The Debutante

Praise for Elizabeth Bevarly:

“…supersteamy…”

—Cosmopolitan

“…fresh and funny.”

—Publishers Weekly

“…the very best in love and laughter.”

—Romantic Times

“Practically perfect romance…”

—Library Journal

“Elizabeth Bevarly delivers romantic comedy at its sparkling best!”

—Bestselling author Teresa Medeiros

“I just love Elizabeth Bevarly’s sense of humor.”

—Bestselling author Julia Quinn

Don’t miss Signature Select’s exciting series:

The Fortunes of Texas: Reunion

Starting in June 2005, get swept up in

twelve new stories from your favorite family!

COWBOY AT MIDNIGHT by Ann Major

A BABY CHANGES EVERYTHING by Marie Ferrarella

IN THE ARMS OF THE LAW by Peggy Moreland

LONE STAR RANCHER by Laurie Paige

THE GOOD DOCTOR by Karen Rose Smith

THE DEBUTANTE by Elizabeth Bevarly

KEEPING HER SAFE by Myrna Mackenzie

THE LAW OF ATTRACTION by Kristi Gold

ONCE A REBEL by Sheri WhiteFeather

MILITARY MAN by Marie Ferrarella

FORTUNE’S LEGACY by Maureen Child

THE RECKONING by Christie Ridgway

Dear Reader,

Writing continuities for Silhouette is always so much fun. First, there’s the challenge of taking the story and characters the editors create and making them my own, and then there’s the joy of working with so many of my favorite writers. I was both flattered and delighted to be invited to participate in THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS: REUNION. The Debutante is my second contribution to the Fortunes saga, and it was wonderful to be able to go back and visit the family again. I had a terrific time writing about Lanie and Miles, and about their sometimes rocky, sometimes comical, journey toward finding true love. I hope you have fun reading about them, too.

Happy Reading!

For the readers.

With a million billion thanks.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Bonus Features

One

No carrot cake. Drat. She’d just have to settle for chocolate torte instead.

Lanie Meyers sighed with not-quite-heartfelt disappointment at the realization. Ah, well. One couldn’t have everything, could one? Not even at a “Dessert, the Whole Dessert, and Nothing But Dessert” fund-raiser for one’s own father’s gubernatorial campaign.

Not that Lanie understood the need for yet another fund-raiser, even if it did involve the consumption of mass quantities of sugar. Her father was already governor of Texas, and last she heard, he was still ahead in the polls, even if it was only by a small margin. And since October was nearly over, the election was less than two weeks away. She just didn’t see how a last-minute financial push like this was going to help all that much. Nevertheless, if her father’s campaign wanted to host a $100-per-person party at this point in the game, the least Lanie could do was show up for it.

And eat lots and lots of dessert.

She scooped up a modest serving of the chocolate torte—well, okay, maybe it wasn’t as modest as some—and transferred it to her plate. Then, just to be on the safe side, she forked up a little—kind of—piece of what looked like marble pound cake to go with it. And, okay, just a smallish—sort of—piece of the maple nut cake, too. It just really complemented the other two so nicely, aesthetically speaking. And maybe just a teeny slice of the white velvet cake to fill in that last empty spot on her plate.

Well, she’d written a check to her father’s campaign for a hundred dollars just like everyone else here tonight had. There was no reason why Lanie shouldn’t enjoy as much of the spread as the other guests. Besides, she’d been forced to skip dinner because her mother had wanted her to come along for moral support during the speech Luanne Meyers had given to the Austin Gardening Society. Lanie just decided not to think for now about how snug her clothes would feel in the morning. That was tomorrow, after all. Fiddle-de-dee on that. She told herself it was only her imagination that the brief, strapless sapphire-blue cocktail dress she’d donned for the occasion was already beginning to pinch.

Nudging away a stray lock of blond hair that had fallen into her face from the topknot fixed loosely at the crown of her head, she retrieved her glass of club soda from where she had left it on the table, took her mile-high pile of assorted cakes and retreated to the far side of the room where she could eat in peace, removed from the crowd. The ballroom of the Four Seasons Austin was packed with her father’s supporters, the majority of them talking politics, naturally, which was probably Lanie’s least favorite topic of conversation in the entire world. She would have rather talked about the mating habits of the luna moth, for heaven’s sake. Unfortunately, she being the daughter of a Texas governor, it seemed as if everyone assumed she was as rabid about state government as Tom Meyers was. There were even a few of her father’s cronies who had dropped hints that Lanie herself might run for office one day.

As if.

She could think of scores of occupations she’d rather pursue than stateswoman. Of course, there were those who might argue that her current occupation was hobnobber, which wasn’t that far off from politician.

Lanie just hadn’t figured out yet what she wanted to do with her life, that was all. Yes, at twenty-five she probably should have some vague notion of what path she wanted to follow—professionally, if nothing else. But she’d been groomed since childhood to be the daughter of a politician, and no one had ever encouraged her to stray from that path. Even in college, Lanie had majored in fine arts, not exactly a field of study that had made her highly employable. But she’d volunteered on both of her father’s gubernatorial campaigns, and she worked side by side with her mother in a number of charitable organizations, so she did stay busy. Income wasn’t exactly a problem, since the Meyerses were quite wealthy, and Lanie was what had commonly become referred to as a “trust-fund baby.”

Nevertheless, there were days when even she was appalled by her lack of contribution to the working world. Not that she wanted to set the world on fire or anything, but a person liked to think she was valuable somewhere, to someone, in some capacity.

No sooner had the thought unrolled in her head than Lanie glanced up from her plate to see someone very valuable indeed standing head and shoulders above a small group of people roughly twenty feet to her right. A member of the Fortune family, she realized, not at all surprised to find at least one of them in attendance tonight. Everyone in Texas knew who the Fortunes were, since they were one of the premier families of the state. It was only natural that they’d have an interest in state politics. And Lanie knew her father was presenting Ryan Fortune with the prestigious Hensley-Robinson Award later this month to honor and commemorate his many charitable contributions and volunteerism. The family no doubt wanted to reciprocate by showing their support for his campaign.

And how nice of them to send one of the yummy Fortune triplets as ambassador, Lanie thought. And how appropriate, too, since she herself had been a supporter of the Fortune triplets since she was a teenager. Just not in any political capacity.

Forget swooning over Leonardo and River in Tiger Beat and Teen People. Lanie, like so many Texas females her age, had found the Fortune triplets infinitely more worthy of admiration. She could remember more than one slumber party where copies of the newspaper and other local publications had been passed around so that all the girls could take turns cooing over photographs and stories about Steven, Clyde and Miles Fortune. Back then, the triplets were in their early twenties, eleven years older than Lanie and her friends. But everyone knew older men were so much more sophisticated and interesting than boys of twelve or thirteen. And the Fortune triplets had appealed to women of all ages.

Lanie did some quick math. She was twenty-five, so the triplets would be thirty-six now. She wondered which of the three she was looking at. Steven and Clyde, she’d read, had both recently married. But Miles, as far as she knew, was still free and clear. Not that she had any intention of approaching whichever Fortune this was, of course.

“Lanie, darling, there you are.”

At the sound of her name, Lanie glanced in the opposite direction to see her mother striding toward her, and she smiled. Although Lanie had inherited her parents’ blue eyes and blond hair, it was her mother she truly favored. But where Lanie’s hair was long and straight and golden blond, Luanne Meyers wore her tresses bobbed at chin length, and there was an equal amount of silver mingling with the gold these days.

The two women were also nearly an identical height—five feet six inches—and both wore the same dress size—eight. Not that they ever swapped outfits, even though Lanie lived with her parents at the governor’s mansion. Her mother’s taste in clothing was way too traditional and much too conservative, as befitted a Texas governor’s wife. Lanie certainly couldn’t see herself dressed in the pale, shapeless sheaths her mother favored, like the pearl-pink one she wore tonight, with no decoration and almost no jewelry. Lanie was much better suited to her little blue dress, and she had deliberately accessorized its plain design with flash and dazzle, in the form of a spectacular crystal necklace and chandelier earrings that glittered like diamonds when she stepped into the brighter lights of the ballroom.

It wasn’t that Lanie was ostentatious. But she did rather enjoy being the center of attention. Just not when she was shoveling cake into her mouth. Hence, her temporary retreat to the darker regions of the ballroom.

But her mother had found her, in spite of her efforts to remain hidden, Lanie thought. And there were a number of photographers from the press in attendance. Probably standing around pushing cake into her mouth wasn’t such a good idea, all things considered. The last thing she wanted was to have some huge photo of herself showing up in the tabloids, her mouth wide open to accept an enormous gobble of cake. So, reluctantly, Lanie surrendered her still-half-full plate to the empty tray of a passing waiter. And she watched in wistful silence as he carried away the chocolate torte she hadn’t even tasted. Maybe, she thought, if no one was looking, she could fill a to-go box before leaving.

“Hello, Mother,” she said as Luanne Meyers drew nearer. Automatically, Lanie turned her cheek to receive her mother’s kiss, then dutifully kissed her mother’s cheek in return.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” her mother asked.

Without even realizing she was doing it, Lanie turned to look at her Fortune again. Whichever triplet it was continued to converse with one of the men in the group, and she smiled as she watched him. Oh, yes. She was enjoying herself very much.

She nodded in response to her mother’s question, then surreptitiously tilted her head toward the man she had been observing. “Do you know which Fortune triplet that is?” she asked.

Her mother followed Lanie’s gaze, and she smiled, too, when she found her target. Even her mother’s generation wasn’t immune to the triplets’ handsomeness, Lanie thought.

“I believe that’s Miles,” her mother said, turning back to Lanie. “He’s a friend of Dennis’s.”

Dennis Stovall, her father’s campaign manager, Lanie translated.

“Plus, you can tell by the dimple,” her mother added. “For some reason, Miles is the only one of the three boys who has it.”

Ah, yes, the dimple, Lanie thought. The utterly adorable, swoonworthy dimple. She turned to look at the man again, just as he was throwing his head back to laugh. Yep. There it was. That was Miles Fortune, for sure. And he was utterly adorable. Not to mention swoonworthy.

As if she’d just spoken the thought loud enough for him to hear, he suddenly glanced over and met her gaze. His eyes widened for a split second, as if he were surprised to find himself being watched. Then he smiled, which brought out that luscious dimple again, and lifted his wineglass toward Lanie, as if toasting her. She blushed, but she wasn’t sure whether it was because he’d caught her ogling him, or because he was flirting with her, or because of the errant thoughts that suddenly exploded in her brain. Unable to help herself, though, she smiled back and lifted her own glass of club soda in silent salute.

My brush with fame, she thought. Sharing a smile and a silent toast with Miles Fortune. The sad thing was, even that minuscule contact was enough that it would probably sustain her for the rest of her life. She really did need to get out more and meet people. Male people. Male people who might eventually come to mean more to her than someone with whom to have a good time.

It wasn’t that Lanie was shallow. And it wasn’t that she feared commitment. But her upbringing and lifestyle hadn’t exactly lent themselves to forming long-standing, serious relationships. Not with the opposite sex. Not with anyone, really.

Of course, much of that was probably due to the fact that her father had spent virtually Lanie’s entire life building a political career with his wife at his side, something that had prevented both him and Luanne from being the kind of parents Lanie would have liked them to be. It wasn’t that her parents hadn’t been attentive and affectionate when they were around—they had been. The times Lanie had spent in their company had always been wonderful. Those times had just ended too soon.

So Lanie had never been good at establishing and maintaining sturdy relationships with other people. And she hadn’t exactly been molded into the most responsible, reliable person, either. She’d just never known what it meant to have boundaries. Since no one had ever really said no to her while she was growing up, she had always been one to act on whim. Hey, why not? No one had ever told her she couldn’t.

So when she was five years old and had wanted a kitten, she’d brought one home from a neighbor’s litter and had kept it hidden in her room…until the smell from the closet alerted the housekeeper to the animal’s presence. Well, how was Lanie supposed to know kittens needed a litter box?

And when she was ten and had decided after bedtime one night that she wanted to spend the night with her friend Susan, she’d packed her backpack and crept down the stairs so as not to wake her nanny—her parents, of course, hadn’t been at home—then she’d ridden her bike the two miles to Susan’s house. Well, how was she supposed to know the nanny would be frantic about her disappearance? The woman wasn’t even supposed to know she was gone!

And when she was fifteen and had figured it was time to learn to drive a car, she’d gotten into her daddy’s convertible and started driving. Well, how was she supposed to know how to work a stick shift? Crashing through the garage door that way could have happened to anyone!

Regardless of how often Lanie had found herself in a bind, though, her father had always been there to bail her out of it, one way or another. Either he’d used his money or his influence—or both—and somehow, the problem just always went away. Looking back, Lanie supposed it had just been easier and less time-consuming for her father to do that than to sit down and talk with his daughter and try to help her learn from her mistakes. He was a very busy man, after all. He had a lot of important things to do. And a lot of important places to go. And a lot of important people to meet. He took his obligations very seriously.

Unlike Lanie, who was never serious for a minute. Life was for living, however she wanted to live it. She’d decided a long time ago that she’d just do what she wanted when she wanted to do it, and she’d never be serious for a moment.

Unfortunately, no one tended to take a person like that seriously. So any romantic relationships Lanie had over the years ended up being frivolous. Oh, sure, she always liked the guys she got involved with—one or two of them she’d even loved for a little while—and she always had a good time with them. But that was all those associations ever were—a good time. Of course, some had ended on a sour note when Lanie found out the guy’s only interest in her was as a conduit to her father or her family fortune. But even those guys had been surprisingly easy to get over.

Fun. That was all Lanie had ever wanted out of life. And that was all she ever really looked for. And invariably, in one way or another, she found it.

Now Luanne Meyers caught Lanie’s free hand in her own, bringing her daughter’s attention back around to where she was standing. “There’s someone here tonight who wants to talk to you,” her mother told her, her eyes fairly sparkling with glee, her lips turning up at the ends with just the hint of a secret smile.

Uh-oh, Lanie thought. The last time her mother’s eyes had sparkled like that, it had been because she was about to introduce her daughter to an eighty-two-year-old millionaire rancher who’d just buried his fifth wife.

“Um, who?” Lanie asked warily.

“Oneida Steadmore-Duckworth,” her mother told her, beaming.

Yikes, Lanie thought. Oneida Steadmore-Duckworth was the chairwoman of the annual Women of the Lone Star charity auction. If she wanted to talk to Lanie, it was because she wanted to put her on a committee of some kind. And Lanie had hit her committee quota for the year, thank you very much. Six months ago, as a matter of fact.

“Tell her I’ll be right there,” Lanie said. “I need to go to the ladies’ room first and make myself presentable.”

It was only a small lie, she consoled herself. After three club sodas, she did, without question, need to go to the ladies’ room. And she did doubtless need to make herself presentable, since she’d been pigging out on desserts for the last half hour. And she would certainly be right there—only after Mrs. Steadmore-Duckworth had moved on to another unsuspecting victim.

Before excusing herself from her mother, Lanie stole another glance in the direction of Miles Fortune, only to find that he had disappeared. She scanned the crowd for some sign of him, but he was gone.

Ah, well, she thought. Easy come, easy go.

Scurrying off to the ladies’ room, Lanie took her time seeing to her various needs. Then she tucked a few errant strands of hair back into the topknot and adjusted the shoulder-length tendrils that dangled free. She applied a fresh layer of Rouge Rage to her mouth and dabbed at a smudge of eyeliner beneath her lashes. She tugged her little blue dress back into place and smoothed a hand over the silky, barely there fabric. Then she glanced at her diamond wristwatch and sighed.

Damn. It had only been ten minutes since she’d left her mother. No way would Mrs. Steadmore-Duckworth be put off yet. That woman was tenacious when it came to organizing committees. Now Lanie was going to have to go to the extra trouble of “accidentally” getting lost on her way back to the ballroom.

Exiting the ladies’ room, she veered right when she should have turned left to get back to the ballroom and made her way down a hallway identical to the one she had traveled after leaving the ballroom. Gee, if she wasn’t careful, she really would get lost, she thought. She’d never realized how big this hotel was, or how so many parts of it resembled so many other parts of it. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all….

Miles Fortune couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be dragged to a $100-a-plate fund-raiser where the focal point of the event was dessert. And not normal dessert like apple pie or peach cobbler or chocolate chip cookies, either. Now, had it been a bourbon whiskey tasting, he could understand going to all the trouble and expense. But truffles? Tiramisu? Sorbet? Soufflé? What the hell kind of self-respecting male attended an event where such words were commonplace, without even putting on a disguise and assuming a fake name first?

And why did desserts have such sissy names to begin with? Miles wondered further as he looked around. Even a perfectly good word like punch got ruined at an event like this by having someone put the word fruit in front of it. If he ruled the world, after-dinner fare would have names like Cherry Flamethrower or Coconut Jackhammer or good old-fashioned Rocky Road. Hell, where was a good beer pie when you needed one?

“Miles, you must try the chocolate bombe.”

Yeah, Chocolate Bomb, that’d be a good one, too, he thought. Oh, wait. Evidently, that was one.

He turned to the woman who had just suggested it, Jenny Stovall, who’d been on the planning committee of the event. She was also the woman who’d roped Miles into attending it. Her husband, Dennis, was Governor Meyers’s campaign manager, and a friend of Miles’s from college. Jenny, Miles saw, was busily sampling one of everything she’d been able to get her hands on. But since the normally petite brunette was seven months pregnant with twins, and therefore eating for three, he supposed it wasn’t unexpected that she would have enough food on her plate for six. Or maybe it was just that her serving of chocolate bomb had exploded all over everything else.

“What the hell is a chocolate bomb?” he asked warily, just in case it did have the potential to detonate.

“Not sure,” Jenny said. “Ice cream, though, for certain. And chocolate, of course. This white stuff seems to be whipped cream. Have some. You’ll love it.”

“I’d rather look for the bar,” he said, gazing at his still-full wineglass and thinking that a bourbon whiskey tasting would be pretty good about now. “The real bar, I mean. Not one of the ones they set up for this thing. Those don’t serve what a man likes to drink. Not a Texan, anyway.” No, all those bars had were wine and champagne and stuff in triangular-shaped glasses that were pale, pretty colors Miles didn’t want to get within fifty feet of.

“The real bar is through the far exit,” Jenny told him without breaking stride in her eating, waving her fork airily toward the other side of the room. “To the right and down a ways.”

Miles eyed her suspiciously. “You know, Jenny, it occurs to me that a woman who’s seven months pregnant with twins shouldn’t know where the bar is.”

“Of course she should,” Jenny countered, “when that’s where the closest women’s room is.”

Miles supposed that would mean something to another woman—especially another pregnant woman—and manfully decided not to dwell on it himself. Instead, he took Jenny’s directions to heart, and after making sure she had someone else to talk to, he excused himself and wandered off in that direction. As he went, he found himself scanning the crowd, looking for someone. A female someone, to be precise. A female someone with blond hair twisted onto the top of her head in a way that made a man’s fingers itch to loosen it, and with eyes that were as blue and enormous as her dress was blue and tiny.

He wondered who the young woman was with whom he’d shared an impromptu toast. And he wondered why he was still thinking about her now, a full fifteen minutes after the fact. Out of sight usually meant out of mind for Miles when it came to women. He was a firm believer in the “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with” philosophy. Probably mostly because he’d never been in love. Not a heart-stopping, storybook, ever-after kind of love, anyway. So loving the one he was with was about as good as it got for him.