator.

The last thing he had time for, Reid thought, no matter how ‘‘tasty,’’ they might be, was Ivan Alexander’s daughters.

With a sigh, Reid took his place at the table with the rest of his family and knew it was going to be a very long year.

Tina Alexander loved days when the chaos she called her life ran smoothly. The days when she didn’t burn a single loaf of bread or an entire tray of apple Danish. The days when all the employees scheduled to work at her family’s bakery actually showed up. The days when her sister Sophia wasn’t having a man crisis and even managed to make her afternoon shift on time. The days that her other sister Rachel didn’t lock herself in the back office and hide behind computer ledgers and sales accounts.

Tina especially enjoyed the rare days her mother wasn’t busy meddling in all three of her daughters’ lives.

Today, however, was not one of those days.

‘‘Sophia went to one of those dancing clubs again last night.’’ Mariska Alexander gave a disapproving sniff while she boxed up a phone order for two dozen chocolate cupcakes. Mariska, with her aristocratic nose, strong European jaw and thick blond hair she always wore in a French twist, was definitely the queen of Castle Bakery.

‘‘She did not come home until two in the morning,’’ Mariska continued, even though Tina gave her mother no encouragement to do so. ‘‘Two o’clock! Without so much as a phone call.’’

Tina taped the lid shut on the box of Danish she’d just filled. The morning had been hectic, with only herself and their counter manager, Jason, working up front. There were customers to help, orders to fill and display cases to replenish before the noon rush hit. The last thing Tina needed right now was to listen to her mother lament her oldest daughter’s transgressions.

‘‘You placed an ad in the paper for a counter clerk,’’ Tina said in an attempt to divert her mother’s attention, then nodded at two young men sitting at a table in the corner of the bakery. The one with black spiked hair and ragged jeans appeared bored, while the one wearing a short-sleeved shirt and black slacks was reading a book. ‘‘Are you going to interview them?’’

As if she hadn’t even heard Tina’s question, Mariska pointed to her face. ‘‘Look at my eyes. They are bloodshot from waiting up for your sister.’’

Tina sighed silently and slid the box of Danish across the counter to Beverly Somersworth, the customer Tina had been helping. Like the majority of Castle Bakery customers, Beverly worked in the downtown Savannah business district. Every Thursday the plump, sixty-year-old brunette bought one dozen Danish for the legal office where she worked as a receptionist.

‘‘Sophia is twenty-eight years old, Mom,’’ Tina said as patiently as she could manage. ‘‘You don’t need to wait up for her.’’

‘‘My daughter is out until all hours of the night.’’ Mariska shifted her attention to Beverly. ‘‘How could I sleep?’’

‘‘Eight or twenty-eight, a mother worries about her children,’’ Beverly agreed as she fished around her purse for her wallet. ‘‘More than one night, I remember pacing my living room until my Eleanor came home. Thank goodness she finally got married and settled down. Have I shown you pictures of my grandchildren?’’

Only ten times, Tina wanted to say, but she didn’t, of course. She simply smiled and nodded when Beverly whipped the pictures out with the speed of a policeman flashing a badge.

‘‘Ah, so lucky you are.’’ Mariska sighed with envy. ‘‘I fear I will never be a grandmother. Sophia is dating too many young men, Rachel spends all her time at the movies and museums, and my Tina—’’ Mariska tweaked Tina’s cheek ‘‘—she is just a baby herself.’’

I’m twenty-four, for God’s sake, Tina thought and gritted her teeth. Because she was the youngest, she knew her mother saw her as the baby and, no matter what her age, probably always would. But she supposed it made no difference, anyway. Tina knew she could never accept a proposal.

Any man who would actually want to marry into the Alexander family couldn’t possibly be right in the head.

Not that she didn’t love her family. Her two sisters, mother, father and Aunt Yana were the only family she had. She loved them with all her heart.

But they were all just so…overwhelming. Her father looked and acted more like he was in collections for a loan shark than a baker. With just a look, Ivan Alexander had scared off every man who’d come to date his daughters. The ones who’d managed to survive Ivan never made it past Mariska, who asked endless questions regarding their job status, their family lineage and the question that really sent them running—did they like children?

Tina figured the only way she’d ever be able to marry was if she were witness to a mob murder and testified, then put under the witness protection program. Then, by some miracle, if she found Mr. Right, he would never be able to meet her family.

A little extreme, but it just might work.

Tina helped the next customer while her mother continued to ooh and aah over the baby pictures. When Beverly finally left, Mariska slipped off her apron and reached for her purse.

‘‘The chamber of commerce has ordered twelve dozen muffins and ten dozen Danish for a breakfast tomorrow,’’ Mariska said, pulling her sweater out from under the counter. ‘‘I have to run to the market for pecans and blueberries.’’

Tina glanced at the two young men sitting at the corner table. ‘‘But you were supposed to interview the applicants.’’

‘‘Be a good girl and do that for me, dear.’’ Mariska patted Tina’s cheek.

‘‘But—’’

‘‘Oh, and we need you to come in early tomorrow,’’ Mariska said. ‘‘We have a heavy load of orders in the morning. Your father and I could use your help.’’

It wasn’t a question, so Tina didn’t bother to answer.

‘‘I will be back shortly.’’ With a quick wave Mariska disappeared down the hallway leading to the offices and back exit.

Tina stared after her mother, then sighed. It wasn’t as if it was a problem to come in to work early. The most exciting thing going on in her life this evening was apartment-sitting for her aunt Yana while she was out of town for the next three weeks. Tina’s hot date for the night was a cat and a video copy of Sleepless in Seattle.

‘‘Sorry I’m late, T.’’ Sophia breezed through the front entrance of the bakery. ‘‘I stopped to gas my car and darn if I didn’t break a nail, so I just had to run by and see my manicurist.’’

The two applicants took one look at Sophia dressed in her black leather skirt, low-cut sweater and tall boots, and they snapped to attention. Sophia, who’d just recently put highlights in her already-blond hair, smiled at the young men. They puffed their chests out and sucked their guts in.

Tina frowned at her sister when she came behind the counter and reached for a black apron. ‘‘Must you torture every male you see?’’

‘‘I’m the one in torture,’’ Sophia said smoothly. ‘‘So many men, so little time.’’

Tina rolled her eyes at her sister’s foolishness. They were all so different. Sophia, the gorgeous green-eyed, blond man-eater; Rachel, the pretty, though timid, hazel-eyed brunette.

And then there’s me, Tina thought.

Not blond like her mother, not dark like her father, but with her sandy-brown hair and light-brown eyes, somewhere in the middle, a mix of them both. She was the smart daughter, the level-headed daughter and—the label that Tina hated the most—the responsible daughter.

But what she really hated was the fact that it was true.

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a mumbled string of Hungarian curses. Sophia gnawed on her shiny, red bottom lip. ‘‘Ah, I’ll be right back. I’ve got to go ask Rachel something about, ah, reimbursement for petty cash.’’

‘‘Chicken,’’ Tina said, but Sophia merely clucked as she hurried away.

Walking into her father’s kitchen when he was in a foul mood was like entering a lion’s den. You never knew if you’d come out alive.

With a lull in the storm, Tina knew she’d have to hurry and do the interviews before the lunch crowd flowed in. Slipping out of her black apron, she looked at Jason, who was ringing up an order for a cappuccino and a chocolate muffin.

The twenty-six-year-old counter clerk had a boyish charm about him: unruly dark-blond hair, deep-blue eyes, a lean, athletic build. Teenage girls and young women had a tendency to giggle and bat their eyelashes when he waited on them, and even older women seemed flustered by the counter clerk’s good looks.

But Jason, much to Tina’s distress, had eyes for only one woman.

With a sigh, Tina forced her mind back on business and asked the applicant with the spiked hair to follow her down the hall to her father’s office.

The sidewalks in front of the narrow, three-story red-brick building were damp from the previous night’s rain. Over the wide, bevelled-glass storefront window, drops of water still clung to the forest-green awnings.

Reid stared past the For Lease sign and scanned the empty office space. The location and square footage were exactly what he’d been looking for, and the rent was in the ballpark. Public parking two doors down and heavy traffic only sweetened the deal.

And speaking of sweet—Reid glanced at the building next door. The most incredible smells were coming from Ivan Alexander’s bakery.

Based on the number of customers Reid had watched coming and going in the past few minutes, the business was doing very well. Housing his father’s campaign headquarters next to the busy bakery would not only bring a lot of foot traffic, the staff and volunteers working the campaign would have easy access to food and drink.

By the end of the day Reid intended to have a lease signed and a key in his hand.

An overhead bell tinkled when he opened the oak-framed, bevelled-glass door of Castle Bakery. The scent of warm cinnamon, rich chocolate and freshly baked bread assaulted his senses. Reid glanced at the polished display cases of neatly stacked cookies, fancy cakes and assorted fruit pastries. His mouth literally watered. The place had an old world feel to it, he thought as he closed the door behind him. Stone floor, suit of armor in the corner, framed pictures of famous castles in Europe. Glass-topped tables with wrought-iron chairs allowed seating for customers, though currently only two of the tables were occupied: a man drinking a cup of coffee and munching on a muffin while he talked on his cell phone and a teenage boy reading a physics book.

Reid approached the counter and stood behind an elderly couple who couldn’t make up their minds between prune Danish or apple tarts.

‘‘Excuse me.’’ Reid caught the counter clerk’s attention. ‘‘I’m here about Mr. Alexander’s ad for—’’

‘‘In the office—’’ the clerk raised a thumb toward a hallway ‘‘—third door on the left, across from Merlin.’’

Merlin? Reid followed the direction in which he’d been pointed and rounded the corner, then came face-to-face with a life-size statue of King Arthur’s magician. Wand in hand, dressed in deep-blue velvet and wizard’s hat, the whimsical, white-bearded figure greeted customers on their way to the rest rooms. Reid studied the realistic figure for a moment, then knocked on the office door.

‘‘I’ll be right with you.’’

The voice was distinctly female, Reid noted, and had a smooth, smoky quality. Fantasies, immediate and extremely erotic, pinballed in his brain. Reid hoped it wasn’t Mrs. Alexander; he sure as hell didn’t want to have the kind of thoughts he was having over another man’s wife. Still, he couldn’t wait to see if the voice matched the face.