Meant To Marry. Robyn Donald
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out. In her hand lay a tiny portrait in a frame. Anet gasped as she stared down at the delicate little countenance some eighteenth-century artist had painted on ivory.
Luminous, glowing, a very young woman looked out at the world with solemn blue eyes set in a sweetly imperious face. The features were fine yet not weak, and a squareness to the jaw hinted at an interesting personality.
‘Intriguing presents you give one another.’ Lucas’s voice was noncommittal.
Her brows meeting, Anet looked at the back. A tiny clip held a flap in place. With extreme care she turned it over so that once more she could see the painted face. ‘It’s valuable, isn’t it?’
‘If it’s genuine—and although I’m no expert it certainly looks that way—then yes, it’s quite valuable. And very beautiful.’
It was obvious that he thought the second attribute more important than the first.
‘There must be some mistake,’ Anet said slowly. ‘Olivia wouldn’t give me anything like this. It looks like a family heirloom.’
‘She told me to look after it and said you’d probably protest but to ignore you. She means you to have it.’
The young woman gazed serenely back at Anet. ‘Her expression seems to change,’ she said, before she realised how stupid such a remark was.
‘May I have a look?’ Lucas asked, and came over to sit beside her.
Silently she handed the portrait to him, watching as the lean fingers deftly took the dainty thing. Her stomach jumped.
‘I wonder who painted it,’ he said. ‘He was a master, whoever he was.’
She said, ‘It could have been a woman.’
‘Do you think so?’ The tip of a lean forefinger almost touched the surface, moved a fraction of an inch above it to trace the small mouth. Thick black lashes almost hid the enigmatic blue-green of his eyes.
Once again Anet felt a swift wrench inside her, as though some fundamental force had altered her cellular structure, transforming her. She swallowed, held captive by the masculine strength of his finger against the soft pink and whiteness of the unknown woman’s face.
He said, ‘I think it was painted by her lover.’
Fortunately Scott strolled back into the room. ‘All OK,’ he said. ‘Hello, what’s this?’
‘Olivia sent it to me,’ Anet said woodenly.
Her nerves were tautly stretched. Yet nothing had happened. She had watched Lucas almost touch a painting, that was all. Her gaze fell on the portrait. Strange that she hadn’t noticed the sympathy in the painted smile, or the tinge of smugness.
Lord, she thought, I’m losing my mind!
It was essential that she regain command of the situation. Saying quickly, ‘I think I’d better ring Olivia and find out who this mysterious woman is!’ she held out her hand.
Lucas didn’t respond immediately; instead he looked at her with a hooded, elemental challenge that chilled her right through.
Then he smiled, irony and mockery nicely blended. Her outstretched hand shook slightly but she kept it extended. ‘I’ll take it with me,’ she said lightly.
‘If it’s valuable,’ Scott observed in a blessedly normal voice, ‘we really should put it in a safety deposit box at the bank. There’s no crime to speak of on Fala’isi, but just in case...’
Lucas put the portrait into her hand, his fingers brushing hers. Her skin seemed to have become thinner; she almost recoiled as sensation leapt from nerve-end to nerve-end through her body, setting it on fire.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’
Fala‘isi and New Zealand were in the same time zone, so she got Olivia as she was preparing for dinner. ‘I was just going to ring you!’ she said, her voice golden with affection. ‘Happy birthday!’
‘Thank you. It’s been a super one so far.’ And then she stopped, because how could she tell Olivia that she didn’t feel comfortable about accepting her gift?
But of course Olivia knew. With a little laugh she said, ‘You think the portrait is too much.’
Thankfully, Anet took a deep breath and said, ‘Olivia, it’s absolutely beautiful and I love it, but I can’t keep it. You must see that—even I can tell it’s valuable.’
Olivia said warmly, ‘I don’t know whether it’s genuine or not, but it’s yours.’
‘I can’t accept it,’ Anet protested. ‘Olivia, does Drake—?’
‘Agree? Of course he does. Truly, Anet, I haven’t lost my mind. She’s not a family heirloom. She’s a—a good luck charm, I suppose you could call her.’
‘Whatever, you must see that it’s impossible for me to even think of—’
On an odd wry note, Olivia said, ‘I don’t know that you’ve got any choice, my dear. I think she knows where she wants to be.’
Anet’s head came up. A shade brusquely she asked, ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Relax, relax. I’m not hinting at witchcraft or the occult. The lady is very determined, that’s all. Anet, why not just keep her while you’re in Fala’isi? If you really don’t want her you can return her to me when you come back. All right?’
It wasn’t all right, but Anet knew that she couldn’t say so. Trying to banish the reluctance from her tone, she said, ‘Yes, of course. And—thank you, Olivia.’
‘Think of her as a temporary visitor,’ Olivia said, laughter and a kind of understanding texturing her words. ‘What do you think of Lucas Tremaine?’
‘Overwhelming,’ Anet returned drily.
‘Isn’t he just!’
Anet said, ‘He’s coming out to dinner with Scott and me tonight.’
‘He’s an interesting man,’ Olivia said. ‘I like him. So does Drake. He met him in San Rafael—Drake spent some time working in the mines there. He was delighted to see him again.’
“‘Interesting” describes Lucas exactly,’ Anet said, hoping she didn’t sound as ambivalent as she felt. ‘Olivia—’
‘Have a wonderful night, Anet, and I hope this year is better than any other you’ve ever lived through. Yes, all right,’ she said to someone else in the room, turning back to confide, ‘I have to go now. Phillips has prepared a new dish and he’s rather worried about it. I had to promise that Drake and I would be at the table dead on time!’
‘Is Simon not at home?’ Simon was Olivia’s much younger half-brother, who lived with the Arundells.
‘He’s staying with a friend. Come and see us when you get back, Anet. All right, Phillips...’
The Arundells’ manservant, housekeeper, nanny and good friend combined, a middle-aged man called simply Phillips, was a domestic tyrant who ruled the house with a rod of iron—especially when Olivia was pregnant, as she was now for the third time. Olivia and Drake hoped for a daughter to round off their family—‘Although if it’s another boy,’ Olivia had said placidly the last time Anet had seen her, ‘I’ll be perfectly happy. I like my boys.’
Anet was smiling as she hung up, but the smile faded as her eyes fell on the miniature. Tranquilly the small, exquisitely painted face gazed back at her.
‘Young as you are, I think Olivia was right. You look to me,’ Anet said, rewrapping her carefully, ‘like someone to be reckoned with. I don’t think you’d like the tropics—you’re a Gainsborough lady, not a Gauguin. If Olivia’s baby is a girl, I’ll give you to her as a christening present.’
And