center city apartment, deciding to tell her everything about himself and his unpretentious origins. Chris reasoned that if Cynthia really loved him as she claimed, none of his troubling past would matter.
He would never, ever forget that night. Cynthia sat on his living room couch in shocked disbelief as he poured out his story. When he finished, she started a tirade of condemnation, accusing him of deliberately misleading her. She thought he was Bob Darnell's natural son, not the result of a one-night stand between an alcoholic and a woman who chose to remain nameless. How could she have children with Chris, she screamed at him, if she didn't know anything about his mother? What if she was mentally ill, or carried some disease that could be inherited by their children? Cynthia declared their relationship over, storming out of his apartment and out of his life.
Chris never saw her again, although he later read that she married the son of another one of the Main Line's scions. He wished her well, but learned from the experience that his background would always be a hindrance in any serious relationship he might enter into, no matter his many successes as a businessman.
It was hard to argue with Cynthia's reasoning about his mother. What kind of woman would leave her baby with an alcoholic father? Why didn't she want to raise Chris herself? There were so many unanswered questions. Chris felt there had to be something seriously wrong, mentally or physically, with his mother for her to act as she did.
Yes, Cynthia had been right about many things, but he never meant to deceive her. He simply thought their love for each other would be enough on which to build a life together.
Upon further reflection, Chris realized his hatred for old buildings stemmed directly from Cynthia's scathing rejection of him. Stately or ostentatious, historic or otherwise, old buildings for Chris symbolized old money and the very rich who built them. Unlike him, those buildings had a past and a history, things which had been denied Chris through no fault of his own. And people with old money, like the Morans, condemned Chris for a deficiency no amount of ambition or hard work could overcome.
Chris didn't go out of his way to demolish historic structures in a bid for quiet reprisal. But when one stood in the way of a project he wanted to undertake, he felt no guilt whatsoever watching the wrecking ball reduce it to a pile of rubble.
And, if Libby Reed hadn't been so damned successful in her rescue attempts, he would have laid waste to several more than he actually had.
His thoughts returned to the lithe woman now headed to the carriage house with camera and clipboard in hand. Cold, perfect Cynthia would never have stooped to wearing faded jeans and worn work boots, he considered, comparing the two women. Nor would she have ever allowed herself to break a sweat at the gym for fear of ruining her perfect hair and make-up. Libby sure didn't seem to mind and Chris grinned in recollection of the grit she had shown yesterday. Libby was down-to-earth, feisty, and determined. What would she think of his heritage, he wondered, watching her disappear from view. Would she react with the same revulsion and hatred Cynthia had?
Chris stopped his thoughts abruptly. What did it matter how Libby would respond? She was never going to know because he was never going to tell her. They were never going to be close enough emotionally for that to happen. He'd get his revenge, then get out. It was simple, really.
He moved away from the window and headed back to his office, grimacing as his stiffened muscles reminded him to take it slow. Very slow.
Chapter Ten
Libby set her cameras and clipboard on the night table, kicked off her shoes, then stretched out on the massive Renaissance Revival style bed, slowing letting out a sigh as her over-worked muscles reveled in the softness of its ancient mattress. Although two days had passed since her workout with Chris, she was still sore and tight in places she'd only read about in anatomy books.
She was determined not to let Chris see her in pain, and only through a combination of extra-strength aspirin and sheer willpower was she able to work and move around Harte's Desire yesterday as though nothing was wrong.
Thank heaven she'd had the chance to discover firsthand he was in as much distress as she was. Watching quietly from behind