Swansea Destiny Read online

  SWANSEA DESTINY

  By

  Fayrene Preston

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  The Challenge

  From the moment Arabella stepped into the ballroom, she knew the night would be out of the ordinary. There was a level of excitement she had never encountered before. And then she recognized its source: Jake Deverell. And within minutes she realized the gossips hadn't done him justice.

  He was a man with a powerful, thrilling way of making her feel, and at the same time capable of threatening her in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine. And she now knew with a bone-deep certainty that while she didn't fear him, Jake Deverell was a man of whom she should definitely be wary.

  Before she could act on that insight, however, Jake put his mouth to her ear and whispered, "I'll be in your bed by morning."

  This edition contains the complete text of the original hardcover edition. Not one word has been omitted.

  THE SWANSEA DESTINY

  A Bantam Fanfare Book

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Originally published as The Destiny

  Doubleday edition published July 1991

  Bantam edition / October 1991

  FANFARE and the portrayal of a boxed "ff" are trademarks of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Copyright © 1991 by Fayrene Preston.

  Cover art courtesy of Doubleday.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

  form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including

  photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and

  retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  For information address; Doubleday, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10103.

  ISBN 0-553-29332-X

  Published simultaneously in the United Slates and Canada

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting if the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10103.

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my sweet, beautiful cousin

  Laura Lind,

  for all the love and support throughout the years

  THE

  SWANSEA

  DESTINY

  PROLOGUE

  Boston 1918

  Jake Conall glared through the pale morning sunlight that filtered through the small window of the kitchen at an older man standing on the opposite side of a chipped table.

  "You're one lousy sonofabitch!" Jake said, his voice low, but redolent with anger.

  Not so much as a flicker of emotion showed on Edward Deverell's face as he viewed the son whom he'd rarely thought of until recently. "I'm sure it gives you a sense of satisfaction to say so, Jacob, but I'm sorry to have to inform you that your opinion of me is not one I haven't heard before."

  "Only my mother calls me Jacob."

  "Very well… Jake. Have you considered my offer?"

  "I've considered it." In fact, he'd thought of little else since he'd come home the previous week on the afternoon of his eighteenth birthday and found a stranger in the tiny, dingy apartment he had lived in all his life. The stranger had introduced himself as Edward Deverell, a name that had rung a bell with even a tenement kid like himself. Then Deverell had informed him that he was his father and had gone on to make him an offer that would change his whole life—if he accepted. A week had passed, but Jake still hadn't made a decision.

  "I want to know something. You've gone to a lot of trouble to find me. You hired detectives, and then you had lawyers draw up papers for this agreement you want me to sign. And I want to know why! Dammit, why did you decide to do this after all these years? You wanted me killed before I was ever born, and when Mother told you she was going to have me anyway, you turned your back on her and had nothing more to do with her."

  A flicker of displeasure marred Edward Deverell's impassive expression as he recalled that time. "Gwendolyn was a stubborn woman. She could have had a comfortable life if she had done as I asked."

  "If she had done as you asked, I wouldn't be here for you to make your damned offer to."

  "Then things turned out well."

  "Well?" Jake took a step closer to him, his lips curled, his teeth bared. "She couldn't afford good medical care and she nearly died giving birth to me. Then, to keep a roof over our heads and put food on the table, she had to take in sewing. Today she's close to blind because of the long hours she spent hunched over a piece of cloth."

  "That is regrettable."

  "Regrettable?" Jake swung a closed fist toward Edward, but at the last minute whirled away and braced his hands against the edge of the sink, his shoulder and back muscles bunching beneath his ill-fitting jacket.

  Edward watched him with cold calculation. Even after reading the detective's reports, he hadn't been at all sure what his son might be like. The reports had mentioned a Lucas Moran, Jake's best friend. The two had been involved in running numbers, street fights, petty thefts, but no serious brushes with the law. All in all Edward was relieved; it could have been much worse given the circumstances under which his son had been raised.

  Jake reminded him of himself at the same age—a sleek young animal, powerful, hungry, and bloodthirsty. He squelched the thought. In truth, he resented Jake's youth and physical strength—two things his money and power could not return to him. And he loathed the fact that his beloved son, John, had been killed half a world away in the war, thus forcing him to seek out his bastard. Fate had indeed played him a cruel trick.

  Jake suddenly turned. "You have a hell of a way with words, old man." He saw Deverell flinch and realized "old man" had pricked. He almost grinned. "Regrettable. That's really good. My mother's eyesight has been ruined, and it's regrettable. Does a Harvard education teach you to use words like that?"

  "I did not have the advantage of a Harvard education."

  "Maybe not, but you had the means to see to it that Mother's life was made easier, damn you."

  "She disobeyed me."

  Jake swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. His mother had always refused to speak of his father—who he was, if he was alive or dead. But when Jake was five he overheard a quiet, stilted conversation his mother had with a friend. She'd talked about a man who had walked away from her because she wouldn't end her baby's life before it was born. From that moment on, Jake had found it easy to hate the unknown man.

  And now Deverell had come to him, twice, as a matter of fact, driven by a uniformed chauffeur and wearing fancy clothes. But Deverell had made a bad mistake. Because now Jake not only knew he was his father but also could focus his hatred.

  Edward shifted his weight from one leg to the other, the oppressive heaviness of Jake's deep, raging anger unsettling him. "We're getting off the point."

  "No, we're not. The point is and has always been your refusal to admit that I'm your son. Even now." He jabbed a finger toward the papers Edward had laid out on an oilskin-covered table. "You're only willing to say you're adopting me."

  Edward cleared his throat. "I have thought the matter through, and I feel it's better that society think I have m
ade an altruistic gesture to an underprivileged boy than know I fathered an illegitimate son."

  Jake's black eyes narrowed. "Better for who?"

  "It is the way I wish it."

  "Then why the hell even bother if you're so damned ashamed of me?"

  "I shouldn't have to explain this to you, Jake. It seems so clear. I want an heir, someone to carry on what I've started."

  "Heirs are a dime a dozen at the orphanage. You'll find plenty of kids there who would fight each other for the right to sign your agreement and take everything you're offering."

  Irritation crept into Edward's tone. "I don't want someone from the orphanage. I want to adopt you."

  "Right, adopt, but not acknowledge, because you don't want your rich friends to know you had a bastard. But guess what? I don't give a damn what your society friends think. In fact, I think they should know, and I don't see a thing keeping me from going to the newspapers and telling everything."

  He would have been disappointed, Edward thought, if Jake hadn't realized the potent threat public exposure would make. "Do that," he said quietly, "and you'll be cutting your own throat."

  "I'm tough. My throat doesn't cut so easily."

  "But what about your mother, Jake? Accept my offer and you'll be in a position to give her everything she's ever wanted."

  "I've been bringing home money for years. I'll do even better next year, now that I'm finally through with school."

  "I said everything she's ever wanted, Jake."

  "I can give her those things without your help. I have plans."

  "Really? And how long will these plans take you? How much prison time will be involved? How much more sewing will your mother have to do?" He had him now, Edward thought, and gave a nonchalant shrug. "I can't see what there is to object to here. I'm offering you my name, a first-rate education, a prominent social standing, and a fortune."

  Jake forced himself to calm down, to think, to get himself back on track. "On the surface it's a great offer."

  "Above and below the surface too."

  "Then tell me why you want to adopt me. Not someone from the orphanage. Me."

  The reason was apparent, and Edward saw no choice but to make the admission. "Because you're the only one left with my blood in your veins."

  Some of Jake's tension eased. He had needed to hear Deverell say those words. "Exactly. The way I figure it, old man, you need me more than I need you. So I guess it comes down to how much you need me."

  "I honestly don't know what more you could want, Jake. I've asked—and this is all in the agreement—that you attend Harvard for four years and obtain a degree in business. During that time I expect you to acquire the polish and social contacts that you will need later on to conduct business and move in the society in which the Deverell name will carry you. Upon graduation you will have a job waiting for you in my company. Eventually you will inherit everything. And you'll have sons of your own to carry on. Through you, the Deverell blood and tradition will continue. What more could you want?"

  "Damned good question." Jake grinned, but his dark eyes did not lighten with humor. "I spent an afternoon in the library reading old newspaper clippings about you, and I found out some interesting things. That house of yours, for instance. SwanSea. From everything I read, you're damned proud of it. You moved into the house and married about the same time. There was an interview from back then. Said how you saw the house as the seat of some sort of dynasty, and how you wanted sons and daughters to fill it."

  "The article did not say that."

  "Between the lines it did."

  Edward stared back at his son, wondering if he had underestimated him. And then he heard Jake's voice lower, harden, until each word he spoke was like stone striking stone.

  "You walk into my life from out of the blue and make me an offer that will change my life forever. It seems like such a grand thing for you to do, such a generous gesture, but the truth is, I'm your last chance for immortality and you damned well know it."

  A charged silence filled the small room, and Gwendolyn Conall, standing in the kitchen doorway, thought she could actually feel the force of their energies and wills colliding, thickening the atmosphere with tension until she didn't know how they could breathe.

  She wished the oil lamp were lit. The room was illuminated by a narrow shaft of sunlight, but their figures were still dim to her. She adjusted her glasses, trying better to see the two men, the one, a man who had once been everything to her, the other, the boy who had never really had a chance to be a boy and who was her heart.

  She wondered if they knew how much alike they were, father and son, both with the same coal-black hair, both with the same prideful stance and stubborn arrogance. Age had lined Edward's face and had added silver at his temples, but he still stood ramrod straight.

  Jacob was a tougher, bigger version of Edward—handsome, smart, and cunning. She wanted the world for him, but life had made her a realist and she knew the only way he could have it was to take Edward's offer. Dear Lord, please don't let his pride get in his way. She offered the quick, silent prayer, knowing it was all she could do. It was between the two of them.

  "Go to hell, old man!" Jake hurled the epithet toward Deverell. Then a feeling more than a sound drew his glance to the door, and he saw his mother walking away. Damn, he hoped she wasn't upset by what she'd heard. His impulse was to throw Deverell's offer in his face, then kill him. But staring after his mother as she went into her room, he suddenly realized Deverell was right about at least one thing. If he accepted him, he could give her all the things he'd always wanted to give her, starting almost immediately. She'd never have to sew another stitch. He'd never have to see her squint, or her fingers bleed, or her face look drawn and tired.

  Besides, even at eighteen he'd learned there were more ways to kill a person than with a knife or a gun. To refuse the offer would dent Deverell's ego and spoil his plans for the future. But in the long run, Jake thought, if he accepted the offer just right, he could inflict more damage than by plunging a knife straight through the old man's heart. Yeah, Deverell would pay for what he had done.

  "All right," Jake finally said, "but get your lawyers, because I have some terms of my own and I want them spelled out in that agreement. I'll take your name, the education, the money, and the social standing and prestige you talked about. Given time, I'll run your business better than you've ever thought of doing. But that's where what you get out of this deal stops. I want it understood that I'm going to be my own man. No one calls the shots on what I do and don't do, especially you. If I do what you want, it'll be because it's what I think best."

  Edward permitted a small smile of victory to show on his face. The boy was full of himself and remarkably self-possessed for one so young. Jake would eventually come around to his way of thinking when he understood better the world into which he would be moving. "Of course."

  "And I want SwanSea."

  Edward's body jerked, but he quickly masked his alarm. "Naturally, as my adopted son, people will expect you to spend time there."

  "No. I mean I want it to be mine."

  "And you'll have it. You'll inherit it when I die." He tasted bitterness even as he said the words. Somehow he had supposed he and SwanSea would go on together until the end of time.

  "No, you don't understand. If we make this agreement, I want the deed to SwanSea in my name right away, and I want you to walk out of the house and leave it forever."

  "You can't be serious. It's my home and has been for twenty-three years."

  "It will be my home now." Cruelty shaped his smile. "I'm going to make a mockery of your dreams, old man, and that includes SwanSea."

  Edward sank into the chair. "I need time to think about this."

  "You have two minutes."

  Edward was alarmed to feel his hand tremble as he rubbed his brow. How could he acquiesce to these demands? How could he leave SwanSea? He had watched the house built stone by stone. It was the only romantic dream h
e had ever allowed himself; it was a part of him and represented all he had accomplished. If he wasn't so appalled and furious, he might admire this bastard son of his who had temporarily bested him. But he was appalled. SwanSea was like his life's blood, and even now he could feel a pain growing in his gut at the thought of giving it up. But what was his alternative?

  He was sixty-four years old, too old to father another child and wait for it to grow up, too old to start over. If he hadn't made the mistake of allowing John to go off on that damned grand tour, then he wouldn't have become involved in the war and been killed. He couldn't afford to make another mistake. His name and all he had accomplished had to be perpetuated—even if it meant acceding to this hoodlum's wishes. Besides, he had a trump card and he intended to use it. "All right, Jake. On the day you graduate from Harvard, SwanSea will be yours."

  Jake's head came up and his eyes widened, like a wary animal sensing a trap. Waiting until he graduated wasn't what he'd had in mind, but now that he thought about it, he figured he would be pretty busy for the next four years. He planned to beat those Harvard people at their own game, whatever it was. "Okay, it's a deal."

  Edward nodded. "Fine. I'll be in touch after my lawyers have redrafted the agreement."

  He'd won. The knowledge rushed through Jake with a force that was dizzying.

  Edward rose and started to leave, but then he stopped and looked back at Jake. "No matter what you say now, you will come to care for SwanSea. You won't be able to help yourself. You're a Deverell, and SwanSea stands for what we're all about. It is in your blood to accomplish great things and to carry on where I leave off. It's your destiny."

  Jake smiled. "We'll see, old man. We'll see."

  Chapter 1

  SwanSea

  Maine

  December 31, 1928