Reluctant Deception - Cambria Smyth Page 0,4
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