A Golden Betrayal

by Barbara Dunlop

  “If you were sending someone a bomb, wouldn’t you wrap it as a present?”

  “I don’t think it’s big enough to be a bomb.”

  Ann frowned at her friend. “Based on your many years of explosive and demolitions training?”

  “Based on watching many movies of the week.” Darby leaned down. “It’s not ticking.”

  “Don’t touch it,” Ann warned.

  “Oh, good grief.” Darby picked up the package and shook it.

  Ann reflexively jumped back.

  “It barely weighs a thing,” said Darby.

  “I’m sure there are such things as microbombs.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Darby pulled on the ribbon. It came untied, and the bow fell off with it.

  “This is a bad idea,” said Ann.

  “Maybe it was him,” Darby returned, sliding her fingernail under the tape.

  “Raif? No. I was sitting in here with Rutherford after Raif left. It couldn’t have been him.”

  “Who’s Rutherford?”

  “Someone from Waverly’s. Hey, I get to keep my job.”

  “That’s great.” Darby removed the paper, revealing a plain white cardboard box.

  “That’s where I went. To a board meeting. Rutherford made them keep me.”

  “Good for Rutherford. Do you think this is from Rutherford?”

  “Maybe,” Ann allowed slowly. He could have put it there while she was changing her clothes. Maybe it was a congratulations gift. Rutherford had known when they left the apartment that he was likely to succeed in helping her keep her job.

  Darby handed over the box, and Ann accepted it. Reassured that it wasn’t about to explode in her hands, Ann sat down. She lifted the lid, revealing a beautiful white silk fabric. Translucent, it was trimmed with an intricate purple scroll pattern, laced with fine gold thread.

  Lifting it from the box, Ann recognized it as a Rayasian head scarf.

  “How on earth...” she mused in wonder.

  It was the most delicate scarf she had ever seen, and she was fairly certain the jewels sewn into the trim were real.

  “It’s Rayasian,” she explained to Darby. “All the women wear them on their heads. They’re beautiful.”

  “Show me,” Darby encouraged.

  “Why would Rutherford leave a Rayasian scarf?”

  “I’ve been listening all morning,” said Darby. “Nobody else was here. Put it on.”

  Ann was tempted. Kalila had demonstrated how to wear them a few times, and Ann was willing to give it a try.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told Darby, taking the box and the scarf and moving down the hallway to a mirror.

  It took her a few tries, but she got it comfortable halfway back on her head, looped loosely around her neck. The colors suited her, and she smiled.

  Then, when she lifted the empty box, she found an envelope in the bottom. Stomach fluttering in anticipation of an answer, she opened the flap. Inside was a note, written in a scrawling masculine hand, on crisp white paper.

  Ann, remember your first day at Hampton Heights private school? How strange the uniform felt? You learned then, and you know now, you will fit in. You’ll love your new life.

  There was no signature. She flipped the paper over and then checked the envelope, but there was no proof that Rutherford had written the note. Everyone at Waverly’s knew she’d gone to Hampton Heights. But how could he have known how she felt those first days and weeks? And he couldn’t possibly have guessed how she felt about Raif.

  “Ann?” Darby called from the living room, and Ann turned to go back.

  Ten steps later, she came face-to-face with Raif.

  It was hard to know who’d had the bigger shock.

  The smile on his face disappeared, and his complexion paled. “Where did you get that?”

  Ann’s fingers automatically rose to the scarf. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

  He moved closer, his jaw tight. “Where, Ann?”

  “Raif, what’s wrong?”

  Darby sidled sideways toward the door. “I’ll, uh, just step...” She opened the door and left.

  “It can’t be?” Raif rasped, still staring at the scarf in obvious shock.

  “I don’t know where it came from. It was in a box.”

  She didn’t want to upset him. She wanted to marry him. Whoever had written the note was right. Ann loved Raif, and she was willing to turn her life upside down to be with him.

  She could adapt to Rayas. She could learn to be queen. Raif would be there to help her, and so would Kalila. Surely, someone could teach her Rayasian.

  His expression didn’t change.

  “Have you changed your mind?” she asked on a pained whisper.

  His tone turned raw. “I have not changed my mind. My mind is more made up than ever.” He reached out to touch the scarf. “This was my grandmother’s.”

  “Is it a fake?” It had to be a fake.

  Raif shook his head. “It’s the real thing. You’re the real thing.”

  She wordlessly handed Raif the note.

  His eyes stayed locked with hers for a very long time. Then, ever so slowly, he looked at the paper.

  When his gaze came back to her it was soft, his voice softer. “They are right. And I thank them. You are my queen.”

  In that moment, tension, fear and worry evaporated from Ann’s body. She inclined her head. “Your Majesty. I will be honored to marry you.”

  He put a finger to her chin, raising it up. “The queen does not bow. My darling, I will shower you in silks and jewels and love.”

  She tilted her head to meet his kiss. “I only need the love.”

  “You will have it,” he breathed. “Every day of your life.”

  Twelve

  Since Raif had always found it expedient to give people offers they couldn’t refuse, he guaranteed Waverly’s a hefty percentage above their estimate on the Gold Heart if they were quite willing to go to auction before New Year’s. So, December 31st they were hosting the sale.

  They ended up with a dozen bidders for the late afternoon auction, and Raif was forced to pay more than he’d planned. It hadn’t mattered. The Gold Heart wasn’t going anywhere except home to Rayas. The cost had been irrelevant.

  The auction over, everybody seemed to be in the mood to party. The bidders and Waverly’s staff and guests were invited into the auction house’s largest room for an informal dinner. In honor of New Year’s, the walls and ceiling were decorated with balloons, streamers and stylized clocks. The tables were covered in white linen, the china and stemware was blue, and each table had a candle at the center, surrounded by a crystal bowl of blue and silver balls.

  A string quartet played on a raised dais at one end of the room as people made their way to tables.

  A distinguished-looking older man approached Raif.

  “Congratulations,” the man offered, holding out his hand for a surprisingly hearty shake. “Rutherford Waverly.”

  “Raif Khouri,” Raif offered.

  “I know,” Rutherford responded with a smile.

  Raif’s gaze rested on Ann, who was on the opposite side of the room, working like a pro as she chatted with the various employees and guests. She wore a black dress, formfitting and full-length. The sweetheart neckline was made demure by his grandmother’s scarf looped around her neck.

  Since Rutherford had been the only other guest in Ann’s apartment that day, and since Raif had discovered the man had a penchant for meddling—in a positive way—Raif guessed he had to be the one who gave Ann the scarf.

  “How did you get it?” Raif asked Rutherford.

  The man didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’ve lived a long life,” he said simply. “You don’t do that without developing a few contacts.”

  “In Rayas?” Raif asked, letting his skepticism show through.

  “A friend of a friend,” Rutherford responded with a secretive smile.

  “I heard another story about the Tarlington di
amond ring. It seems it was also left with a mysterious note, and it benefited another Waverly-associated couple, Carter McCay and Macy Tarlington. That sealed Carter’s marriage proposal.”

  “Interesting.” Rutherford’s expression remained inscrutable.

  “A long-lost letter from Roark Black’s mother, telling him he was a Waverly? An angel statue that had been lost to Avery Cullen,” Raif probed further.

  Rutherford wasn’t the only one with investigative capacity. Raif had discovered that many of the couples associated with Waverly’s had been the beneficiaries of mysterious happenings that helped their romances. Raif was convinced Rutherford was Waverly’s very own romantic benefactor. He admired the old man for both his caring and his ingenuity.

  “Not everyone can rely on good-luck statues,” said Rutherford.”

  “I owe you my thanks,” said Raif. “Somehow you knew exactly what to tell her.”

  “I’ve watched Ann for many years,” Rutherford responded. “She’s a good girl. She deserves to be happy.”

  “I take it you think I can make her happy.” Raif had wondered many times if taking her away from New York was the best thing for her.

  “You’ve already made her happy,” said Rutherford.

  A waiter passed by, and Rutherford deftly lifted two glasses of champagne from the man’s silver tray, handing one to Raif.

  “Are you going to tell them?” asked Raif, thinking Rutherford deserved credit for his hard work and ingenuity in helping so many couples.

  Rutherford gave him a wink. “Watch this.”

  He strode across the room to step up to the quartet’s raised dais.

  The move had clearly been prearranged. A musician immediately handed Rutherford a microphone, and then the quartet played a loud flourish, gaining everyone’s attention.

  “Good evening,” Rutherford said into the mike.

  There was a round of polite applause for the former chairman of the board.

  “Thank you.” He gave a head bob. “And thank you all for coming out tonight, especially our bidders, and particularly Raif Khouri, our successful bidder. I know I speak for everyone at Waverly’s when I congratulate you on repatriating your statue to Rayas.”

  The crowd turned Raif’s way, offering up another round of applause.

  Raif caught Ann’s gaze, and her smile seemed to warm his entire body. He couldn’t wait to get her back to his hotel suite. No, that wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t wait to get her back to Rayas. He was impatient to introduce her to his people.

  “I know many of you haven’t seen me lately,” Rutherford continued. “But I’ve been close by. I’ve been paying attention. I’ve learned a few things along the way. And, I have to say, I am proud of each and every one of you.”

  The crowd was quiet, obviously curious.

  “Vance and Charlotte,” said Rutherford to Vance Waverly and his former secretary and true love, “I was so pleased to see you work your way through the mystery that was keeping you apart.” He looked to wealthy ranch owner Carter McCay, his arm around Macy, who wore her gorgeous heirloom diamond on her ring finger. “Carter, I’m envious. You have an amazing woman there in Macy. Treasure her.” He moved on to art-expert Marcus Price and the glowingly pregnant Avery. “Marcus and Avery, I know you already know this, but you are blessed. Your own statue is more meaningful to you than all the jewels in the world.”

  Raif could see the moment some of the crowd clued in. Ann was one of the first whose eyes went wide. Few people knew about Marcus and Avery’s angel statue, and those who did immediately realized that Rutherford had to have been behind it.

  Rutherford looked to billionaire Chase Harrington and Vanessa Partridge, the woman who had changed his life. “Chase and Vanessa, your hearts are filled with love for your children. Together, you’re building them a heritage. I’m thrilled to have even the smallest part in that.”

  Vanessa whispered something to Chase, and the man seemed to look at Rutherford in a whole new light.

  Ann moved along the edges of the room toward Raif. He immediately headed to meet her.

  “Roark, you deserve to know your roots, and you deserve your lovely and wonderful wife, Elizabeth. I’m sure you all realize what I’m saying. I love you all dearly, including you, Ann. And I am so very pleased to help launch you into your new life. Whatever you need, Ann. Please know I’m here.”

  Rutherford paused for a second and cleared his throat.

  Ann slipped into Raif’s arms.

  “Did you know he’d done all of it?” she whispered to Raif.

  “I guessed,” said Raif. “Okay, I also sleuthed. What’s the point of having an intelligence service if you’re not going to use it?”

  Raif had learned that Rutherford had suffered a broken heart after falling in love with the daughter of a chief business rival. Though he’d been pulled from the day-to-day running of the company, he continued to care deeply about the company, and to care deeply about those involved in it. He was a true romantic, not wanting anyone else to suffer heartache.

  Ann’s smile was dazzling.

  Rutherford raised his champagne glass. “To all of you. My friends, my family, my colleagues. I’ll be resuming a more active role in Waverly’s, with Vance and Charles’s long-lost son Roark by my side. I’ll miss Ann as she starts her new life as a queen. But I look forward to working with you all.”

  The hear, hears were followed by enthusiastic applause.

  “He’s an incredible man,” Ann said to Raif.

  “You are an incredible woman,” Raif returned, pride tightening his chest. “Your beauty aside, you have skills and talent. Have I mentioned that Rayas has a national artifacts collection? It’s the largest in the region.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Really? Do you think I could work with them?”

  “You’ll be the queen. You can do whatever you want.”

  She sighed and leaned into him, voice going breathy. “I love you, Your Majesty.”

  “Come home with me,” he whispered. “Come home with me right now.”

  “To the hotel?”

  “To Rayas. We’ll fly tonight.” He kissed her temple, lowering his voice. “We’ll make love amongst the stars, and ring in the New Year halfway between your world and mine.”

  “Oh, yes,” she agreed with a satisfied smile.

  Raif put a hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her toward the exit. Most of the attention was still on Rutherford, but a few people wished Ann and Raif good-night as they passed.

  She was happy to leave this way. She’d be back soon—and probably often—and she’d have time to touch base with her colleagues. But, for now, she had a wedding to plan and a brand-new life to start.

  She rested her head on Raif’s shoulder, and his hand tightened on her waist.

  “My love,” he whispered.

  “My life,” she returned in a breath, heart filling with anticipation and desire.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Up Close and Personal by Maureen Child

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  One

  “Laura, I know you’re in there!”

  Ronan Connolly pounded on the brightly painted blue front door a few more times, then paused to listen. Not a sound from inside the house, though he knew too well that Laura was in there
. Hell, he could practically feel her, standing just on the other side of the damned door.

  Bloody hardheaded woman. How had he ever thought that quality attractive? Now that attractive hardheadedness had come back to bite him in the ass.

  Seconds ticked past and there was no sound from within, which only irritated him further. He glanced at the sunshine-yellow Volkswagen parked alongside the house—her car—then glared again at the still-closed front door.

  “You won’t convince me you’re not at home. Your bloody car is parked in the street, Laura.”

  Her voice came then, muffled but clear. “It’s a driveway in America, Ronan. You’re not in Ireland, remember?”

  “More’s the pity.” He scrubbed one hand across his face and rolled his eyes in frustration. If they were in Ireland right now, he’d have half the village of Dunley on his side and he’d bloody well get her to open the damned door.

  “I heard that,” she said. “And feel free to hop onto one of your private planes and go back to Connolly-land anytime you feel like it!”

  If only he could, Ronan thought. But he’d come to California to open an American branch of his business and until Cosain was running as it should, he was going nowhere at all.

  At the moment though, he was tired, on edge and in no mood to be dealing with more females. Especially one with a head as hard as Laura’s.

  He had spent the past six weeks traveling across Europe acting as bodyguard to a sixteen-year-old pop star whose singing was only slightly less annoying than her attitude. Between the girl and her grasping mother, Ronan had been more than ready for the job to end so he could get back to his life. Now that he was back, he’d expected peace. Orderliness. Instead…

  Grinding his teeth together, he took a long moment or two and counted to ten. Then did it a second time. “Whatever the hell you want to call it, Laura, your car is here and so’re you.”

  “I might have been out,” she shouted. “Did you ever think of that? I do have friends, you know.”

  The Connolly temper lifted a couple notches inside him and Ronan was forced to fight it back down.