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CHAPTER TWO

LAUREN didn’t know what she expected to see when they arrived at Dade Delacourte’s seaside home. The Hampton’s palatial estates were referred to ironically as “cottages,” though they bore as much resemblance to a cottage as a pencil resembled a computer.

Lauren supposed she expected a billionaire playboy to vacation in ostentatious, even tacky, luxury. She wouldn’t be surprised if the River Styx flowed right outside a twenty-foot, flaming gate. With this inflammatory vision in her head, Lauren was startled when Goodberry turned the limo onto a narrow, wooded lane marked by nothing more than a small metal sign reading Private Property. Perhaps the infamous river hid somewhere within the deceptively inviting forest of weathered pine and oak trees.

She frowned, staring out the window, trying to catch any glimpse. They emerged from the peaceful woodland, and Lauren was taken aback. She witnessed no fiery gateway. The pine-scented air held no hint of brimstone. Instead Lauren saw a wonderful house, more the image of a picturesque Vermont barn than a palatial mansion. Constructed of antique barn siding and stone, the home sprawled within an unpretentious, natural setting. Even from where Lauren sat, the bluff commanded a panoramic view of the Atlantic.

“Miss Quinn? Are you all right?”

Mr. Delacourte’s question yanked Lauren from her musings. She could tell he had raised his voice, so it was embarrassingly clear he’d been trying to get her attention. She glanced at him. “Yes, sir? I mean, yes, I’m fine.”

He watched her quizzically for another moment, as though it crossed his mind that she was more astonished by the house than a nanny of her qualifications and job history should be. “Quinn, if you’ll get the baby, I’ll show you to your room.”

Goodberry opened their door, and Mr. Delacourte flicked a glance at the driver. “The oceanfront guest suite has been prepared for Quinn and the child.”

“Yes, sir.” Goodberry stepped forward, offering Lauren a hand and smile. “May I help you, miss?”

The servant was so old-world gallant, Lauren couldn’t keep from smiling. “Why thank you, Goodberry.” She mused again about how sweet the driver was, and stole a quick look at her unprincipled employer.

Mr. Delacourte watched her with that same quizzical stare. Snapping her gaze away, she unbuckled Tina from her car seat and allowed Goodberry to assist them out of the limo.

Once safely out of the car, Lauren approached the stone walk meandering from the driveway of crushed seashells. There was no real lawn, just the grasses and low flowering vegetation that grew naturally in the sandy soil. Trees lined the walk and dotted the yard, enhancing the unaffected charm of the residence.

Lauren felt a hand at her elbow and jumped.

“It’s only me,” Mr. Delacourte said. “I thought it would be easier to guide you to your room. Besides, the path is a little uneven. We wouldn’t want you falling.”

She cast him a black glance. Was this a come-on, already? Did he “initiate” young, female help with a quick seduction on the first night? She jerked from his hold. She certainly had no plans to follow in her sister’s footsteps. “I don’t believe in physical contact between employer and employee, sir.” Jutting her chin, she focused on the front door, which was up several steps, across a broad, covered stone porch. “Why don’t you walk in front of me? I don’t think the baby and I will get lost.”

He cleared his throat and Lauren wondered if she heard a hint of amusement, as though he were hiding a chuckle. “Forgive me, Quinn. I’ll watch my hands very carefully in the future.” He bounded up the steps and proceeded to open the door. “Would you care to go inside, first?” He canted his head in query. “If I promise not to touch?”

His eyes sparkled, even in the shade of the porch. Lauren felt a prickle of irritation. He was laughing at her! As though it was just too funny that she thought, even for an instant, that he had anything more sexy in mind than to make sure she didn’t break an ankle and sue his pants off. Apparently that was the only way she might get Mr. Delacourte out of his pants.

So much for his seducing every female employee. She was definitely not on his I-must-have-her-tonight list. She gritted her teeth, wishing she could be sure she wasn’t blushing. The fact that her face burned was a bad sign. Scurrying inside, she concentrated on Tina and her sweet smile. The innocence of the sight helped calm her nerves.

“Please follow me, Quinn,” Mr. Delacourte said. She nodded, but refused to meet his gaze. She knew her cheeks were flushed, and she didn’t believe seeing amusement in his eyes would do anything to improve that situation.

Instead she glanced around. The great room looked as though it had been built around a real eighteenth century barn. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high, with thick beams of weathered pine supporting a steeply pitched roof. The floor was stone, the walls, old barn siding. A window-wall took up much of the ocean side of the house, with breathtaking views of surf, sand and sky.

Lauren was impressed, not so much by the fact that her boss had the wealth to own a coveted chunk of Long Island seacoast, but that his estate was more homey then she expected. Nevertheless, she counseled inwardly, Dade Delacourte doesn’t have to live in a golden villa in Sodom or Gomorrah to be a thrill-seeking-woman-chaser!

Lauren trailed a limousine’s length behind Mr. Delacourte, yet didn’t lose sight of him as he exited the great room and headed down a hallway. His soft-soled shoes made hardly a sound on the wide pine planks.

Lauren passed a kitchen brimming with sunlight, lush green plants and the delectable scents of cooking food. She got a quick glimpse of a woman bustling around amid pots and pans, but only a glimpse. It appeared Mr. Delacourte wasn’t inclined to make introductions.

“This is your room, Quinn,” he said, halting at a sunlit entrance. “It’s actually two rooms. The small one off to the left has been set up as the nursery. If there’s anything you lack, please tell Goodberry or Braga, the cook.”

Lauren tried to appear unmoved, as though the suite was nothing more nor less than she was accustomed to on a day-to-day basis. But, heavenly days, the place was wonderful! It had the idyllic grace of a rural cabin, but with the view of a palace. The furnishings were a mix of antique and contemporary, of warm woods and wicker and bright, sunny hues.

On one wall of coarse siding, a collection of old weather vanes gave a sense of drama and fantasy to the room. A shaker rocker sat before the French doors, giving the open space a welcoming, country porch feel. Frothy sheers puddled at the outermost reaches of the glass doors, looking as though they were there for show, never really employed to obscure visual access to the grassy dunes, beach and sparkling sea.

“Miss Quinn?”

His stern use of her name relayed, once again, that he was afraid she’d fallen into some peculiar brain fog. Which she had. Lauren blinked several times, hoping the small flutter of lashes wouldn’t alert Mr. Delacourte to the fact that she’d been deeply intent on computing the pros and cons of the place. “It seems—adequate.”

She made herself turn his way, and frowned. The intensity of his gaze had a surprising seductive quality, and she felt awkward and uncertain. “I—I’ll make a thorough survey, however—to be sure I have everything Tina and I require.” Deciding the situation was making her feel awkward and uncertain enough without staring into his watchful eyes, she dropped her gaze to Tina.

Her heart swelled, and she could hardly keep her happiness locked inside. Lauren marveled at her good fortune to have stumbled into such an extraordinary opportunity—the chance to be with her niece, and to unmask Mr. Delacourte as utterly unfit to raise an innocent little girl.

“Come.” He moved into the room, his scent pleasantly filling her nostrils as he passed her in the doorway. She noticed he took care not to touch her. “I’ll show you the baby’s room.” He glanced back, and with the quirk of a brow, added, “And none too soon. If I’m not mistaken, that expression on her face means she’s—occupied.”

Lauren didn’t understand, and glanced at the baby. Her face was screwed up as though she were having a very deep thought. Chubby cheeks were flushed red. What in the world could that possibly mean—Suddenly Lauren detected a scent much less pleasant than Dade’s aftershave. Oh!

“This is good timing,” Mr. Delacourte said. “You can show me how to change a diaper.”

Lauren heard his words, though they didn’t quite penetrate. Her brain was occupied by this new problem, one that forced her to realize she hadn’t thought her plan through. She had never changed a diaper. She took a breath, then was sorry she had. “Tina, honey,” she murmured, “for a sweet little darling, you…” Her boss’s suggestion finally penetrated, and she shot a glance toward him. “Show you how to what?” She flinched at the panicked edge to the question.

He had reached the door to the baby’s room and turned, his expression concerned. “I said you could show me how to change a diaper. Is there a problem?”

Yes, there’s a problem! I can’t change a diaper! she cried mentally, searching in her mind for what to actually say to the man. “You—you want me to show you how to change a diaper?”

He crossed his arms and lounged against the wall, eyeing her with a wrinkled brow. “If I am to raise this child, there are things I should know how to do.”

“But that’s what a nanny is for.” She didn’t want him watching her beginning, fumbling efforts at taking care of a baby. “You—you leave it to me.”

His jaw worked, and Lauren could tell he was no more happy about this than she. “No. I’ve decided I…” He halted, his nostrils flaring. “Your job description does not include an expectation that I explain my motives, Quinn.” He indicated the way with a curt nod. “If you don’t mind?”

I mind! I really, really mind! she shrieked telepathically, barely managing to keep her features unruffled. With a slow, delaying nod, she trudged toward the nursery. She tried to calm herself. How hard could it be? She’d seen babies being diapered in TV ads. You simply take one of those disposables out of the box, place the baby’s backside on it, slip the part that goes in front between her legs and fasten it with the adhesive tabs. Any idiot with the IQ of sawdust could do that!

The nursery didn’t get much notice. Lauren had the impression it was similarly rustic to her room, though the furniture was white with pink accessories and there weren’t any weather vanes on the walls.

She spied the flat surface and assumed this was where she was to change the baby, mainly because Mr. Delacourte had moved to stand beside it. She scanned the plastic covered countertop. To her horror, she spied beneath it a shelf heaped with cloth diapers, folded in squares. Cloth? She’d never seen a commercial where anybody folded a cloth diaper! She didn’t even know cloth diapers were sold anymore.

“Cloth?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly.

“The environment needs all the help it can get.”

She peered at him, forcing herself not to shout, So you torture me instead! Pressing her lips between her teeth, she nodded as anger flared. He supposedly cared about the environment, but he didn’t care about the women he impregnated on his overnight dalliances! “It’s nice to know you have a conscience about some things,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?”

She cringed. Had she said that out loud? “I said—” she stalled “—it’s nice to know you have a conscience about these things.”

His low laughter was rich. “Thank you, Quinn. I’ll try not to be too wounded by your astonishment.”

With clamped jaws, she gingerly lay Tina on the changing surface. “I’m sure you’ll heal, sir.” She busied herself unsnapping Tina’s pink romper, trying to look as though she knew what she was doing. Considering the fact that she was frightened to death, she was amazed and gratified to notice her fingers hardly shook.

Tina seemed so fragile. She didn’t want to break any tiny arms or legs or fingers or toes. As she meticulously worked her way toward diaper removal, Mr. Delacourte hovered at her elbow. Though he’d vowed not to touch, as she maneuvered, she brushed his belly and chest with her arm. He didn’t shift away. She supposed he felt he needed to get a good, close look so he wouldn’t miss a thing, and her elbow would just have to deal with grazing his body.

She wished she were across the room, or even better, in another state! “Uh, did you make such a close inspection when your other nanny did this?”

“I was busy with work. You’re my teacher, Quinn.”

This was a break. At least he wouldn’t be able to tell when she fouled up royally. She prayed she had enough innate intelligence and maternal instinct so she wouldn’t harm the child in her fumbling efforts.

She grasped the baby by one foot and lifted, but that didn’t work very well. Tina tipped funny. Still, with this lopsided glimpse, Lauren knew she had a mess on her hands. Trying to hide a grimace, she made a quick survey of the tabletop and spotted some Tot-Mops. She plucked one from its pop-up box. Swallowing hard, she began to clean Tina’s tainted little backside. She worked carefully and slowly, grimly determined. When she’d seen these little damp squares of tissue used on TV, it hadn’t taken seven of them to do the job! Luckily a covered wastebasket sat nearby. She could open it with her foot, so she quickly disposed of the yucky things.

“A diaper, please?” she said through gritted teeth. The last thing she wanted was a cloth diaper.

He held one out.

“Just—put it down.”

When he obliged, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. Let me be able to do this! She released Tina to squirm on the plastic surface and eyed the diaper with hostility. The dreaded thing was more oblong than square. That was a stupid shape for a diaper! A shawl, maybe.

She sucked in a breath, then blew it out. It was now or never! She made a snap decision and folded it, creating a triangle—more or less. Mainly less. Not happy with the weird shape, she made another fold. This time, it was no less weird, but smaller. It might work, though it looked like it had been in a head-on collision with a bigger, stronger triangle.

Holding onto her bravado, she raised both of Tina’s legs in one hand and scooted the diaper under her. Quickly she lifted the middle point up between Tina’s legs and folded the other points around her middle to meet the anchoring point. There was a fairly huge overlap. A pessimistic person might even say the thing was a complete failure. However, not having the luxury of pessimism, Lauren boldly retrieved the fasteners from the place she’d pinned them on her sleeve, and affixed the ends in place. Tina’s diaper looked like it had wings.

“That’s interesting,” Mr. Delacourte murmured. “I don’t remember seeing her in anything like that before.”

Lauren’s bluster was a painfully thin subterfuge, but she had no choice but to forge on. “It’s a new fold.”

“What’s it called, the Boeing 747?”

Her lips twitched with wayward humor, but she refused to allow him to see. Instead she concentrated on getting Tina into her plastic pants and romper. “Where shall I put the soiled diaper, sir?”

“There’s a pail in the bathroom, on your right.”

She peered in that direction and nodded, then presented him with his daughter. “Please hold her for a moment, while I dispose of it and wash my hands.”

His expression was priceless, though irritating. He seemed as startled by being offered his child as he might be if she’d asked him to hold her spleen. “Haven’t you ever held her?”

He frowned slightly. “Not—often. I’ve been busy.”

He’d been busy! All the time and money she’d spent these past six months trying to find Tina, longing to be near Tina, and he’d been busy! She imploded with rage and suffering so acute she could hardly contain herself. This man had housed, fed and clothed her precious niece for nearly half a year, but he had scarcely held her? Lauren redoubled her vow to get the child out of his indifferent clutches. The selfish playboy was merely warehousing her, not raising her!

Maintaining her poised masquerade was nearly impossible, but she struggled to appear professional. She handed the child to him as gently as her mood would allow. “I don’t understand why you want to learn to diaper her, when you—”

“As I said before, Miss Quinn,” he cut in, “it’s not your place to understand why I choose to do anything. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir,” she murmured, stiffly.

He was the master and she the servant. Period. If the great and powerful Dade Delacourte had an urge to learn to diaper Tina, the reason was not Lauren’s business. She had a sinking feeling that, whatever the reason, the urge would be fleeting—just like any culpability he might feel. Ultimately Tina would be relegated to the care of a series of nannies and nurses, while receiving a very unsavory moral education.

The innocent baby had to be rescued—and quickly.

Dade left the nanny and her charge to their privacy and went upstairs to unpack. Alone in his room, he berated himself for snapping at the woman. It wasn’t her fault he’d been saddled with a child his brother fathered. It wasn’t Quinn’s fault Dade felt like a damned failure.

Dade caught sight of himself in a wall mirror and his gut clenched. For a moment he stared at the grim facade, then lurched away. The vision held too much pain. Even his own reflection reminded him of his identical twin, and how badly Dade had unknowingly neglected him.

It didn’t seem like eleven years since he’d taken over his father’s small electronics firm, welcoming its challenges and opportunities. Unlike himself, Dade’s identical twin, Joel, never found his niche in the world. So Dade had sustained his brother’s wander-lust lifestyle, mopping up after him when he screwed up. In retrospect, all the paid fines and advances in allowances seemed more like a betrayal to his brother than real assistance.

So now, at his leisure, Dade was free to suffer great guilt. He spent his days and nights eaten up with regret for plunging all his efforts and passions into building the company, rather than taking more personal care to curb his brother’s heedless behavior.

His masculine retreat of weathered wood, earth tones and simple furnishings held no peace for him. The wide-plank flooring was so solidly built, it made no revealing sounds as he paced.

“I should have made you come home, take a job with the firm,” Dade muttered, jerking a hand through his hair. “I should have made you be responsible for your actions.”

How could he have let his only family slip so negligently through his fingers? And how quickly, ruthlessly, it was done. On a rainy country road, Joel barreled drunkenly off a cliff to meet a fiery end. Such a tragic waste.

“I’m sorry, Joel.” Dade dropped wearily into a leather armchair. “I’m so sorry.”

In an ironic twist, Dade didn’t actually lose his entire family that night. Though he wouldn’t know it until half a year later—when Joel’s daughter was born.

He pictured the baby, napping downstairs, and frowned. The last thing Dade wanted was the responsibility of another man’s child, yet he couldn’t abandon little Christina. Taking her in was one more “fix” of Joel’s lamentable life, a huge one—a last one—but ultimately, Dade’s burden to bear.

His brother was gone, and it was obvious the striking blonde, in the hospital photograph, had no interest in the child. He had heard nothing from her. No demands for money or position. Over the past few months it had become clear that the woman had wanted nothing but to be rid of the child. To that end, she had schemed and plotted, devising exactly how best to force Dade into accountability, since he was the man she thought to be the father of her child.

Though she was wrong about his paternity, she was not wrong about his obligation.

His grief for all that had been lost was as bitter as his fury at himself. He had forfeited his self-absorbed independence with the shocking arrival of his brother’s child. Yet, it was no one’s fault but his own.

“I failed you, brother,” he muttered. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the chair arms. “In the name of all that’s holy, I will not fail your daughter.”