Harte's Desire

by Cambria Smyth

  The carvings were wonderfully cold to the touch, despite the warmth of the beautiful May day outside. "Carrera," she whispered, noting the smooth, polished white surface; it was the finest marble money could buy in 1878, but she hadn't expected anything less in Harte's Desire.

  In fact, what little she had seen so far exceeded even her expectations. The grand staircase, high-ceilinged rooms with ornate plaster medallions, parquet floors, carved wooden moldings and trim. Every room, every detail in the magnificent twenty-five room Victorian-era mansion was grander than the next.

  Returning her attention to the exquisite marble mantel, she sighed. She knew she had made an enemy in Christopher Darnell, although they had yet to meet face to face.

  Until today, that is, she reminded herself.

  Darnell had sworn to avenge Libby Chatham, not Elizabeth Reed. Somehow, he must never learn the truth, she vowed.

  Although she was too late to save Harte's Desire, she was here with another request. One that he might deny. And, if he knew who she was, would certainly deny.

  Chapter Two

  He watched her from the shadows of an arched doorway in the rear of the drawing room.

  Christopher Darnell was having a bad day. The phones weren't working, the surveyors hadn't shown up yet, and he'd taken a very cold shower in a very ancient upstairs bathroom because the hot water heater was broken. Old buildings, he thought with disgust; was it any wonder he hated them?

  He'd been on his way to the basement to deal with the offending heater when he glimpsed an unfamiliar woman enter the main drawing room. Curious, Chris decided his confrontation with the water heater could wait while he politely, but firmly, dealt with yet another visitor to Harte's Desire.

  With a determined stride, he headed through the drawing room doorway to accost her, when he stopped abruptly, his attention captured by the shapely figure examining the mantel piece.

  Other visitors had marveled over the building as they wandered its many rooms, but none had taken the time to examine any of its details as closely as she was doing, he noted. Chris tore his gaze from her exploring fingers and let it settle on her lithe, curvaceous figure, taking in the well-worn work boots, slim-fitting jeans, and brightly colored T-shirt. Her hair was caught up in a bun dangerously close to coming undone, with tendrils of honey-colored hair springing free from their confines.

  She’s probably just another historical society member, he decided, although from behind she appeared to be much younger than the others who visited this week. "Hysterical society" was more like it, he mused. They’d earned their reputation as old ladies in tennis shoes, hell-bent on saving every obsolete building for posterity. In fact, he was meeting with one of the old bats in an hour or so. A Miss Elizabeth Reed, his secretary informed him this morning.

  No doubt another aged spinster come to plead with him to save Harte's Desire, or to ask for one of the mansion's hundreds of furnishings as a memento. Some had even come to check him out, hoping to snare one of Philadelphia's most eligible bachelors for their daughter or granddaughter. He'd heard it all since moving in two weeks ago.

  At first, he hadn't been sure about taking up temporary residence in the mansion. It was going to be a construction site eventually, full of dust, dirt, and noise until he demolished it. But when his office manager informed him that the offices of Darnell Development, which occupied the top two floors of one of his center-city Philadelphia buildings, were to be repainted, re-carpeted, and then rewired for additional computers, he decided to temporarily conduct his business from Harte's Desire. With summer fast approaching, he was secretly pleased to be out of the crowded city and its stifling heat for a while.

  He'd tried commuting back and forth to his center city penthouse apartment, but after two days of battling rush-hour traffic, he impulsively decided to live in Harte's Desire as well as work there for a while.

  Even if it did mean dealing with the inconveniences of an old, run-down mansion, he found the setting magnificent and the view of the river through the double doors in his new office, the former dining room, breath-taking. Actually, the dining room was ideally suited for his temporary headquarters. He’d cleared off the massive, carved mahogany dining table, banishing most of the side chairs to the attic while keeping the immense arm chair at the head of the table for his use. The sideboard, emptied of its bowls, platters, and candelabra, now held a variety of permit applications, feasibility studies, and site plans.

  Chris knew he made an impressive figure seated at the head of the table, gazing down its polished length to the river beyond. In a business where the appearance of power won or lost deals, it was decidedly in his favor to look imposing.

  His thoughts returned to the attractive figure in front of him. Idly, he speculated why she was here. He cleared his throat to catch her attention, determined to learn more about this unexpected, but very intriguing visitor.

  Chapter Three

  Caught by surprise at the polite cough behind her, Libby whirled around. She was immediately held captive by the raw power emanating from the tall figure standing in the doorway. Although he lounged casually in the opening, his stance was one of conqueror looming over conquered. Well over six feet tall, with thick, dark hair expertly groomed, he was ruggedly handsome and his well-muscled frame pulled at the seams of his perfectly tailored white dress shirt. She imagined that his navy blue pinstriped pants, which emphasized his trim waist and flat stomach, concealed powerfully built legs as well. The attraction she felt for him was immediate and startling.

  With a physique like that he must be the construction manager here she quickly decided. Realizing that she was rudely staring at him, she found her voice.

  "You caught me snooping," Libby explained apologetically, with more lightness than she was feeling. "I'm Elizabeth Reed and I have an appointment with Mr. Darnell today." She glanced at her watch and added, "In thirty minutes, actually. I know I'm early, but I've wanted to see the inside of this building since I was a child."

  She was anything but a child now, Christopher Darnell thought silently as he admired the womanly curves emphasized to perfection by her casual jeans and T-shirt. Her pretty oval face held two enormous brown eyes that looked at him with a fascinating combination of innocence and sophistication. She was petite, but not overly so, and he decided the surreptitious bun on top of her head was worn more for convenience than appearance.

  "Ah, Miss Reed," he said with dawning recognition. "My secretary mentioned our appointment this morning." She was certainly not what he expected, and before he could stop himself, he checked to see if she wore a wedding ring. Observing none, he found himself actually looking forward to their meeting.

  My secretary, Libby thought incredulously. This is Christopher Darnell? No, it couldn't be. He's only in his mid-thirties, she guessed, and he projected an aura of dominance and command she would have expected in a man twice his age. Maybe she misunderstood him. He couldn’t possibly be Christopher Darnell.

  And if he was Christopher Darnell that made her the enemy. It was unthinkable, no unimaginable, for her to find him so disturbingly attractive.

  "You're Christopher Darnell?" she asked hesitantly.

  "I am," he said, walking confidently across the room to greet her. His presence filled the entire parlor she noticed, and he had the most unusual eyes, not blue, not green, but somewhere in between, flecked with brown and gold.

  She nervously fingered her bun, realizing it was too late to loosen it. She’d have to continue as she was, momentarily caught off-guard. "W-well, if you're free now, I only need a few minutes of your time, Mr. Darnell," she replied, summoning her best professional voice.

  He gestured toward one of the room's many couches. "Why don't we meet right in here, Miss Reed?"

  He touched Libby lightly on the elbow, guiding her to a plump sofa covered with a pleasing rose-patterned damask. He took a chair opposite the sofa and gestured for her to begin.

  Determined to get very quickly to the point o
f their meeting, Libby plunged right in. "I'm here on behalf of the Borden's Landing Historical Society. As you know, we’re restoring the Little Red Schoolhouse in town..."

  "I'm well aware of that," Darnell crisply interrupted. "I did, after all, contribute $50,000 towards its renovation in return for the Society’s promise not to fight my plans to demolish Harte's Desire. Surely you're not here to tell me that your group has changed its mind?"

  Libby flinched slightly at his mention of Harte's Desire and its impending demise.

  "No, Mr. Darnell. We're still thrilled with your generous donation," she responded, almost choking on the word "generous.” The man stood to make millions from the office park and conference center he was building on this site, and yet a paltry $50,000 was all it took to win the historical society’s blessing. She bit back the urge to accuse him of bribery.

  If only she had been here when he tried to sell his scheme to them. Even city council was supporting his plan; the town desperately needed the jobs and new taxes Darnell's ambitious project would bring.

  Libby continued, gaining confidence as she faced him. "I'm here because the cost estimates to restore the schoolhouse came in a few days ago, and it's going to take considerably more money than we originally thought. Based on the documents I've reviewed, we need to raise an extra $20,000."

  "And I suppose you want Darnell Development," he paused to add with emphasis, "me, to fund this shortage?" His words were clipped and terse, slightly tinged with annoyance.

  Chris watched her from behind half-hooded eyes, appraising her. He was used to stammered, hesitantly-worded requests from people who almost cowered at the sight of him, yet here she was meeting him head on, asking him for $20,000 without batting an eye. As an equal, one-on-one, almost as if they were discussing the weather instead of money. Silently, he admired her pluck.

  "We're not asking for a monetary contribution, Mr. Darnell," she stated matter-of-factly, noting his surprise at her words. "We'd like to use Harte's Desire for a fundraiser before you demolish it.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. "A fundraiser?"

  "Yes," she continued, more boldly now, "We’d like to hold a dinner dance here to raise a good portion of the shortfall. The mansion is the perfect place for it. The ballroom and some of the first floor rooms, once cleared of their furniture, are large enough for the two to three hundred people we expect would attend."

  He arched the other eyebrow. "Two to three hundred? You’ve that many supporters?" His voice was laden with undisguised disbelief and a hint of derision.

  "Easily. Finding value in old buildings may not be your cup of tea, Mr. Darnell, but there's plenty of people in this town who believe very strongly in preserving some of Borden's Landing's history," she said, conviction giving her courage. "Many will attend, not only to finance the schoolhouse project, but also because they know it might be their first, or should I say 'only,' chance to get inside Harte's Desire before it comes down."

  "You are aware then, Miss Reed, of my reputation?" He raised the question tauntingly.

  "You mean your reputation with historic buildings?" she countered. "I am aware of your penchant for wanting to tear them down."

  Chris made no response to her statement as there was no need to acknowledge what was already a known fact. Rather, he was intrigued with the glint of determination in her eyes as she passionately defended her position while challenging his. It was obvious she felt very strongly about this town and cared deeply about Harte's Desire. She was beautiful, he observed, as she argued her cause, and he found himself intrigued with the little blonde spitfire who dared to stand up to him. A part of him, long hidden, wanted to take her in his arms and tell her she could do anything she wished with the house.

  Then he stopped himself. He had no need for any woman in his life right now, feisty or otherwise. Especially one so fervent about historic buildings. And the businessman part of him wanted to learn more about the plans and practicality of granting her request before making a decision.

  "You said you'd clear out the furnishings. Where to?" he coolly inquired, reigning in the unwanted, but undeniable attraction he felt for her.

  "The carriage house has plenty of empty space to hold most of the items. Of course, we'd put everything back the way we found it. I understand you're planning to auction off the contents, so we'd be very careful handling everything."

  "And when did you want to have this 'little' shindig?"

  His dismissive description of the fundraiser was not lost on her, but she ignored it. "We thought the first Saturday night in August would be perfect. With your permission, we'd clean up the brick patio that overlooks the rose garden so if it's not raining we could use it as well as the open porches in addition to the ballroom. I’d love to think we’ll need room for an overflow crowd."

  Libby suddenly had a vision of dancing gaily, twirling around under the stars amid the heavenly scent of roses carried aloft by gentle breezes from the river beyond. Dismissing the image as nothing more than wishful thinking, she continued, "You wouldn't have to do a thing, Mr. Darnell. We'll have it catered, we’ll bring in our own florist, and we'll clean up before and after." She paused, "From what I’ve seen, Harte's Desire is set up perfectly for this sort of entertaining."

  "What's in this for you, Miss Reed?" He was curious to know what inspired such a young, but obviously capable woman to speak so convincingly about raising money and restoring old buildings.

  The inquiry took her by surprise. As if her motives had to be questioned.

  "There's nothing in this for me," she retorted. "I've been a member of the historical society for several years and when they asked me to chair the fundraiser, I agreed to do it. I especially felt an obligation to help because I've been out of town for several months."

  She leaned back into the plush cushions unable to enjoy their comfort for the tension between them in the room. “I had some, ah, personal matters that prevented me from helping them interview architects for the schoolhouse project. They had to proceed without me, so I was more than willing to help them in another capacity once I returned."

  Libby hoped he didn't notice the break in her voice when she revealed her reasons for undertaking the fundraiser. She still hadn’t recovered from what she'd gone through with her mother. That wound was still painfully raw and bleeding, and even though Libby thought she was successfully hiding her sorrow, it reappeared when she was least able to deal with it.

  Like now.

  Chris saw a flicker of anguish in her eyes that disappeared as quickly as it came. Instantly, he felt regret for thinking she had anything to gain from all this. He knew that historical societies were always struggling for money, that what little they made on admission fees and bake sales was never enough to patch a leaky roof or replace an ancient heating system, let alone pay someone to raise money for them. This beautiful young woman before him, so full of enthusiasm and determination, was obviously going through some emotional turmoil, he thought. Not stopping to analyze why, he felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for her.

  His curiosity aroused, he probed further.

  "How could you have helped them choose an architect? Is that your profession?"

  Heaven help her, she thought, how can she get around this one without having him realize who she is?

  "No," she replied slowly, buying time to carefully craft a response, "I used to work for an architectural firm that specialized in restoration. I have some training in that field and the historical society thought I could help them make a decision about the company most qualified for the job."

  She didn't dare reveal any more. And so what if she had a lot of training in historic preservation, that working with historic buildings was her career; it was only a little white lie, wasn't it? Hopefully this would be enough to satisfy him and he would let it drop.

  Christopher Darnell carefully weighed his options as he reviewed her request. He could say no and send her packing out the door. God knows he'd done that often enough in th
e past. He'd never been lacking for attention from the opposite sex since Cynthia.

  In fact, he'd had a string of girlfriends, although the term girlfriend was more their choosing than his. Rarely did they last beyond two or three dates when he discovered them to be shallow, self-centered, unintelligent, and usually after one thing--his money. He quickly became bored with their requests for expensive gifts, front row center theater seats, and more of his time than he cared to give.

  But Miss Reed wasn't asking for anything for herself. And he sensed that for some reason, she didn't like him, or his money, at all. Just as well, he decided, thinking he had no desire to get romantically involved right now. There was too much to be done here at Harte's Desire and the distraction would be an unwelcome diversion.

  So, he considered her request purely from a business point of view and, in that light, it made sense to let her have the fundraiser here. Actually, it would get the place cleaned up before the auction in October and it wouldn't cost him a dime. It might even buy him some desperately-needed, favorable publicity, especially in connection with a historic building. He snorted, thinking of all the times he'd been made out to be the bad guy demolishing some cherished architectural treasure. He really wasn't against them restoring the schoolhouse, just thankful it wasn't standing in the way of something he wanted to develop. Like the expansive riverfront acreage surrounding Harte's Desire.

  Pondering the construction schedule, he knew that with all the permits still needed, Harte's Desire probably wouldn't be coming down until late in the fall.

  "That weekend would be fine," he finally stated. "But I'll want written assurances that the historical society takes full responsibility for the event, and that you’ll carry the proper insurance. You can clean up anything you want to, inside or out, as long as you put things back where you found them."