Czytaj książkę: «Treasured»

1

It had been one of those Friday-night gallery receptions that made Kathleen Dugan wonder if she’d been wrong not to take a job teaching art in the local school system. Maybe putting finger paints in the hands of five-year-old kids would be more rewarding than trying to introduce the bold, vibrant works of an amazingly talented young artist to people who preferred bland and insipid.

Of course, it hadn’t helped that Boris Ostronovich spoke little English and took the temperamental-artist stereotype to new heights. He’d been sulking in a corner for the last two hours, a glass of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The cigarette had remained unlit only because Kathleen had threatened to close the show if he lit it up in direct defiance of fire codes, no-smoking policies and a whole list of personal objections.

All in all, the evening had pretty much been a disaster. Kathleen was willing to take responsibility for that. She hadn’t gauged correctly just how important it was for the artist to mingle and make small talk. She’d thought Boris’s work would sell itself. She’d discovered, instead, that people on the fence about a purchase were inclined to pass when they hadn’t exchanged so much as a civil word with the artist. In another minute or two, when the few remaining guests had cleared out of her gallery, Kathleen was inclined to join Boris in a good, old-fashioned, well-deserved funk. She might even have a couple of burning shots of straight vodka, assuming there was any left by then.

“Bad night, dear?”

Kathleen turned to find Destiny Carlton regarding her with sympathy. Destiny was not only an artist herself, she was a regular at Kathleen’s gallery in historic Old Town Alexandria, Virginia. Kathleen had been trying to wheedle a few of Destiny’s more recent paintings from her to sell, but so far Destiny had resisted all of her overtures.

Destiny considered herself a patron of the arts these days, not a painter. She said she merely dabbled on those increasingly rare occasions when she picked up a brush at all. She was adamant that she hadn’t done any work worthy of a showing since she’d closed her studio in the south of France over two decades ago.

Despite her disappointment, Kathleen considered Destiny to be a good friend. She could always be counted on to attend a show, if not to buy. And her understanding of the art world and her contacts had proven invaluable time and again as Kathleen worked to get her galley established.

“The worst,” Kathleen said, something she would never have admitted to anyone else.

“Don’t be discouraged. It happens that way sometimes. Not everyone appreciates genius when they first see it.”

Kathleen immediately brightened. “Then it isn’t just me? Boris’s work really is incredible?”

“Of course,” Destiny said with convincing enthusiasm. “It’s just not to everyone’s taste. He’ll find his audience and do rather well, I suspect. In fact, I was speaking to the paper’s art critic before he left. I think he plans to write something quite positive. You’ll be inundated with sales by this time next week. At the first whiff of a major new discovery, collectors will jump on the bandwagon, including some of those who left here tonight without buying anything.”

Kathleen sighed. “Thank you so much for saying that. I thought for a minute I’d completely lost my touch. Tonight was every gallery owner’s worst nightmare.”

“Only a momentary blip,” Destiny assured her. She glanced toward Boris. “How is he taking it?”

“Since he’s barely said two words all evening, even before the night was officially declared a disaster, it’s hard to tell,” Kathleen said. “Either he’s pining for his homeland or he had a lousy disposition even before the show. My guess is the latter. Until tonight I had no idea how important the artist’s charm could be.”

Destiny gave her a consoling look. “In the end it won’t matter. In fact, the instant the critics declare Boris a true modern-art genius, all those people he put off tonight will brag to their friends about the night they met the sullen, eccentric artist.”

Kathleen gave Destiny a warm hug. “Thank you so much for staying behind to tell me that.”

“Actually, I lingered till the others had gone because I wanted a moment alone with you.”

“Oh?”

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving, Kathleen? Are you going to Providence to visit your family?”

Kathleen frowned. She’d had a very tense conversation with her wealthy, socialite mother on that very topic earlier in the day, when she’d announced her intention to stay right here in Alexandria. She’d been reminded that all three current generations of Dugans gathered religiously for all major holidays. She’d been told that her absence was an affront to the family, a precursor to the breakdown of tradition. And on and on and on. It had been incredibly tedious and totally expected, which was why she’d put off making the call until this morning. Prudence Dugan was not put off easily, but Kathleen had held her ground for once.

“Actually I’m staying in town,” she told Destiny. “I have a lot of work to catch up on. And I don’t really want to close the gallery for the holiday weekend. I think business could be brisk on Friday and Saturday.”

Destiny beamed at her. “Then I would love it if you would spend Thanksgiving day with my family. We’ll all be at Ben’s farm. It’s lovely in Middleburg this time of year.”

Kathleen regarded her friend suspiciously. While they had become rather well acquainted in recent years, this was the first time Destiny had sought to include her in a family gathering.

“Won’t I be intruding?” she asked.

“Absolutely not. It will be a very low-key dinner for family and a few close friends. And it will give you a chance to see my nephew’s paintings and give me a professional opinion.”

Kathleen’s suspicions mounted. She knew for a fact that Destiny’s eye for art was every bit as good as her own. She also knew that Ben Carlton considered his painting to be little more than a hobby, something he loved to do. In fact, as far as she knew, he’d never sold his work. She suspected there was a good reason for that, that even he knew it wasn’t of the caliber needed to make a splash in the art world.

Every article she’d ever read about the three Carlton men had said very little about the reclusive youngest brother. Ben stayed out of the spotlight, which shone on businessman and politician Richard Carlton and football great Mack Carlton. There were rumors of a tragic love affair that had sent Ben into hiding, but none of those rumors had ever been publicly confirmed. However, brooding was the adjective that was most often applied whenever his name was mentioned.

“Is he thinking of selling his works?” Kathleen asked carefully, trying to figure out just what her friend was up to. Being first in line for a chance to show them would, indeed, be a major coup. There was bound to be a lot of curiosity about the Carlton who chose to stay out of the public eye, whether his paintings were any good or not.

“Heavens, no,” Destiny said, though there was a hint of dismay in her voice. “He’s very stubborn on that point, but I’d like to persuade him that a talent like his shouldn’t be hidden away in that drafty old barn of a studio out there.”

“And you think I might be able to change his mind when you haven’t succeeded?” Kathleen asked, her skepticism plain. Destiny had lots of practice wheedling million-dollar donations to her pet charities. Surely she could persuade her own nephew that he was talented.

“Perhaps. At the very least, you’ll give him another perspective. He thinks I’m totally biased.”

Never able to resist the chance that she might discover an exciting new talent, Kathleen finally nodded. She assured herself it was because she wanted a glimpse of the work, not the mysterious man. “I’d love to come for Thanksgiving. Where and when?”

Destiny beamed at her. “I’ll send over directions and the details first thing in the morning.” She headed for the door, looking oddly smug. “Oh, and wear that bright red silk tunic of yours, the one you had on at the Carlucci show. You looked stunning that night.”

Destiny was gone before Kathleen could think of a response, but the comment had set off alarm bells. Everyone in certain social circles in the Washington Metropolitan region knew about Destiny’s matchmaking schemes. While her behind-the-scenes plots had never made their way into the engagement or wedding announcements for Richard or Mack, they were hot gossip among the well-connected. And everyone was waiting to see what she would do to see Ben take the walk down the aisle.

Kathleen stared after her. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she whispered to Destiny’s retreating back. “I am not looking for a husband, especially not some wounded, artistic type.”

It was a type she knew all too well. It was the type she’d married, fought with and divorced. And while that had made her eminently qualified to run an art gallery and cope with artistic temperament, it had also strengthened her resolve never, ever, to be swept off her feet by another artist.

Tim Radnor had been kind and sensitive when they’d first met. He’d adored Kathleen, claiming she was his muse. But when his work faltered, she’d discovered that he had a cruel streak. There had been flashes of temper and stormy torrents of hurtful words. He’d never laid a hand on her, but his verbal abuse had been just as intolerable. Her marriage had been over within months. Healing had taken much longer.

As a result of that tumultuous marriage, she could deal with the craziness when it came to business, but not when it affected her heart.

If romance was on Destiny’s mind, she was doomed to disappointment, Kathleen thought, already steeling her resolve. Ben Carlton could be the sexiest, most charming and most talented artist on the planet and it wouldn’t matter. She would remain immune, because she knew all too well the dark side of an artistic temperament.

Firm words. Powerful resolve. She had ’em both. But just in case, Kathleen gazed skyward. “Help me out here, okay?”

“Is trouble?” a deep male voice asked quizzically.

Kathleen jumped. She’d forgotten all about Boris. Turning, she faced him and forced a smile. “No trouble, Boris. None at all.” She would see to it.

* * *

Only a faint, pale hint of sunlight streamed across the canvas, but Ben Carlton was hardly aware that night was falling. It was like this when a painting was nearing completion. All he could see was what was in front of his eyes, the layers of color, the image slowly unfolding, capturing a moment in time, an impression he was terrified would be lost if he let it go before the last stroke was done. When natural light faded, he automatically adjusted the artificial light without really thinking about it.

“I should have known,” a faintly exasperated female voice said, cutting through the silence.

He blinked at the interruption. No one came to his studio when he was working, not without risking his wrath. It was the one rule in a family that tended to defy rules.

“Go away,” he muttered, his own impatience as evident as the annoyance in his aunt’s voice.

“I most certainly will not go away,” Destiny said. “Have you forgotten what day this is? What time it is?”

He struggled to hold on to the image in his head, but it fluttered like a snapshot caught by a breeze, then vanished. He sighed, then slowly turned to face his aunt.

“It’s Thursday,” he said to prove that he was not as oblivious as she’d assumed.

Destiny Carlton gave him a look filled with tolerant amusement. “Any particular Thursday?”

Ben dragged a hand through his hair and tried to remember what might be the least bit special about this particular Thursday. He was not the kind of man who paid attention to details, unless they were the sort of details going into one of his paintings. Then he could remember every nuance of light and texture.

“A holiday,” she hinted. “One when the entire family gathers together to give thanks, a family that is currently waiting for their host while the turkey gets cold and the rolls burn.”

“Aw, hell,” he muttered. “I forgot all about Thanksgiving. Everyone’s here already?”

“They have been for some time. Your brothers threatened to eat every bite of the holiday feast and leave you nothing, but I convinced them to let me try to drag you away from your painting.” She stepped closer and eyed the canvas with a critical eye. “It’s amazing, Ben. No one captures the beauty of this part of the world the way you do.”

He grinned at the high praise. “Not even you? You taught me everything I know.”

“When you were eight, I put a brush in your hand and taught you technique. You have the natural talent. It’s extraordinary. I dabbled. You’re a genius.”

“Oh, please,” he said, waving off the praise.

Painting had always given him peace of mind, a sense of control over the chaotic world around him. When his parents had died in a plane crash, he’d needed to find something that made sense, something that wouldn’t abandon him. Destiny had bought him his first set of paints, taken him with her to a sidewalk near the family home on a charming, shaded street in Old Town Alexandria and told him to paint what he saw.

That first crude attempt still hung in the old town house where she continued to live alone now that he and his brothers had moved on with their lives. She insisted it was her most prized possession because it showed the promise of what he could become. She’d squirreled away some of Richard’s early business plans and Mack’s football trophies for the same reason. Destiny could be cool and calculating when necessary, but for the most part she was ruled by sentiment.

Richard had been clever with money and business. Mack was athletic. Ben had felt neither an interest in the family company nor in sports. Even when his parents were alive, he’d felt desperately alone, a sensitive misfit in a family of achievers. The day Destiny had handed him those paints, his aunt had given him a sense of pride and purpose. She’d told him that, like her, he brought another dimension to the well-respected family name and that he was never to dismiss the importance of what he could do that the others couldn’t. After that, it had been easier to take his brothers’ teasing and to dish out a fair amount of his own. He imagined he was going to be in for a ton of it this evening for missing his own party.

Having the holiday dinner at his place in the country had been Destiny’s idea. Ben didn’t entertain. He knew his way around a kitchen well enough to keep from starving, but certainly not well enough to foist what he cooked on to unsuspecting company. Destiny had dismissed every objection and arrived three days ago to take charge, bringing along the family’s longtime housekeeper to clean and to prepare the meal.

If anyone else had tried taking over his life that way, Ben would have rebelled, but he owed his aunt too much. Besides, she understood his need for solitude better than anyone. Ever since Graciela’s death, Ben had immersed himself in his art. The canvas and paints didn’t make judgments. They didn’t place blame. He could control them, as he couldn’t control his own thoughts or his own sense of guilt over Graciela’s accident on that awful night three years ago.

But if Destiny understood all that, she also seemed to know instinctively when he’d buried himself in his work for too long. That’s when she’d dream up some excuse to take him away from his studio and draw him back into the real world. Tonight’s holiday celebration was meant to be one of those occasions. Her one slipup had been not reminding him this morning that today was the day company was coming.

“Give me ten minutes,” he told her now. “I’ll clean up.”

“Too late for that. Melanie is pregnant and starving. She’ll eat the flower arrangement if we don’t offer an alternative soon. Besides, the company is beginning to wonder if we’ve just taken over some stranger’s house. They need to meet you. You’ll make up in charm what you lack in sartorial splendor.”

“I have paint on my clothes,” he protested, then gave her a hard look as what she’d said finally sank in. “Company? You mean besides Richard and Mack and their wives? Did you say anything about company when you badgered me into having Thanksgiving here?”

“I’m sure I did,” she said blithely.

She hadn’t, and they both knew it, which meant she was scheming about something more than relieving his solitude. When they reached the house, Ben immediately understood what she was up to.

“And, darling, this is Kathleen Dugan,” Destiny said, after introducing several other strangers who were part of the rag-tag group of people Destiny had collected because she knew they had no place else to spend the holiday. There was little question, judging from her tone, that this Kathleen was the pièce de résistance.

He gave his aunt a sharp look. Kathleen was young, beautiful and here alone, which suggested she was available. He’d known for some time now—since Mack’s recent wedding, in fact—that Destiny had targeted him for her next matchmaking scheme. Here was his proof—a woman with a fringe of black hair in a pixie cut that emphasized her cheekbones and her amazing violet eyes. There wasn’t an artist on earth who wouldn’t want to capture that interesting, angular face on canvas. Not that Ben ever did portraits, but even he was tempted to break his hard-and-fast rule. She was stunning in a red silk tunic that skimmed over a slender figure. She wore it over black pants and accented it with a necklace of chunky beads in gold and red. The look was elegant and just a touch avant-garde.

“Lovely to meet you,” Kathleen said with a soft smile that showed no hint of the awkwardness Ben was feeling. Clearly she hadn’t caught on to the scheme yet.

Ben nodded. He politely shook her hand, felt a startling jolt of awareness, then took another look into her eyes to see if she’d felt the same little zing. She showed no evidence of it, thank heavens.

“If you’ll excuse my totally inappropriate attire,” Ben said, quickly turning away from her and addressing the others, “I gather dinner is ready to be served.”

“We’ve time for another drink,” Destiny insisted, apparently no longer worried about the delayed meal. “Richard, bring your brother something. He can spend at least a few minutes socializing before we sit down to eat.”

Ben frowned at her. “I thought we were in a rush.”

“Only to drag you in here,” his very pregnant sister-in-law said as she came and linked an arm through his, drawing him out of the spotlight, even as she whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t you know that you’re the main attraction?”

He gave Melanie a sharp look. They’d formed a bond back when Richard had been fighting his attraction to her. Ben trusted her instincts. He wanted to hear her take on this gathering. “Oh?”

“You never come out of this lair of yours,” Melanie explained. “When Destiny invited us here, we figured something was up.”

“Oh?” he said again, waiting to see if she’d drawn the same conclusion about Kathleen’s presence here that he had. “Such as?”

Melanie studied him intently. “You really don’t know what Destiny is up to? You’re as much in the dark as the rest of us?”

Ben glanced toward Kathleen, then. “Not as much as you might think,” he said with a faint scowl.

Melanie gave the newcomer a knowing look. “Ah, so that’s it. I wondered when Kathleen arrived if she was the chosen one. I figured it was going to be your turn soon. Destiny won’t be entirely happy until all of her men are settled.”

“I hope you’re wrong about that,” Ben said darkly. “I’d hate to disappoint her, but I am settled.”

Richard overheard him and chuckled. “Oh, bro, if that’s what you think, you’re delusional.” He, too, glanced toward Kathleen, whose head was tilted as she listened intently to something Destiny was saying. “I give you till May.”

“June,” Mack chimed in. “Destiny’s been moping because none of us had a traditional June wedding. You’re all she’s got left, little brother. She won’t allow you to let her down. I caught her out in the garden earlier. I think she was mentally seating the guests and envisioning the perfect area for the reception.”

Ben shuddered. Richard and Mack had once been as fiercely adamant about not getting married as he was. Look at the two of them now. Richard even had a baby on the way, and Mack and Beth were talking about adopting one of the sick kids she worked with at the hospital. Maybe more. To his astonishment, those two seemed destined for a houseful. By this time next year, there would be the cries of children filling this house and any other place the Carlton family gathered. No one needed him adding to the clutter. He doubted Destiny saw it that way, though.

There were very few things that Ben wouldn’t do for his aunt. Getting married was one of them. He liked his solitude. After the chaotic upheaval of his early years, he counted on the predictability of his quiet life in the country. Graciela had given him a reprieve from that, but then she, too, had died, and it had reinforced his commitment to go through life with his heart under the tightest possible wraps. Those who wrote that he was prone to dark moods and eccentricities had gotten it exactly right. There would be no more nicks in his armor, no more devastating pain to endure.

His resolve steady and sure, he risked another look at Kathleen Dugan, then belatedly saw the smug expression on his aunt’s face when she caught him.

Ben sighed, then stood a little straighter, stiffening his spine, giving Destiny a daunting look. She didn’t bat so much as an eyelash. That was the trouble with his aunt. She rarely took no for an answer. She was persuasive and sneaky. If he didn’t take a firm stand right here, right now, he was doomed.

Unfortunately, though, he couldn’t think of a single way to make his position clear over turkey and dressing.

He could always say, “So glad you could come, Kathleen, but don’t get any ideas.”

Or, “Delighted to meet you, Ms. Dugan, but ignore every word out of my aunt’s mouth. She’s devious and clever and not to be trusted.”

Or maybe he should simply say nothing at all, just ignore the woman and avoid his aunt. If he could endure the next couple of hours, they’d all be gone and that would be that. He could bar the gates and go back into seclusion.

Perfect, he concluded. That was definitely the way to go. No overt rudeness that would come back to haunt him. No throwing down of the gauntlet. Just passive acceptance of Kathleen’s presence here tonight.

Satisfied with that solution, he turned his attention to the drink Richard had thrust in his hand. A sniff reassured him it was nonalcoholic. He hadn’t touched a drop of anything stronger than beer since the night of Graciela’s accident.

“Darling,” Destiny said, her gaze on him as she crossed the room, Kathleen at her side. “Did I mention earlier that Kathleen owns an art gallery?”

Next to him Melanie choked back a laugh. Richard and Mack smirked. Ben wanted nothing more than to pummel his brothers for getting so much enjoyment out of his discomfort at his aunt’s obvious ploy. Kathleen was her handpicked choice for him, all right. There was no longer any question about that.

“Really?” he said tightly.

“She has the most amazing work on display there now,” Destiny continued blithely. “You should stop by and take a look.”

Ben cast a helpless look in Kathleen’s direction. She now looked every bit as uncomfortable as he felt. “Maybe I will one of these days.” When hell freezes over, he thought even as he muttered the polite words.

“I’d love to have your opinion,” Kathleen said gamely.

“My opinion’s not worth much,” Ben said. “Destiny’s the family expert.”

Kathleen held his gaze. “But most artists have an eye for recognizing talent,” she argued.

Ben barely contained a sigh. Surely Kathleen was smart enough not to fall into his aunt’s trap. He wanted to warn her to run for her life, to skip the turkey, the dressing and the pumpkin pie and head back to Alexandria as quickly as possible and bar the door of her gallery from anyone named Carlton. He was tempted to point to Melanie and Beth and explain how they’d unwittingly fallen in with his aunt’s schemes, but he doubted his sisters-in-law would appreciate the suggestion that their marriages were anything other than heaven-sent. They both seemed to have revised history to their liking after the wedding ceremonies.

Instead he merely said, “I’m not an artist.”

“Of course you are,” Destiny declared indignantly. “An exceptionally talented one at that. Why would you say such a thing, Ben?”

To get out of being drawn any further into this web, he very nearly shouted. He looked his aunt in the eye. “Are you an artist?”

“Not anymore,” she said at once.

“Because you no longer paint?” he pressed.

Destiny frowned at him. “I still dabble.”

“Then it must be because you don’t show or sell your work,” he said. “Is that why you’re no longer an artist?”

“Yes,” she said at once. “That’s it exactly.”

He gave Destiny a triumphant look. “Neither do I. No shows. No sales. I dabble.” He found himself winking at Kathleen. “I guess we can forget about me offering a professional opinion on your current show.”