The Baron

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “You ran off.”

  “Oh, no, really, I—”

  “And you didn’t leave a slipper. But I had this and wondered if it fit.” He pulled the flowing emerald-green scarf from his pocket.

  Halley looked at it and thought of sweet-smelling woods and a lovely, passionate kiss. Her laughter was soft as she fingered the silky material. “No, actually it doesn’t fit. It belonged to a contessa. But as you can plainly see, she’s not here.”

  Her smile was warm and honest, and Nick wondered briefly what the hell was happening to him. He hadn’t slept much the night before. In half sleep, his arms had reached out for a beautiful, enchanting contessa, and his lips had yearned for the sweetness she held. She had haunted his thoughts for hours, like a beautiful, magical witch.

  Now he was here, standing in front of her again. From a distance she had seemed plain compared to the ravishing, sexy beauty of the previous day’s contessa. He’d almost walked out for a moment, certain that he had made a mistake. But up close she was every bit as beautiful—even with those crazy horn-rimmed glasses that stuck out from her windblown hair like a visor. It was a different kind of beauty, and the sensuality was softer but definitely still there. Her freckles were more prominent without makeup, but the lovely curves he had traced with his hands were still the same, even with the layers of clothing she wore and the denim skirt that dipped way below her knees. Like a fine fabric, the blended, woven lines of her were even more lovely up close.

  “Oh, but the Contessa is here.” Nick fingered a lock of hair that fell over her shoulder.

  Leo Thorne coughed loudly. “Excuse me, you two, but I have business to attend to.” He edged his way to the door.

  “Leo, wait! Isn’t Nick here to see you?”

  “No, my lovely. He and I talked before the board meeting. Oh, and Halley?”

  “Yes?”

  “I promised Nick you’d take him on a tour of the Thorne Estate. He was fascinated by what we’ve done out there.”

  “But, Leo—”

  “I’d do it myself, but I have another meeting, and you do such a good job of showing the old place off, you know.”

  Leo’s swift movement through the door belied his seventy years. Halley watched him silently, her hasty objection left hanging like the last leaf of autumn on a barren branch.

  “Do you mind?” Nick’s rich voice filled the empty room.

  “Well …”

  “We’re not strangers, you know.”

  “But in a way we are, Nick. The weekend was just a game, pretending. I’m someone different. I’m Halley—”

  “Yes, you are. Halley Elizabeth Mary Finnegan.”

  She glanced up at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “But what’s in a name? Do you know, also, that I’m not really a contessa?”

  “I don’t know that at all.” Nick wrapped an arm around her and steered her out the front door of the bank. “You’re my denim-clad contessa. I think it’s rather nice.”

  “But not chic, Nick. Not chic at all. Or glamorous.” She put her glasses back on and looked up into the deep black eyes. Oh, my, he was handsome! she thought. “I’m a—”

  “Librarian. Leo told me.” His fingers played with the hair at her neck, and he found himself wanting to play with far more. “I’ve never met a librarian before. I mean, person-to-person—”

  Halley laughed and shook her hair free. “We’re a fascinating breed.”

  Her freckles deepened when she laughed, and Nick was enchanted. “I know.”

  “To add a serious touch to this conversation, Mr. Harrington, what the devil are you doing here?”

  Nick held open the door of a Porsche 944, and Halley slipped inside, inhaling the wonderful leathery smell. She could smell Nick, too—his sexy, musky after-shave smelled like those envelope samples from Giorgio’s that passed across her desk at the library.

  Nick was around the car and beside her in seconds. “I told you. I came to see you.”

  Halley looked straight ahead, trying to keep her smile appropriate. To see her? Crazy! A man with a III behind his name didn’t pursue someone like Halley Finnegan! She shifted in the seat to look at him, and when she read the seriousness in his eyes, her laughter spilled out. “Oh, Nick …”

  Nick’s smile was confused. “I didn’t know I was so funny.” He started the engine and steered the car into the line of traffic.

  “I’m sorry, Nick. It’s simply a surprise. I didn’t really expect to see you again.”

  “Are you disappointed?”

  She shook her head and pointed directions toward the tiny pocket of the town that housed the neighborhood known as the Hill. “Of course not.”

  “Good—although I would have come, anyway.” His hand moved over and rested on her thigh.

  Halley continued to give directions, ignoring the searing heat that lit her up like a Christmas tree. She prayed he wouldn’t notice. Lord, he’d think she was some sex-starved juvenile and not a twenty-seven-year-old woman who simply reacted very strongly to his touch. Like food or smells or music—some turned you on, some didn’t. It certainly wasn’t personal.

  “The Thorne Estate is on Jackson Avenue at the top of the Hill.”

  “I know. We went there once when we were kids and the Thornes still lived there. A Christmas party, I think, with the biggest Christmas tree I’d ever seen in my life.”

  “I remember when the Thornes used to do that,” Halley said softly. “All the kids in the neighborhood would try to climb the fences and hide behind bushes to see the fine cars coming up the drive.” She laughed. “I got caught once by the gardener and thought I’d die. Somehow my torrent of tears softened his heart and he let me go.”

  “I can imagine!” Nick laughed. “So you grew up around here?”

  Halley nodded. “Born and bred on the Hill.” She looked out the window at the neatly kept white frame houses and small, familiar stores. It was a world in itself, old, comfortable, secure, and light-years away from the world of Nicholas Harrington.

  “Well, looks like we’re here.” Nick slowed the car and turned onto a tree-lined, curving drive that led up to the great mansion. He followed it slowly, taking in the small roads that led off to the gate house, the greenhouse, and the stables. “I remember now,” he said as memories flooded back.

  They’d all come to the Thorne Christmas party. All the wealthy leaders of the city, as well as their wives and children, had come to the lower-class neighborhood where Leo Thorne had staunchly remained in the huge estate left him by his father. They’d driven through the neighborhood on their way to the party, and Nick remembered watching the kids playing on street corners and having snowball fights. And he remembered, all these years later, being struck by the porches. Every house had a friendly porch that stretched wide across the front of it, and in the dead of winter, rocking chairs and gliders still sat there empty, except for a coating of snow that made them look like pieces of sculpture. He shook his head. Funny the memories he’d hung on to …

  “The library is on the main floor of the house,” Halley said, forcing his memory to fade. He parked the car at the turn in the wide drive and they got out.

  “It’s amazing how everything has been kept intact.”

  “That was one of Leo’s goals when we started planning all this. When his father died, neither Leo nor his brothers and sisters wanted the house, but no one wanted to sell it, because they were afraid it would be torn down and the land divided up. That’s when we thought of the library. Keeping everything intact was a priority for all of us who were involved. Come, let me show you.”

  She took his arm, and together they walked up the wide marble steps. The leaded glass doors were held open today to catch the pleasant fall breezes, and the two walked into what was once the entry hall of the Thorne’s family home. It was huge and elegant and now housed the main library desk that Leo had carefully selected. The dark, highly polished wood perfectly matched the woodwork and looked like a part of the house.
Behind the desk was the door to Halley’s office, and to the right and left were warm, spacious parlors that now housed thousands of volumes of books. She led Nick through every room, explaining as she went. They toured the small rooms in the back, which were used for reading, and on the upper floors they moved in and out of bedroom suites that now hosted meetings and craft groups, art classes and reading clubs.

  “Well, do you recognize it all?” Halley asked as they returned to the main entry hall.

  Her expression lovingly reflected the pride she had in the library, and Nick smiled. “Strangely enough, I do. You’ve done a beautiful job.” He walked over to the winding staircase and looked up at the glistening chandelier. When he turned back to Halley, she was standing by the huge desk, shuffling through a pile of messages the assistant librarian had handed her.

  “Looks like you work hard, Ms. Librarian.”

  Halley looked at him over the rim of her glasses and nodded. “It’s a Finnegan trait. A curse, my mother says. We’re not content unless we’re knee-deep in some project or another.”

  “So this is your project …”

  Halley didn’t answer. Her attention had shifted to a muddy-shoed, freckle-faced six-year-old who had rushed in the door and stuck his small, square body between the two of them.

  “Aunt Halley?”

  “Yes, Mickey?”

  “It’s Archie.”

  Halley sighed. “Oh, no.”

  “Yep.”

  “Where is he?” Halley asked.

  “Back near Whisper Cloud’s grave.”

  Halley was already halfway to the door. “Mickey, have Kate heat up some strong coffee and bring it out back, will you, please?”

  Mickey dashed off without another word. Nick was left standing alone for a brief moment, then he turned and hurried after Halley.

  “Whisper Cloud’s grave? Archie? I have a feeling I didn’t get the whole tour, Halley.”

  “Well, you will now,” Halley tossed back over one shoulder as she hurried around the corner of the huge house and headed out toward a large wooded area in the distance.

  Just beyond the first clump of trees was a low fence, and beyond that was a scattering of neat, well kept graves.

  “A cemetery?”

  “Post Civil War,” Halley called out proudly as she weaved her way expertly around grave markers. “It’s a lovely cemetery, Nick. The Thornes’ ancestors are buried here, along with other families. I grew up playing hide-and-seek here and visiting the ghosts of Indians and soldiers.” She ducked beneath the low branch of an old oak. “Whisper Cloud is buried over there, beyond those maple trees.” She pointed, then hurried along through streams of sunlight.

  A low, gravelly moan met them as they wound their way between the trees. “I assumed Whisper Cloud—whoever the hell he is—was dead.” Nick muttered to the widening space between himself and Halley. Then, as the peculiar feeling of adventure sparked his soul, he gave pursuit and caught up with her just as the trees thinned out.

  She was standing beside a small grave, her glasses pushed to the top of her head again, her small fists dug into her narrow waist.

  Settled in a huge lump between the square marker and a giant maple tree was the bulbous form of a man. Nick drew closer and stared down at the still figure.

  “Oh, Archie,” Halley murmured softly.

  One wrinkled eyelid opened with difficulty, and through a bloodshot eye, the man peered blearily up in Nick’s direction. “Good evening, sir. Have we met?”

  Nick smiled as Halley crouched down, and shook her head.

  “It’s not evening, Archie, it’s late afternoon. The gentleman is Nick Harrington, and you are dangerously close to lying atop Whisper Cloud’s grave, as well as frightening the children half to death. What am I to do with you?”

  A whimsical smile played across the man’s puffy face. “Lemme shleep, Finnegan.” His heavy lids closed.

  “Archie, here.” Mickey appeared from behind Nick’s long legs with a cup of steaming black coffee held tightly in his small hands. He grinned up at Halley. “Kate says it’s three days old and sure to wake him and put hair on his chest too!” He handed Halley the coffee and grinned up at Nick. “Sometimes Archie feels under the weather, you know.”

  Nick nodded as if he had some understanding of what was going on here, and hunkered down next to Halley. “Here, I’ll do that.” He slipped his arm behind Archie’s wide shoulders and forced him forward while Halley lifted the cup to his lips and began forcing the black, syrupy liquid down his throat.

  “Nish.” Archie winked at Halley.

  “Very,” Halley said. “But you’re not. Drink this, my friend. You know such celebrating is taboo on library grounds.”

  “Shorry, Finnegan.” His head rolled forward, and Nick had to bite back a grin at the man’s solemn contriteness.

  “I mean it, Archie.” Halley sat back on her legs and tried to look stern.

  The deep belching sounds Archie made in response brought a huge grin to Mickey’s face, but it was wiped away by one look from Halley.

  “Mickey, maybe you can talk Kate into fixing Archie some soup. Nick can help me get him over to the stable.”

  “Okay. See ya in a minute, Arch.”

  Mickey flew off again, and Halley rose. “Archie has a room in the stable. Do you mind, Nick?”

  “Certainly not.”

  In seconds he had Archie to his feet and had hoisted a limp arm around his own shoulder, the other around Halley’s. “Most interesting Monday I’ve spent in some time,” he said as they made their way along the path.

  “This isn’t how barons usually start their week?” Halley nudged Archie to take another step.

  “Ah, it’s confession time, Contessa …”

  “You’re really a library inspector of some sort, and we’re about to lose our status.”

  Nick grinned. “That’s not exactly what I’ve come to inspect.”

  “I, sir, am a gentleman bum,” Archie interjected with a crooked grin, his words slurring together. “Try it, you’ll like it.”

  “From baron to bum. Hmm, it has possibilities, especially if it means having the Contessa so close.”

  “Contesh …?” Archie tried to hold his head straight.

  “Ms. Finnegan.”

  “Finnegan. Ah, she’s a queen, a woman of beauty, a—”

  “Hush, Archie. You’re drunk.”

  “Merely tipsy, my lovely.…”

  “He makes sense to me.” Nick pushed open the stable door with his hip and helped Archie through. “Where to?”

  “The back room. There’s a cot there,” Halley directed, and in minutes Nick had the hobo situated in the small room that was filled with colorful children’s drawings, a small table and chair, and a cot.

  “Home shweet home.” Archie sank back on the cot, and his eyelids lowered immediately.

  Halley took Nick’s arm and drew him out of the room and back outdoors. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” He looked down at Halley. She was his pleasure, a great pleasure, and he set his jaw, fighting the urge to wrap her in his arms. “Who is he?”

  “He’s Archie, that’s all. Friend, hobo, teacher of life.” She smiled softly. “He likes it here, and we’ve become attached to him. So he stays. He spends a lot of time in the gazebo holding court with the kids. But every now and then—”

  “I see.” Nick shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his tailored pants and fell in step beside her as they walked slowly back to the library. “And the little boy?”

  “My sister Bridget’s son. He and Archie are good buddies.”

  “And last but not least …”

  “Whisper Cloud is an Indian girl buried in the cemetery. Archie weaves tales about her and her tribe for the kids.” She laughed and tilted her head back to let the late-afternoon sun warm her face. “All of us have gotten attached to Whisper Cloud.…”

  Nick didn’t hear the last sentence. When she tilted her head back like that and h
e fell into the clear, green sea of her eyes, all resolve melted. He touched the back of her neck and lifted his fingers into her hair. “Oh, Tessa—”

  “Halley, Nick. You’re confusing—”

  But all confusion was blotted out when his lips covered hers, softly at first, then with a crush of familiarity. He’d know his Contessa blindfolded, Nick thought vaguely. No one else in the universe could taste this sweet, feel this soft and tender beneath his touch. His kiss turned greedy, and his tongue slipped between her lips. His Contessa … yes, it made an irrational kind of sense.…

  It was Halley who finally pulled away. “You don’t step out of character easily, do you, Nicholas the third?”

  “And you fall into it quite readily, Contessa.”

  Halley nodded, and a small smile touched her lips. “I guess I do. But I know deep down that Irish librarians make terrible contessas in real life. Do you know that?”

  Nick couldn’t imagine her ever backing away from the truth. Not with those eyes. He nodded slowly. “Contessas are a dime a dozen, but Irish librarians—now there’s a find.”

  “Who are you, anyway?” Halley asked. Nick’s arm had gone around her, and they started to walk again, their hips gently touching as they moved along the leaf-covered path.

  “Nicholas Harrington, Philadelphia—”

  “Main Line.”

  “Sh. You asked the question, I answer. I own banks and live alone. I like to travel, don’t cook, and drive too fast. I’m moody and a little spoiled by people who worry too much about me, but beneath it all I’m not too bad a guy.”

  Halley poked him in the ribs, and her burst of laughter caught on the breeze. Nick drew her closer. Halley Finnegan. Librarian. Crazy …

  “I guess that’s it, then.” Halley moved out of his embrace as they neared the sprawling house.

  “That’s it?”

  “The Cook’s tour. Except for the cottage where I live, and the garages, you’ve seen it all.”

  “Are you free for dinner?”

  Halley paused for a moment, then regretfully shook her head. She’d promised Rosie, and besides, Nick might still be living in the fantasy of the weekend. Now that he’d seen her as she really was, a plain, blue-collar neighborhood librarian, he might need to think about that.… “I … I’m sorry, Nick. I already have plans.”