Page 37 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

Ring for an Heir

Annie West

“You could have excellent medical care in Athens.”

Portia’s gaze shot to his. “Athens?”

Too many half-formed thoughts shot through her brain. Did he want his child born there to get Greek citizenship? Did he want to raise it there without her? Her heart hammered. It was a ridiculous idea. Lex would never try to do such a thing.

But he wasn’t the boy she’d once known, was he? For all their shared memories and passion, he was Lex Tomaras now, a rich man with phenomenal resources at his disposal. A virtual stranger, except in bed.

“Why would I have the baby in Athens?”

He spread his hands and lifted his straight shoulders in a gesture that seemed at once totally Mediterranean and surprisingly enticing.

“It would make sense. If you married me.”

CHAPTER ONE

PORTIASATATthe end of the row, hands folded over the catalogue in her lap as the auctioneer discussed the finer points of the next item in the sale.

Even though she worked here, she felt out of place today at the famous London auction house.

Usually she was in a back room at a desk, dealing with paperwork. It was only occasionally that she helped in reception or brought refreshments into the hushed, refined rooms where experts met clients.

It wasn’t the wealth of the people around her that made her nervous. It was the fact that there were only a few more items until hers.

Her knee jigged up and down until she forced herself to still, drawing a deep breath. But she couldn’t be calm. So much rode on the sale.Ifit sold.

Of course it will sell.

It might not be a ‘significant’ painting, much less a masterpiece, but as the valuer said, there was a market for well-painted English landscapes. She’d get something for it.

Would it be enough?

After years of low-paid jobs, always worrying about money, this was her opportunity. With her hard-won savings, and a decent sale price, she’d take the plunge and get herself that university place she’d worked towards.

A degree in art history was hardly a guarantee of a secure career but Portia knew what she wanted.

Fate could steal all your happiness in a moment. She refused to give up this dream at least. It was the one thing that had kept her going.

Instead of being cowed by heartbreaking loss and her father’s vengeful fury, she’d grown more determined to fight for her dreams. Pursue what she felt passionate about.

Portia grimaced. Passion was something she’d left behind long ago. Except for art. That had brought some solace in the dark times.

So it was fitting that a painting might be the means to turn her life around.

Her hands clenched. It was one of fate’s typically nasty tricks that the one painting she’d inherited—presumably because her father had been advised he had to leave her something in his will—was the one painting she’d keep if she could.

The artist had captured the afternoon glow of sunset on old stone, the sparkle of mullioned windows and the froth of pale pink roses that made Cropley Hall look like an illustration from a storybook. Her mother had redesigned the old garden and planted those roses.

During Portia’s childhood it had been a magical place, full of joy and adventure. In those days her mother had been there, and Portia had rarely had much to do with her father.

Now the painting was her only possession that linked her to her mother.

‘And now we come to our last item.’

Adrenaline shot through Portia, her heart kicking so hard she started and the glossy catalogue slid to the floor.

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