The Secret Heiress
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Acknowledgements
PRAISE FOR JUDITH GOULD
Dreamboat
“Strong romantic suspense.”—The Best Reviews
“Betrayal, violence, and a shocking conspiracy . . . Dreamboat is romance with a dash of intrigue.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Enthralling . . . ripe with exotic locales and entertaining mystery.”—Romantic Times
The Parisian Affair
“Spine-tingling mystery . . . plenty of shocking surprises.”
—Cosmopolitan
“Fans of the bestselling Gould will enjoy her designer label name-dropping, her lush descriptions of the places rich folk romp, and of course, the . . . sex scenes.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Old-fashioned glitz. Emeralds to die for . . . European settings . . . sex, and scheming bitches by the score.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Will keep readers hooked.”—Booklist
The Greek Villa
“[A] great escapist read, a tale filled with suspense, steamy sex, glamorous clothing, and exotic characters.”—Booklist
“Readers . . . will get plenty of bang for their buck.”
—Publishers Weekly
“An engaging contemporary romance that has a touch of mystery.”—Midwest Book Review
“Wonderful twists and turns. . . . Devour a bite at a time to truly enjoy and experience . . . an outstanding work.”
—A Romance Review
The Best Is Yet to Come
“An exciting relationship drama. . . . Readers will take pleasure from Judith Gould’s inspirational tale.”
—Midwest Book Review
“[A] page-turning plot and deliciously evil villains. A delight.” —Publishers Weekly
“A fun, glitzy summer read filled with titillating sex and tidbits about upper-crust Manhattan, the trademarks that delight Gould’s many avid fans.”—Booklist
“Another of Judith Gould’s surefire pleasers.”
—The Sanford Herald (NC)
A Moment in Time
“Gould’s steamy tale about the lives of the rich and troubled is perfect for a read on the beach.”—Booklist
“Gould applies complex characters, steamy sex scenes, and a fast-moving plot to a popular premise. A modern-day Beauty and the Beast . . . sure to please her many fans.”
—Affaire de Coeur
Time to Say Good-Bye A People Beach Book of the Week
“Tugs seriously at your heart. . . . Fueled by a speedy . . . plot, delicious Dynasty-style details, and some lusty sex scenes that will surprise—perhaps even shock—the earthiest of readers, this yarn delivers.”—People
Rhapsody
“Cavort across the continents . . . with Gould’s diverting tale.”—BookPage
Till the End of Time
“This novel has all the right components: romance, a beautiful setting, deceit, and strong-willed, independent characters.” —Booklist
Second Love
“Whisks from scandal to scheme, piling on the suspense.”
—Publishers Weekly
Too Damn Rich
“A wedding of Krantz and Sheldon. Judith Gould is a master.” —Kirkus Reviews
Forever
“Mouthwatering . . . just the thing to chase away the blues.”
—Chicago Tribune
Never Too Rich
“A romp . . . a smash success.”—New York Daily News
NOVELS BY JUDITH GOULD
Sins
Love-Makers
Dazzle
Never Too Rich
Texas Born
Forever
Too Damn Rich
Second Love
Till the End of Time
Rhapsody
Time to Say Good-Bye
A Moment in Time
The Best Is Yet to Come
The Greek Villa
The Parisian Affair
Dreamboat
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Copyright © Judith Gould, Inc., 2006
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To the one I love
And, after all, what is a lie? ’Tis but
The truth in masquerade.
Don Juan, CANTO XI
GEORGE NOEL GORDON
(LORD BYRON), 1788-1824
Prologue
January 1994 On the island of Hydra, Greece
When she was suddenly awakened by her mother, she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes with small fists. “What is it, Mama?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
“Don’t ask questions now, Ariadne,” her mother said sternly. “We must hurry.”
“But what—?”
“No buts, Ariadne,” Maria said, pulling the bedcovers off her daughter and shoving them aside. “You must get up now. Quickly.”
Her mother had turned on the lamp at her bedside, and in its small pool of light Ariadne could see that her mother’s eyes were red and swollen. She had been crying. “What’s wrong, Mama?” she asked worriedly. “Why are you crying?”
Her father’s voice came from out of the darkness at the doorway to the tiny bedroom. “Your mama is fine, Ariadne,” he said. “Do as she says and hurry. We’re going on a trip.” She heard his footsteps as he marched back into the front room.
A trip? Ariadne wondered what he was talking about. Maybe it was for her birthday, she thought. Tomorrow she would be ten years old.
“Here,” her mother said, gesturing to Sunday clothes she placed on the bed. “Put these on.”
Ariadne pulled off her nightgown and dutifully began dressing, watching as her mother opened the drawers in the old pine chest and began emptying their contents into a small piece of luggage. Sweaters, shirts, underwear, socks—all of Ariadne’s clothing in the drawers—went into the suitcase. Before she had tied the laces of her sneakers, her mother had taken the few things hanging in the battered armoire and placed them atop the clothing that already nearly filled the suitcase. Flipping the top down, she struggled with the zipper but finally managed to bring it all the way around.
When she was finished, she sat down on the bed and turned to Ariadne. In her hand was a long black scarf. She placed it on Ariadne’s head, then wrapped its ends around her neck. It was so low on her forehead and high on her chin that it obscured everything but the child’s eyes. Putting a hand on each of her daughter’s shoulders, she gazed at Ariadne with an anguished expression, then slid her arms around her and hugged her tightly.
“You were a gift from God,” she said in a sorrowful voice. “You know that, and you know that we have loved you more than anything in the world, don’t you, Ariadne?”
“Yes, Mama,” the child said, nodding her head. Ariadne knew that Mama and Papa weren’t her real parents. They had told her many times that she had been given to them, but they never failed to tell her that they loved her all the more for that reason. They were unable to have children, Maria had confided, but God had given them Ariadne. About her birth parents they had always been vague.
Suddenly Maria drew back with a look of panic. She quickly unraveled Ariadne’s scarf from around her neck and felt for the gold chain that was supposed to be there. She sighed with relief when her hand grasped it, and she pulled it out from beneath Ariadne’s sweater.
Holding it in her palm, she gazed down at it reverently. It was a Byzantine gold cross, encrusted with small rubies and blue sapphires. Looking up into her daughter’s eyes, she said, “You must never lose this, Ariadne. Promise me that.”
Ariadne shook her head. “I won’t, Mama.”
Maria quickly tucked it back beneath the child’s sweater, then arranged the scarf about her neck again. “Put your coat on.”
Ariadne shrugged into the puffy parka that lay on the bed, and zipped it up.
“Let’s go,” Maria said, taking the child’s hand in hers and picking up the suitcase with the other.
“Where?” Ariadne asked, hurrying to keep up with her mother’s pace.
“Papa will tell you about it,” Maria replied.
In the small front room of the cottage, Thrassos sat at the well-scrubbed wooden table in the middle of the room. At this table they ate all of their meals, Ariadne did her schoolwork, and her mother sewed. The hanging lamp over the table was lit, and in the pool of light it cast on the tabletop, Ariadne saw a bottle of ouzo—the pretty one with the ballerina on it—and a small glass of the clear liquid. Her papa hadn’t put ice in it, so it hadn’t become a milky cloud. As she watched, he hoisted the glass and downed its contents in one swallow. He set the glass back down on the table with a resounding bang, then rose to his feet.
“Are you ready?” he asked, glancing at her, then quickly averting his gaze.
“She’s ready,” Maria said.
“Let’s go, then,” he said. Taking the suitcase from his wife, he went to the front door and pulled it open.
Maria grabbed Ariadne and hugged her tightly. “I love you,” she said, tears beginning to flow from her eyes. “Remember that, Ariadne. I love you. I love you more than anything in the world.”
Ariadne found her mother’s tears disturbing, but before she could ask her why she was crying or offer her mama consolation, Thrassos said, “Come on, Ariadne. We must hurry. Someone is waiting for us.”
Her mother released her and pushed Ariadne toward the doorway, but Maria remained standing where she was, unwilling to take another step in that direction.
Thrassos took his daughter’s hand and, without a backward glance toward his wife, led Ariadne out the doorway, slamming the door shut behind him.
The small walled-in yard in front of the cottage was lit by an old-fashioned lantern next to the door, and Ariadne saw that the ancient, gnarled fig tree cast eerie shadows on the wall. They quickly crossed the yard toward the gap in the wall that led out to a stony dirt path. The track, carved out over the years by donkeys, served as the only way to and from their remote cottage.
“Where are we going, Papa?” Ariadne asked again. But before Thrassos could answer, she heard a weird, frightening sound like nothing she’d ever heard before. It was coming from the top of the nearby hill. As her father hurriedly pulled her along beside him, steadily going uphill, the sound became louder and louder. Rounding a bend in the path, Ariadne saw that all the scrub and the wild sage and thyme were being blown nearly flat against the rocky ground by a powerful downwind.
She stopped short, pulling on her father’s hand. “What is it, Papa?” she asked, her eyes wide with fright.
“A helicopter, Ariadne,” he said. “We’re going for a ride on it. It’ll be fun. Now, come on.”
She had little idea what a helicopter was, but she trusted her father. Ariadne let herself be guided on up the hill toward the awful sound and wind. Near the top, she saw the scary machine, illuminated by the powerful lights mounted on its exterior. It looked like a giant insect to Ariadne, and she clasped her father’s hand in fear. The blades that turned above it were terrifying. She didn’t want to go any farther. When she stopped, though, he ignored her protest, jerking her after him.
“There’s no time to waste, Ariadne,” he said in a no-nonsense voice.
When they drew near the helicopter, the dust thrown up by the rotors made a cloud around them. Thrassos bent down and hugged Ariadne close. “Cover your face with your hands,” he yelled over the sound, “and stay next to me. We’re going aboard now.”
“I’m scared, Papa,” she cried.
“There’s nothing to be scared of if you stay next to me, Ariadne,” he said. “We will hurry.” He put an arm over her shoulders and propelled her alongside him, ducking his head. When they reached the steps, he rushed her up them and into the chopper. The two men sitting at the controls turned to look at them.
“Stash the suitcase in the net,” the captain yelled, pointing aft, behind the two passenger seats. “Then buckle yourselves in.” The copilot got out of his seat and pressed a button next to the cabin do
or opening. The steps automatically retracted into an upright position, bringing the cabin door with them.
“Sit,” Thrassos said to Ariadne, and she slid into one of the small, upholstered seats. He quickly secured the suitcase in the net that was attached to the cabin’s fuselage, then sat next to her. “Here,” he said, grasping both ends of her seat belt, “be still while I tighten this.” After he had secured her seat belt, he put on his own.
“Ready?” asked the captain.
Thrassos nodded.
The captain gave a thumbs-up signal and turned back to the controls. “We’re taking off,” he called.
Thrassos took Ariadne’s hand and held it tightly. “This will be fun, Ariadne,” he said, trying to reassure her.
“Where are we going, Papa?” she asked again.
“You’ll see,” he responded, smiling. “It’s a surprise.”
The helicopter slowly lifted into the air, and Ariadne gasped as it abruptly pitched forward. Her father put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
When they were cruising at a steady speed, Ariadne ventured a look out the porthole next to her. At first she saw nothing but blackness, but in the distance she soon noticed small clumps of lights twinkling on various islands. Occasionally, larger areas of light indicated populous villages or towns.
They had been airborne for less than thirty minutes when she felt her eyes growing weary. The excitement of being wakened in the middle of the night and the ride in the helicopter proved exhausting. Ariadne fell into a deep sleep, her head against her father’s chest.