The Enemy's Daughter (Dynasties: The Danforths Book 9) Read online

  * * *

  Savannah Spectator

  Blind Item

  The Savannah Spectator presents its very own production of the tragic love story Romeo and Juliet!

  The Scene: Two rivals, both vying for the same senatorial seat.

  The Lovers: The cool, beautiful daughter just returned from abroad to support her father’s campaign, and the dashing yet cerebral son of Savannah’s first family, whose “honest” father has been visited by scandal.

  Act I: Romeo meets Juliet at a Montague function and passionate sparks fly. But what is a Capulet doing there?

  Act II: A secret tryst at the beach and another at a historic inn. Lots of sex, but so far, no sympathetic priest or nurse to help our lovers.

  Can these two star-crossed lovers survive their fathers’ bitter rivalry? Will Juliet’s ardor be extinguished when her father discovers his only daughter has been parking her glass slippers under a Montague bed? A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, but a scandalous affair between the names involved here is the sweetest smelling of all! You can bet this reporter will be sitting on the edge of her seat for Act III to begin!

  * * *

  THE ENEMY’S DAUGHTER

  ANNE MARIE WINSTON

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

  Anne Marie Winston for her contribution

  to the DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS series.

  For Laurie

  It’s good to see you glow,

  And for Bert

  Welcome to the tribe!

  Books by Anne Marie Winston

  Silhouette Desire

  Best Kept Secrets #742

  Island Baby #770

  Chance at a Lifetime #809

  Unlikely Eden #827

  Carolina on My Mind #845

  Substitute Wife #863

  Find Her, Keep Her #887

  Rancher’s Wife #936

  Rancher’s Baby #1031

  Seducing the Proper Miss Miller #1155

  *The Baby Consultant #1191

  *Dedicated to Deirdre #1197

  *The Bride Means Business #1204

  Lovers’ Reunion #1226

  The Pregnant Princess #1268

  Seduction, Cowboy Style #1287

  Rancher’s Proposition #1322

  Tall, Dark & Western #1339

  A Most Desirable M.D. #1371

  Risqué Business #1407

  Billionaire Bachelors: Ryan #1413

  Billionaire Bachelors: Stone #1423

  Billionaire Bachelors: Garrett #1440

  Billionaire Bachelors: Gray #1526

  Born To Be Wild #1538

  The Marriage Ultimatum #1562

  The Enemy’s Daughter #1603

  Silhouette Books

  Broken Silence

  “Inviting Trouble”

  Family Secrets

  Pyramid of Lies

  ANNE MARIE WINSTON

  RITA® Award finalist and bestselling author Anne Marie Winston loves babies she can give back when they cry, animals in all shapes and sizes and just about anything that blooms. When she’s not writing, she’s managing a house full of animals and teenagers, reading anything she can find and trying not to eat chocolate. She will dance at the slightest provocation and weeds her gardens when she can’t see the sun for the weeds anymore. You can learn more about Anne Marie’s novels by visiting her Web site at www.annemariewinston.com.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  One

  The coffee shop was surprisingly busy for the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.

  Selene Van Gelder paused just inside the door of D&D’s, an upscale coffeehouse located on a bluff above the river’s edge in the historic district of Savannah, Georgia. The air conditioning felt wonderful, since the heat was still oppressive in early September. She took several deep breaths, feeling the jittery unease in her stomach increase. This was foolhardy. She shouldn’t be here.

  She had told herself she needed to go shopping today, but when she’d found herself standing outside the wood-and-brass doors of D&D’s with their frosted window panes, it was time to admit to herself that after two months she finally couldn’t resist the urge to find out more about Adam Danforth.

  So this was his business. At least, partly his, she thought, recalling that he’d said his cousin and his oldest brother were his partners. Breathing deeply of the rich blend of coffee aromas, she looked curiously around the interior.

  It was as elegant as she’d expected, but the atmosphere was one of warmth and invitation. Rich dark-paneled wood set off gleaming brass, and café curtains spanned the wide windows on which the Danforth & Co.’s stylized logo, intertwined D’s with a lavish ampersand, appeared in gilt letters. Along one wall was an enormous fireplace, though she wondered how often they actually got to use the thing, with a climate as mild as Savannah’s.

  Strangely, the sight of the fireplace calmed her nerves. It reminded her of her youth growing up in European boarding schools. Roaring fires were more a necessity than a luxury during the chilly northern winters on the Continent. And though one didn’t normally think of boarding school as a great place to be, for Selene school had meant comfort and security.

  But you’re not in Europe anymore, Selene, she reminded herself. No, she was home—if she could really call Savannah home. She supposed it was as familiar as any other place stateside, and at least she had some connection to Savannah, however tenuous it felt. She’d been born here in the heat of a summer evening. And her mother’s grave was here, beneath the live oaks in one of the stately old cemeteries where the city’s first families routinely were interred.

  Her mother. She sighed, wishing she’d known the woman who had given her life. But Elisabetta Horne Van Gelder had died mere hours after the birth of her only child, breathing just long enough to give Selene her name and bid farewell to the husband who had loved her so dearly. How different, she wondered, might her life be today had her mother lived?

  Pulling herself from introspection that she knew from experience would prove painful, she crossed to the counter and ordered a tall cup of D&D’s special Brazilian mocha blend to go. She looked around the room at the waiters and the staff working the sophisticated machinery, but she didn’t see Adam.

  A wave of disappointment swept through her, and she told herself not to be ridiculous. The co-owner of the business, particularly an entrepreneur as wealthy and successful as Adam Danforth was reported to be, would hardly be working behind the counter.

  Besides, the last thing either of them needed was a public meeting that could be witnessed by someone who might identify them. Wouldn’t that make a nice tidbit for the gossip columns?

  It was time to go. She was half regretting the impulse that had brought her here. Hadn’t she been telling herself since July that she couldn’t get involved with Adam?

  Not to mention that it was terribly arrogant of her to assume he would still be interested if she did look him up. After all, she hadn’t heard a word from him since she’d received a lovely bouquet of roses and lilies the morning after the dinner-dance where they’d met.

  As she turned with her drink in hand, she nearly bumped into a blonde in a trim navy suit behind her. With a quick sidestep, she murmured, “Sorry.”

  The other woman barely acknowledged her. “Honey,” she was saying to her companion, a brune
tte who looked to be a member of the downtown business community as well, “he is the most gorgeous hunk of man I’ve seen in ages. Think Josh Hartnett mixed with a healthy dose of a young Tom Cruise. Except Adam’s six feet tall.” She sighed. “I’d like a piece of that action.”

  Adam? Selene’s attention sharpened, even though she felt as if every person in the place suddenly knew she was eavesdropping.

  “Maybe—until he opens his mouth,” her friend said. “I won’t argue with the hunk definition, but the man is a dead bore. I went out with him once, years ago, and I am tellin’ you, my eyes positively glazed over after the first twenty minutes.”

  The first woman shrugged. “I don’t need them to be real bright,” she said with a sly laugh.

  “That might be the problem.” The brunette who’d gone out with the man in question dug her wallet out of her purse. “He’s too smart. Once he gets rollin’ on the ghosts and legends stuff, you might as well order another drink and get out your earplugs. Every time you think he’s windin’ down he heads off in a new direction.”

  Selene could barely contain her amusement. The pair had to be talking about her Adam.

  No! Not your Adam!

  Adam Danforth. She supposed that to many women, his fascination with history and local legends might be a trifle boring, but to someone who’d actually enjoyed her university years studying dead languages and ancient literature, he couldn’t have been more interesting.

  She threaded her way past the other waiting customers toward the door. It was a good thing she hadn’t seen him. This had been a stupid move and she would have regretted it had they met again.

  Of course she would have.

  She had to wait for a large party to enter just as she reached the door, and while she did so, her attention was caught by the spacious bulletin board on the nearest wall. One message read: “SWF seeks SWM to share frangelica cappuccino and opera. Must love small, yappy dogs.” There was a phone number beneath. Another was a boldly drawn heart: “Elena, will you marry me?” She smiled and kept reading, even though the entryway had cleared. Apparently this message board had become something of a dating service!

  She read another couple of messages, including one extended exchange that the couple involved apparently added to each day. And then she saw it.

  To S., my flower garden ghost: I’m wilting without you. Call me. A.

  Her breath caught, her heart stuttered. Flower garden ghost? Who else could have written that? And who else could it have been intended for?

  Adam. Adam had written that. For her, Selene. Only him. Only her.

  Her hands were shaking as she pulled a pen and a notepad from her purse. Without giving herself time to think of the wisdom of what she was doing, she unpinned the small piece of paper and placed it in her pocket. Then she wrote on the notepad.

  To A. from your flower garden ghost: The lovely flowers you sent have wilted, too. My thoughts of you haven’t. Shall we meet? S.

  Quickly, she pinned up her response, then fled the coffeehouse before common sense could prevail. She was halfway down the block before she realized her cell phone was ringing.

  Digging it from her pocketbook, she flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Selene!” The voice was rich, husky and deeply accented by the speaker’s native French tongue. “How are you, ma petite? I am very angry that you have not called to ask me all about the wedding plans.”

  “Guillemette!” Joy rushed through her. Her boarding school roommate and dearest friend in the world was the daughter of a French family of noble lineage. Willi had recently become engaged to a distant cousin of the queen of England. “How are you?”

  “Glowing, dear girl. I want to hear about you.”

  Selene realized she was shrugging. “There’s nothing to tell. Life in the States is staid and dull. My father’s campaign is chugging along, but I’m staying well out of it. I have no desire to become fodder for the American press.”

  “What? No handsome men? Shame on them all.”

  Selene hesitated as Adam’s lean features leaped instantly into her head.

  “Selene! There is a man, isn’t there? You can’t fool me! I’m the closest thing you have to a sister, and I can read you like a spread book, darling. Now spill.”

  “That’s open book, Willi. Get your similes straight.” Ahead of her, there was an empty bench in a small park just off the street. Heading for it, she spoke again. “It’s not exactly a relationship.”

  “Start from the beginning,” her friend demanded. “I want to hear everything.”

  She thought for a moment. “The beginning? Well, that was actually back in July, about five days after I arrived in Savannah. Do you remember I came home at Father’s request…?”

  “Try to look more cheerful, Selene. If you go to this fund-raiser looking like that, people are going to notice you, I can guarantee it.” John Van Gelder’s voice was filled with censure.

  “I don’t want to go, Father. It would be one thing to attend a function to support your senate campaign, but this is nothing more than spying on Abraham Danforth. I’m terrible at things like this. Someone is going to find out.” Selene concentrated on shaking out the folds of her white silk evening gown, avoiding his eyes. Maybe he’d relent.

  But her father brushed aside her concern. As he’d brushed her aside her entire life. “No one will find out if you don’t call attention to yourself. And how would they know you? You’ve been out of the country for years. I don’t even know when the last public photo of you was taken.”

  She did. She’d been nine, home for a visit with her father in America. Overwhelmed and missing the familiar environs of the exclusive Swiss school where she lived, largely ignored by her surviving parent, she’d been crying when the picture was snapped.

  Her father’s voice cut through the memory. “And it’s not spying. All I want you to do is keep your ears open for anything I should know about the Danforth campaign. Danforth can’t possibly be as squeaky clean as he appears.”

  “He isn’t,” she pointed out. “But he’s honest about his mistakes—”

  “Right.” Her father sneered. “Everyone knows he was forced to welcome that illegitimate Vietnamese daughter into the family, but he managed to turn it into political gold. And before you came home there was an enormous brouhaha when his nanny’s kid’s body was found right there on his estate. That one almost sank him, but the authorities swear he had nothing to do with it.” He snorted. “I wish I had his spin doctors.”

  Selene sighed. Her arguments fell on deaf ears and in moments she found herself bundled into a car, headed for the Danforth political fund-raiser. Fine, she thought rebelliously. You can make me attend, Father, but you can’t make me spy for you.

  The dinner-dance was held at the historic Twin Oaks Hotel in downtown Savannah. Selene entered just behind a group of other guests and quickly took stock of the room. Lovely French doors opened onto extensive gardens at the rear of the hotel, while dancers created graceful patterns on the polished wooden dance floor. Other guests mingled around the tables throughout the room.

  She quietly headed toward the doors at the back of the room. It would be hot outside, but that was good. No one else was crazy enough to come out in the humid evening air; she could stay ten minutes and then leave.

  So there, Father. I’ve attended the fund-raiser, and gee, so sorry, I didn’t hear anything.

  As she moved around the edge of the room, she passed the ladies’ room and decided to freshen up. When she entered the lounge area, she found a young teenage girl crying there. Selene and another young woman each attempted to comfort her. The child appeared to be having parent troubles, and her distress tore at Selene’s all-too-sympathetic heart. Selene knew, however, that she couldn’t afford to get involved in the young stranger’s problems. After all, she wasn’t even on the guest list and she doubted anyone would be thrilled to find a Van Gelder at a Danforth fund-raiser. After a few moments, she slipped out of the restroom and
made for the gardens.

  She had just taken a seat on a stone bench out of sight of the ballroom doors when a deep, masculine voice said, “You’re not a ghost, are you?”

  She turned with a startled laugh. “You sound disappointed.”

  A man materialized from the darkness. He was elegant in a dark tux with an equally dark collarless shirt, and the moonlight glanced off his dark hair. Her first thought was that he wore the clothing awfully well for an American. She immediately scoffed at herself. Just because she’d gotten used to Continental men, many of whom were pickier than women about their wardrobes and their facelifts, didn’t mean she should be an equal snob. Still, this man had been born to wear a tux.

  He said, “I am disappointed. I saw you flitting about the garden a few minutes ago in your white dress and I was sure you were the Twin Oaks ghost.”

  “Sorry.” She shrugged, smiling. “I’m ordinary old flesh and blood.”

  “I wouldn’t, by any stretch, call you ordinary,” the man said.

  His tone was warm and admiring and she was glad for the darkness because she felt herself blushing. She’d never been good at flirting, or the small talk men and women shared. Her deportment instructors had despaired of her socially. Her only saving grace was that she could dance like an angel.

  She cleared her throat. “Were you making that up about the ghost?” She’d said it to divert him, but she really was interested.

  “Absolutely not. May I join you?”