Millionaires' Destinies(153)

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.”

A grin tugged at the corners of Kathleen’s mouth. “Clever,” she praised.

“Too clever for his own good,” Destiny muttered.

“Uh-oh,” Mack murmured, grinning broadly. “You’ve done it now, Ben. Destiny’s on the warpath. You’re doomed.”

Funny, Ben thought, glancing around the room at the sea of amused expressions, that was the same conclusion he’d reached about an hour ago. He should have quit back then and saved himself the aggravation.





Chapter Two


Kathleen felt as if the undercurrents swirling around Ben Carlton’s living room were about to drag her under. Every single suspicion she’d had about the real reason she’d been invited tonight was being confirmed with every subtle dig, every dark look between Ben and his aunt. Even his brothers and sisters-in-law seemed to be in on the game and were enjoying it thoroughly. In fact, she was the only one who didn’t seem to get the rules. If she could have fled without appearing unbearably rude, she might have.

“Would you like to freshen up before dinner?” Beth Carlton asked, regarding her with sympathy.

If it meant escaping from this room, Kathleen would have agreed to join a trek across the still-green fields of winter wheat that stretched as far as the eye could see.

“Yes, please,” she said gratefully.

“I’ll show you where the powder room is,” Beth said.