Winning the Heiress' Heart Read online

  She edged forward and rested her hands lightly on his shoulders. Muscles bunched as his hands closed around her waist. Effortlessly, he swung her clear of the rock, and leaned back. Corded muscle stood out on his neck as his warm breath played on her bare skin in the V of her blouse. Holding her close, he lowered her to the sand. Breasts grazed solid chest and she feared he would feel her response through her padded bra. Thighs brushed and warmth throbbed beneath her petticoat.

  And in his eyes. His head lowered toward her.

  Her feet sank into sand, reminding her this was perhaps a scene set for seduction. Dragging in a breath, she pushed away and headed for the water. How was she to keep a cool head around her handsome neighbor? Business came first, not pleasure.

  “Eva?” He stopped beside her.

  “I’ve been thinking about your offer. It’s generous but, under the circumstances, I can’t accept it.”

  “I know you want to keep the property intact to pass on to Seb. But what if this land belonged to your family? My offer to buy the Benson estate still stands.”

  “You want more land to expand your operations. Why don’t you buy this estate?”

  “It’s not best practice to separate fields. Besides, wouldn’t you like to purchase your ancestors’ land? Keep it in the family, especially after having to sell up the manor in England.”

  Pain lingered in her soul. She had failed her family and dishonoured her name when she’d sold Bellerose. Hawaii was her last chance to redeem herself and build up something worthwhile. Committed to her choice, she would make a go of the larger Benson plantation. Without the distraction Luc Martineau offered.

  “I will make my plantation a success. My decision is final.”

  Chapter Five

  Eva stepped away from the oven and stretched. Her back ached all the way from her hips to her neck. She moved the tray she’d taken from the oven to the windowsill to cool. Her arm muscles were like jelly as she beat up the last batch of cookies. After a week of trying to do everything from office manager to cook, exhaustion had become her constant state of being.

  “Knock, knock. Can I come in?” Jack Lyons stood in the doorway, casually dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and long shorts. The first time she’d met him his shirt had been bright blue. Now, lurid orange pineapples vied with green palm trees against the red background of his shirt.

  “Mr. Lyons. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you. Come in.” Quickly she wiped floury hands on her apron and cleared a space at the table. “Would you like a cold drink?”

  “Love one, thanks.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “I didn’t expect to find the heiress up to her elbows in flour.”

  “Heiress? Oh, that stupid news article. Were you expecting to find me baking in my tiara?” She placed several freshly cooked biscuits on a plate and slid it toward him.

  “Frankly, Miss Abbott, I’m disappointed. I wanted to see that tiara. Or an emerald necklace.” He picked up one of her biscuits and bit into it. “But the heiress sure can cook. Delicious.”

  “Thanks. Did you call in just to compliment me on my cooking?”

  “I was in the area and popped in to see how you’re doing. I’ve got a lead on your ancestors’ property. You were right about it being on this island but it will take a couple of weeks for copies of the old land deeds to arrive from the capital. I could show you the land. It’s not far from here.”

  “That’s kind but I can’t see myself having time to spare for a while. There’s too much to be done here.”

  And Eva had already seen the land that she knew in her bones had belonged to her family. She carried a jug to the table and poured icy juice into two glasses before passing one to Jack.

  “I see that you’ve hired pickers but why not a cook, too?”

  “Keeping it simple for the time being. And as you observed, I can cook. Mr. Martineau gave me a contact who brought his team in as a temporary solution.” But she couldn’t afford to lurch from one temporary solution to another. She needed a long term plan. And a manager. Luc’s offer was unacceptable, yet ten percent share of the plantation was very reasonable when she considered the work load. A weak and selfish part of her longed to rethink his proposition and hire a cook and manager.

  “I’m surprised Luc didn’t offer to help out. He’s usually the first to lend a hand.”

  Had she spoken aloud? Flustered by Jack’s uncanny pick up on her thoughts, she stammered a rebuttal. “He did. I mean, he offered an arrangement but I—it wasn’t one I could agree to.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. Slowly, he raised his glass and drank deeply, before he leaned back in his chair. “Of course, you know Luc expected Benson to sell this place to him?”

  Luc had intimated as much when he’d offered to take on the day-to-day management. The memory of his odd reaction and abrupt departure the night they met came to mind. Was it possible he’d only heard about the sale from her? Did he blame her because he missed out on the property? Prickles of unease mingled with sweat from the oven’s heat and ran down her spine. Was that the reason for his offers of assistance?

  “Unlucky for him I made a better offer then.”

  Jack chuckled and shook his head. “Given the relationship between Benson’s daughter and Luc, well— Benson was never going to accept Luc’s offer although he led him to believe he had a chance. Luc was very disappointed when he found out you’d sneaked in below his offer and got the place. Almost as bad as Genevieve refusing his marriage proposal.”

  Her stomach flipped as her image of Luc Martineau took a beating. If she’d understood Jack correctly, Luc was no more than a—a gold digger willing to marry to gain land. No better than Timothy Smythe-Jones when he’d proposed to her, expecting to gain Bellerose along with her hand.

  Was it possible Luc’s concern for Seb—and for her—was not genuine? A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Eva’s stomach but she had to know. “You don’t mean he asked Benson’s daughter to marry him so he could get this plantation?”

  Jack shrugged and finished off his drink. He leaned across the table and lowered his voice as though sharing a secret. “He’d do almost anything to get this place. Part of his grand scheme you might say.”

  Eva struggled to breathe around the constriction in her throat. Luc had proposed to Benson’s daughter—to get the plantation? Then he’d made Eva an offer to manage it for a share, with first right of refusal if she decided to sell. She had almost succumbed to his kind offer. Treachery lurked in Luc’s offer, not friendship, nor sentimental desire to help her find her family property. Pure revenge sat at the heart of his dealings with her.

  Anger surged like a powerful drug through her veins. Forewarned was forearmed. Luc and Timothy, they were obviously tarred with the same brush. She’d build this plantation up on her own if it was the last thing she did. And show Luc Martineau he couldn’t buy what he wanted. Or marry to acquire it.

  She took a deep breath, seeking an inner calm that had eluded her since he had appeared on her doorstep.

  “Since you’re here I wonder, do you know of anyone who might take on the manager’s position?”

  Jack grinned as he got to his feet and pushed the chair in. “I’ll ask around. Give me a few days, I’m sure I can find someone.”

  She forced a stiff smile as she followed him out. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

  ***

  Eva lifted another couple of books from the packing box and placed them on the pile beside the slim brown diary. The temptation was too great and she opened it to the page that had caught her attention earlier in the evening. Tracing the curving line on the sketch with the tip of her forefinger, she wondered, might this be the answer to their financial difficulties?

  An engine roared to a halt on the gravel drive. She dropped the book into her lap and turned her head to listen. A few moments later, heavy boots clattered up the front steps followed by the crash of the screen door.

  “Seb? Is that you?”

  She stretched and sat back on he
r heels. The diary slid to the floor. She retrieved it and set it on the table out of harm’s way.

  Since her chat about not becoming too familiar with their neighbor or taking advantage of his kind offer, Seb had been at work all day and then away half the night. He’d refused to say where he’d been. More mulish than both his uncle and his father combined, after that fiasco of a conversation she hadn’t been able to forbid him the motorbike. She cocked her head and waited.

  “Seb? I’m in the library.”

  Scuffling sounds by the front door were followed by two heavy thumps before soft footfalls approached. At least he’d taken his boots off at the door.

  “Hi, Evie. What’s for dinner?” Spikes of sweaty hair stood out from his head like porcupine quills and a streak of oil marked his forehead. Covered in grease, his T-shirt was hardly fit for the rag bag and his jeans looked like they’d stand up without him.

  “What have you been doing?”

  Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he lounged against the door frame. “Fiddling with my bike. Why did you bring this junk from home? Looks like you brought the entire library with you.”

  Her throat constricted as she skimmed familiar covers of books that marked various stages of her life. “This is all that’s left of Bellerose.”

  All that’s left of home.

  “Moldy leather and dusty pages. Don’t suppose there’s a treasure map hidden in this lot?” Seb picked up the nearest book. Small and covered in soft, dark brown leather, the spine had darkened with age and the touch of many hands. Including hers. A fine trace of silver marked the edge of letters etched into the front—JD, Josephine Dubois.

  She watched him flip through several pages. Household accounts filled the early section and she doubted he saw more than columns of numbers. The really interesting entries started further in, descriptions that made her cheeks burn even as they compelled her to read on. Since she had arrived here, the entries had made her think the touch of Luc’s hands, his hard body pressed against hers. What would it be like to share with him the things Josephine and her lover, Ivan had shared?

  Seb flicked over a couple more pages. Amid details of what must have been a torrid love affair with the Russian fur trader was a page he might consider as good as a treasure map. Uncomfortable with the idea of him reading Josephine’s account of her trysts with her lover, Eva reached for the diary and gently eased it out of his hands.

  “Evie? You’ve got a funny look on your face. What is it?”

  “I found something, a drawing.” She skipped over several pages until she found the sketch. Indecision warred within her.

  “Of a treasure map? Please tell me we’re going to be rich.” Bright-eyed with enthusiasm for the first time in days, his sullen mood disappeared in an instant.

  Young and still grieving for his father, Seb needed something exciting. An adventure, or the promise of one, could divert his thoughts.

  “It’s not a map but it is valuable, maybe priceless. See.” Holding the diary open, she gave the book back to him. “Emeralds and diamonds worth a tsar’s ransom.”

  He dropped into the nearest chair and studied the page, flicking backwards and forwards and coming back to the sketch. “Where do we dig? Is it here in Hawaii? Is that why we came here?”

  Oh, to have the enthusiasm and resilience of youth. She smiled at his exuberance. Her own heart had certainly beat faster when she’d realized the fabulous piece had belonged to her ancestress. “I’ve no idea, but I’m going to read more of Josephine’s diary. There could be clues to the whereabouts of the necklace.”

  “Imagine what we could do with the money.”

  “I imagine it stayed in New Orleans.”

  “Why there? Wouldn’t it be at Bellerose or here in Hawaii?” He cast her a narrow-eyed, considering look. “Is ours the plantation? Is that why we bought it? But didn’t you and Luc visit an abandoned estate at Tallship Bay? I thought—”

  “I don’t know where our pirate and his bride lived. What I do know is that Josephine, our many times removed great-aunt, lived in New Orleans. When we were invited to that dinner party, a photographer took my photo in front of her portrait.” She passed a newspaper photo to him.

  He pored over the photo. If only he gave half as much attention to the plantation, their success would be guaranteed. “That necklace she’s wearing—it’s the same as the sketch!”

  “Surely if the necklace still exists…”

  Seb held the newspaper photo and the diary up side by side, his gaze shifting between the two. “Why wouldn’t it?”

  “Expensive pieces like that were often broken up and sold off as individual stones. I even wondered if the single emerald pendant I inherited from my mother might be a remnant of this necklace. Look”—she turned a page and pointed to a description—“she wrote that there were twenty-eight stones. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of our ancestors needed money and sold off some of the gems. I expect they would have paid for Bellerose several times over.”

  “What if they didn’t? What if it’s just waiting for us to find it? Maybe Luc can help us discover the pirate’s plantation. It could be there. We have to find that necklace. It’s better than treasure.”

  “How so?”

  He grinned. “You don’t have to dig a big hole to hide a necklace.”

  ***

  Eva pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the wide verandah. Tropical night flowers perfumed the air but as the sun rose above the treeline, their scent was overtaken by the sweet smell of pineapple as the rising sun warmed the fields. For now, she took a few moments to relax in the solitude of early morning.

  Seb’s motorbike stood like a sentinel guarding the steps. It gleamed like a new shilling and she squinted into the brightness. Had he painted it? She strolled down the steps to the bike and bent down to examine the fuel tank. Dents and scrapes had been machined into a smooth surface, which now shone under a new coat of paint. Detailing work looked almost professional, aside from one slightly wonky corner cut. She traced the line of blue stripe on silver metal. Could he have achieved this level of work without access to a workshop?

  Surely he wouldn’t go behind her back? Not after she had forbidden him to impose further on his boss. But the memory of her brothers sneaking out to do exactly the thing they’d been told not to ghosted through her memory.

  “Oh, Seb.” Thoughts of how that discussion would go tied her in knots and she pressed her hands against her stomach. With a sigh, she turned to march up the steps.

  “Missus.” Amoka, the hired man in charge of her pickers, moved out of the shadows and strolled to the bottom of the steps. Thumbs hitched into the tabs of his trousers, he looked her up and down. “My team’s waiting. You gonna pay us now?”

  Amoka’s attitude smacked of disrespect and something more disturbing. Menacing, even. She gripped the wooden upright. “Pay you? But you haven’t finished picking.” Until the crop payments went into her account, she had barely enough to cover the household accounts. “What about the rest of the crop? You have to finish picking that field first.”

  “No more. We got another job. You pay us now.” He stepped closer, crowding her. Stale cigarette smoke and sweat wafted from his clothes and she swallowed, trying to breathe through her mouth.

  Dealing with hired hands wasn’t as simple as dealing with family retainers. She raised her chin and stood firm and tall. Look confident, look him in the eye, and demand he finish the job. “When you’ve finished this job, then I will pay you and your team.”

  He edged closer.

  Her stomach clenched with fear and roiled at his stale smell.

  Unable to tear her gaze from Amoka, Eva prayed for help.

  A second male voice joined their conversation. “End of job you get paid. Not before. Those are rules.” The heavily accented voice came from beside the garden at the side of the house.

  With a careful step away from Amoka, Eva glanced sideways. Black-bearded and arms folded across a massive chest, a
heavyset man sauntered over and stood next to Amoka, his black eyes boring into the picker. He was an intimidating figure but beneath his calm exterior Eva sensed a dark menace.

  “You heard boss lady. Finish picking, pay after.”

  Amoka stiffened, his hands fisting at his sides. “Who you telling what to do? You not boss man.”

  “You not take order from boss lady, you not get work anywhere. Me, I make sure of this. Now, finish picking like she told you to do.” He stepped into Amoka’s personal space and stared him down.

  The picker dropped his gaze. Hands dug in his pockets and muttering, he scuffed the earth with one bare foot then turned and slouched away.

  The Russian—Eva now recognized his accent—looked at her, his eyes shadowed beneath bushy eyebrows and the brim of his hat. “Overseeing is not work for women.”

  Right now, Eva was prepared to agree with him. “Thank you for your help. Did Mr. Lyons send you?”

  He nodded and bowed stiffly as though unused to the action. “I am Stefan Lutchenko. You need me. I work here now.”

  “Well, yes, I do need you and I’m delighted Mr. Lyons was so quick in finding a manager for me. Come in, please.”

  Pleased with Jack’s quick assistance, she led Lutchenko into the library before she remembered her interrupted unpacking still lay strewn across the floor. Mumbling an apology, she hurried to clear the armchair. “Would you like a cool drink?”

  He shook his head and sat. “Nyet. I will take coffee.”

  “I won’t be long. Please make yourself comfortable.”

  She measured the beans and prepared the pot and two cups on a tray. Should she have asked to see his references or spoken to Jack before hiring Stefan Lutchenko? Like she had enough applicants for the position to be worrying about that. If Jack Lyons sent him, that should be good enough.

  Frustrating as it was to have to rely on a man, she had acquired a manager and Luc Martineau wouldn’t be making another offer to buy anytime soon. They didn’t need him or his attempted seduction, and her plantation would be in safe hands.