“I see.”
“And she updated the kitchen as well.” Olivia bit her lip to curb the tendency to ramble. Why did this man make her nervous?
“I’d love to see that.”
Olivia frowned. Could his reason for feigning interest in the renovations be to ascertain the property’s new worth? “Let’s move to the dining room next. The kitchen is at the back of the house.”
“I shall defer to the expertise of my tour guide.” A teasing note rang in his voice.
She glanced over to find his eyes brimming with amusement.
With an annoyed huff, she led the way down the hall to the dining room. “This room hasn’t changed either, except that Ruth added a larger table and more chairs. One day, we hope to have a full house that can include up to twelve residents.”
He looked around the room, his gaze moving from the sideboard to the pictures adorning the walls. “Tell me more about your goal in opening this home, Miss Rosetti.”
“Very well.” She rested her hand on a chair back and paused to search for the right words, wanting to provide enough information to satisfy his curiosity without revealing too many personal details. “We want to offer women in crisis a safe haven where they can stay until they’re able to get back on their feet.”
“Pregnant women in particular, I presume, since it’s a maternity home.”
She lifted her chin. “Yes, but we wouldn’t turn away any woman in need of shelter. There’s a definite lack of this sort of resource in the city.”
His dark brows rose. “Not really. Toronto has several maternity homes that I’m aware of.”
“True, but those are mostly religion-based—not that I have anything against religion,” she added hastily when he frowned. “However, some women prefer a nondenominational residence. Our aim at Bennington Place is to provide a welcoming atmosphere, one that enables women to determine the best course for their future and their child’s.”
“You sound as though you’re speaking from experience.” Mr. Reed’s blue eyes drilled into her.
Olivia gripped the chair, her heart racing, but somehow she managed to hold his gaze without wavering. “I have witnessed some very sad cases, Mr. Reed, and have become passionate about injustice toward the underprivileged in our society. Women and children in particular.” She gestured to the door. “Shall we continue the tour?”
He waited a beat before nodding. “After you.”
They exited the room and moved toward the rear of the house, where a narrow corridor branched off to the right.
Mr. Reed peered down the hall. “Where does that lead?”
“To the library that now serves as our office. Beyond that room is a storage closet, a sunroom, and the stairs to the basement.”
“I do appreciate a good library. Do you mind?” He started toward the office.
Olivia struggled for an appropriate response. Yes, she did mind, since their private financial records lay open on the desk with various receipts and invoices strewn about. Instead of answering, she rushed ahead and entered the room before him. “It’s a bit of a mess in here. I was right in the middle of some bookkeeping when you arrived.” Smoothly, she slid over to the desk and closed the ledger, then straightened the papers into a pile.
“Don’t tell me you’re a bookkeeper as well?” Again he seemed to be teasing her. He came closer, his woodsy scent surrounding her.
“I know how to keep a business ledger, if that’s what you mean.”
“A woman of many talents, it seems.” He winked and then wandered over to peruse the bookcases.
Her nerves continued to spin in the presence of this man who elicited a contradictory mixture of annoyance and admiration. While his attention was elsewhere, she took the opportunity to study him, noting the fine cut of his suit, the starched white shirt and crisp necktie. His dark hair was meticulously styled off his forehead, highlighting his well-shaped brows and thick lashes. He reminded her a little of Clark Gable from the movie posters she’d seen. Her mouth pinched. He was far too good-looking for his own good. Probably guilty of breaking hearts all over the city.
As he reached out to examine one of the volumes, Olivia glanced at his hand, noting the absence of a wedding band. How had a handsome, successful man like Darius Reed escaped marriage? Come to think of it, how had he escaped going to war? He was of the right age and seemingly fit. So why was he still here when good men like Rory sacrificed their very lives to serve their country?
Irritation snapped through her. “Why are you not off fighting in the war, Mr. Reed, like all the other respectable men?”
His hand stilled before he replaced the book and slowly turned. When he did, no trace of amusement remained. “Believe me, if I’d had no responsibilities, I would have signed up immediately.”
She raised a brow, waiting for more of an explanation.
His blue eyes turned hard. “My wife died just before the start of the war, and my young daughter needed me. I was not about to have her lose both her parents.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, his mouth flattening into a grim line.
Heat scorched Olivia’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. . . .” She trailed off, certain nothing she could say would make up for her insensitivity. “Forgive me. I sometimes blurt things out without thinking.”
Mr. Reed shook his head. “No need to apologize. It’s a question I get asked quite often, and I’ll admit I’m a bit touchy about the subject.” His face relaxed into a smile. “Now, what’s next on our tour?”
Darius stood in the massive kitchen beside a double-sized range and whistled. “What my mother wouldn’t give for a stove like this.”
“Impressive, isn’t it? We figured we’d need a large oven to feed the number of residents we expect.” Miss Rosetti gestured to the high kitchen cabinets. “These cupboards were already here, so we had more than enough storage for the extra dishes and cookware.”
He crossed the pristine linoleum floor, obviously recently installed, toward a white cabinet in the corner with a metal handle. He ran a reverent hand over the smooth surface. “Is this a refrigerator?”
Miss Rosetti grinned. “It is. Ruth splurged on this, mostly to impress the cook, I think, though I will admit it’s very convenient. The salesman told us that soon every household will have one.” She laughed, her eyes brightening. For a brief moment, the guarded look left her features, and she seemed almost relaxed.
“It makes our little icebox at home look rather outdated.” His lips twitched into a smile.
“Where do you live, Mr. Reed?” She leaned against the counter near the sink.
He almost said “the Greek quarter” but caught himself in time. “Near Danforth Avenue. I’m staying with my parents right now so my mother can watch Sofia while I work.”
“Sofia. What a beautiful name.” Miss Rosetti’s whole face softened. “I imagine she’s the light of your life.”
Darius nodded, his throat tightening. “She’s my whole world. The reason for everything I do.”
She stepped closer. “Then she’s lucky to have a father like you. Not every child is so fortunate.”
Darius stared into her deep brown eyes, mesmerized by the churn of emotion he saw there. Sorrow, regret, and perhaps a touch of admiration? What secrets did their depths hold?
She lowered her gaze, as though suspecting she’d revealed too much, and the sweep of her lashes brushed her cheeks.
“What about your family?” he asked, hoping she might open up about herself. “Do they live nearby?”
He regretted his words immediately when her whole demeanor changed. Visible anguish washed over her features before her expression hardened.
“They live on the other side of town. Not far from the Jewish Market,” she said.
“Ah, one of my mother’s favorite places to shop when she gets the chance. Does your family own a business there?” His heart beat a quick rhythm in his chest. He risked alienating her altogether with his barrage of questions, yet he couldn’t s
eem to help himself. He wanted to know so much more about this mysterious woman.
“Not in the market itself, but a few blocks away.” She scooted by him to open the refrigerator and removed a glass pitcher. “May I offer you something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
The obvious ploy to change the subject led him to suspect all was not right between Miss Rosetti and her family. He recalled Mrs. Bennington saying at the gala that Miss Rosetti had fallen on hard times or some such expression. “I take it you’re not on good terms with your family.”
Her head whipped up. “That is none of your business, Mr. Reed.” Her frosty tone matched the icy pitcher in her hand. She glared at him before taking a glass from an upper shelf and filling it with the chilled water.
Darius ran a hand over his jaw. Terrific. Just when she was becoming more at ease around him, he’d overstepped the invisible boundary once again.
“It’s a bad habit of mine, asking too many questions,” he said ruefully. “Especially when I sense a mystery in the making.” He gave her his best smile, one that usually got him what he wanted. In this case, another smile.
But her lips remained pressed into an unforgiving line as she returned the pitcher to the refrigerator.
Darius searched for a way to get the conversation back on track. At this rate, she’d show him to the door, and he certainly wasn’t ready to leave yet. Before he could come up with an idea, the clatter of rapid footsteps sounded.
“Olivia! I need your help.” A frantic female voice came from the hall. “There’s a flood in the bathroom. What should I do?”
Miss Rosetti whirled around and darted out of the room.
Darius followed right on her heels.
A pregnant woman stood at the base of the stairs, her blouse and skirt showing dark wet patches. Damp strands of hair lay plastered against her cheeks.
“Margaret, what happened?” Miss Rosetti rushed up the staircase, the girl right behind her.
“I don’t know,” Margaret said. “I was washing my hands and the next thing I knew water started spraying everywhere.”
“In the new bathroom?” Miss Rosetti asked over her shoulder.
“Yes. I tried to stop it, but it was too much.”
“Oh dear. Ruth will be devastated.” Miss Rosetti increased her pace and took a sharp right turn at the next level.
Partway down the corridor, they entered a room. One of the women shrieked.
Darius dashed inside, dismayed to find the tiled floor covered in over an inch of water. A stream spewed forth from the curved pipe below the sink.
Already soaked, Miss Rosetti opened a closet door, grabbed a stack of towels, and began to throw them onto the floor.
“Allow me.” Darius pulled a towel from her arms. Squinting against the spray, he bent to wrap the cloth around the leaking joint. Once the flow stopped, he tied the ends into a knot. “That should hold it for a little while. Long enough to get a plumber here, hopefully. A bucket underneath would be helpful too, if you have one.” He wiped the moisture from his face.
“Thank you. That’s a great help.” Miss Rosetti then turned to the distraught pregnant girl. “Margaret, go and get some dry clothes on. Mr. Reed and I will handle the situation.”
“I’m so sorry.” Margaret looked close to tears.
Miss Rosetti put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault,” she said in a soothing voice. “Maybe the plumber didn’t tighten the joint properly when he installed the sink. Or maybe a crack developed. I’m sure he’ll fix the problem in no time.” She smiled at her. “After you change, would you mind putting the kettle on for tea? I think we’ll need a cup once we finish here.”
Margaret nodded, looking decidedly relieved. “Right away.”
Once the girl had left, Darius gave Miss Rosetti an admiring glance. “You handled that very adeptly.”
One side of her lips tipped upward. “I learned that trick in my parents’ store. If a customer complained about the peaches not being ripe enough, I moved them on to the plums.” She wiped her hands on the waist of her skirt, then pushed a long strand of hair off her forehead. “I’ll get a bucket, and I’d better call the plumber before Ruth gets back and sees this disaster.” She hesitated, a hand on the doorframe. “You don’t have to stay, Mr. Reed. You’ve done more than enough already.”
He looked down at his sodden pants and shoes and shrugged. “A little more water won’t matter at this point. I’ll start drying up in here while we wait for the repairman.”
“That’s very kind of you.” She gave him a smile that held so much gratitude he felt his chest expand.
“There are more towels in the bathroom down the hall if you need them,” she said. “I’ll bring a mop with the bucket when I return.”
A second later, she was gone.
Darius stared at the door long after her footsteps had faded down the hall. Then he turned his attention to the soggy pile of towels on the floor and the makeshift tourniquet he’d rigged around the pipe.
If he hadn’t intervened, a great deal more damage would have occurred. The water might have soaked through to the ceiling of the room below them. That type of damage could risk them failing an inspection, perhaps even forcing the home to close down. If he just loosened that towel, no one would be the wiser. . . .
He clenched his molars together. Though Mr. Walcott would have no qualms doing just that, Darius was not that kind of man. He would never purposely cause harm to someone or their property.
Grabbing a stack of fresh towels, he began to soak up the water from the floor, the vision of Miss Rosetti’s warm regard spurring him on to finish the task.
For another one of those smiles, he would do just about anything.
12
Ten minutes later, Olivia climbed the stairs to the second floor, the string mop clutched under her arm. Mr. Reed had certainly surprised her with the way he’d jumped in and stopped the flood before irreparable damage had been done.
Very gallant. And very unexpected.
Perhaps she’d misjudged the man, thinking he’d had an ulterior motive in coming to see the home. If he wanted their venture to fail, he certainly wouldn’t have rushed to their rescue like that.
She paused to collect her emotions before entering the bathroom, determined to give the man the benefit of the doubt.
Mr. Reed stood over the claw-foot tub, wringing out a dripping towel, his shirtsleeves rolled up past the elbow. He turned as she came into the room. “I tied another towel around the pipe for good measure. Once you run the mop over the floor, it should be good as new.”
“Thank you.” She peered under the sink, relieved to see no more water for the moment. “The plumber should be here in about twenty minutes. He sounded quite upset that this had happened.”
“As well he should.” Mr. Reed draped the towel over the side of the tub. “Do you have a clothesline out back where I can hang these to dry?”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Reed. You needn’t bother.”
“It’s no bother. And won’t you please call me Darius? Mr. Reed sounds far too formal.”
She swallowed. Formal might be a much safer idea. But she didn’t wish to be rude. “Very well. And you may call me Olivia.”
“Olivia.” The word sounded almost lyrical on his lips. “Such a beautiful name.”
She bent over the mop to hide her blush and avoid getting lost in the power of his gaze. Concentrating on her task, she pushed the strings into the tight corners, making sure to soak up every last bit of moisture.
When she spun around to place the wet mop in the tub, her foot slipped on the damp floor. She gave a cry, her heart pounding as her arms flailed.
A warm hand grabbed her around the waist and yanked her upright.
She gasped and gripped Darius’s shirtfront. Without her meaning to, her eyes fixated on his chest where a dark sprig of hair was visible above the opened top button of his shirt. She swallowed hard and attempted to
move out of his arms, only to find her footing still precarious.
“Careful. Those tiles can be slippery.” His breath stirred the wispy hair at her ear.
Before she could react, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out to the hallway, where he set her feet carefully on the carpeted floor. Even then, he didn’t release her right away, smiling down into her eyes.
Her face felt overwarm, and a hum of electricity raced through her body. She blinked and took a step away. “Th-thank you,” she managed, all too aware of his arm still firmly around her. “I’m all right now.”
He watched her with such intensity that heat flooded her system. For her own good, she needed to put some space between her and this unsettling man. “I . . . I’ll take those wet towels down to the clothesline.”
He only grinned. “I can carry them. Just show me the way.”
She held back a sigh. It seemed she wasn’t going to get rid of him quite so easily.
Darius placed a wooden peg on the clothesline and scanned the long row of colorful towels flapping in the breeze. Since when had the simple act of hanging laundry become so pleasurable? It certainly wasn’t this enjoyable helping his mother with the chore.
He shot a look at Olivia, her cheeks flushed, biting her lip as she pinned the last corner of her towel, and the answer became clear. After holding her in his arms for a few brief seconds, he’d had to fight the sudden urge to kiss her. And now it seemed he would do any chore, no matter how trivial, just to extend his time with her.
He gave himself a mental shake, rolled down his still-damp shirtsleeves, and buttoned them. He had no right thinking about Olivia Rosetti that way. He was an engaged man and could not afford this unexpected attraction. Not only was it a conflict of interest to his boss’s goals, but it was disrespectful to Meredith as well.
Mr. Cheeseman had been ecstatic the night they’d announced their intention to marry. His wife, however, was far less enthusiastic. No matter. Darius was certain he and Sofia would win the woman over before the wedding, which he hoped would take place before the start of the school year, so he and Meredith could take Sofia to her first day of kindergarten as a family.
A Haven for Her Heart Page 10
