Reluctant Deception - Cambria Smyth Page 0,40
institutional-sized stove with which to work.
The florist was thrilled with the mansion's many rooms and architectural details that would be enhanced by the bouquets and arrangements he was providing at cost. Libby and the members of the fundraising committee had met at Harte's Desire several times, too, finalizing plans for removing furniture, setting up tables, and determining the best locations for serving food and beverages.
Most of this had been accomplished whenever Chris was out of his office. Luckily, Edwina had bought into Libby's story of not wanting to disturb the boss with a constant parade of people involved with planning the dinner dance. Daily, Edwina would appraise Libby of Chris's agenda so Libby could schedule the meetings while he was away.
Libby placed another scraping into a container, blowing away from her face a tendril of hair that managed to escape the bun she wore today. Researching Harte's Desire had been a true labor of love and she would miss being within its hallowed walls on a daily basis. Roaming its many rooms, she had come to know the mansion intimately and cherished the subtle changes wrought to it by over a hundred years of occupancy.
Every building has a story to tell, Libby thought as she scraped, if one was willing to look carefully enough. Like the bell-cords hanging over the bed in the master bedroom. Because one of them was several inches longer than the other, Libby concluded that Amanda was much smaller than her husband and that Chester slept on the side of the bed nearest the door.
After examining the kitchen closely, Libby determined it had been two rooms at one time. The alteration wasn't noticeable in the bright mid-day light, but the longer shadows of the afternoon sun revealed the ghost of a former partition which had been removed to enlarge the kitchen.
A finely-developed sense of touch was also helpful, Libby pondered, like in the main parlor. Its mantel had the cold feel of marble, not the warmth of plaster painted to simulate stone. The eye could be fooled, but not the hand.
It occurred to Libby so it was with people, too, and she immediately thought of Chris. While he projected an aura of dominance and utter self-control, there were times when the specter of some past trauma flickered across his face, healed now but not forgotten, the scars clearly visible under the right circumstances.
Libby contemplated what she'd seen. The death of his father, so easily shared with her over dinner, had definitely left its mark. But there was something more, some other personal crisis that defined the person he was today.
Underneath his steely facade was a man who needed to be loved and who desperately wanted to give love in return. She was sure of it. She'd felt it the first time they met. It was rampant in the undefinable current of emotion that passed between them then, and every time since. More than sexual desire. It was the longing to find someone to share a lifetime with, to lean on, to love beyond all reason.
Heaven knows she could relate to that, Libby reflected. She, too, yearned to find a man she could look at ten, twenty, thirty years from now and say to herself "I still love him.” To feel that way, unequivocally, despite the tragedies and trials life capriciously dealt out.
Libby leaned closer to the baseboard, examined the area which had been denuded of its paint, and decided she'd collected enough samples. A glance at her watch confirmed Chris was due back soon and she'd better hurry to avoid him.
"Helping me demolish Harte's Desire?" Chris growled from the doorway, startling Libby.
She looked up from her work with chagrin. It was too late to dodge him.
"It only looks that way," Libby replied airily, trying to lighten the somber mood she detected by the harsh scowl on his face. "I'm done here and I'll be out of your way in a minute."
"Don't rush out quite yet. I've got something you might want to see." Chris placed a large cardboard box on the table with a thud, sending a thick cloud of dust in all directions.
Libby looked at the box with interest, intrigued by the tightly rolled sheaf of ancient-looking papers poking out of its top.
"Edwina found these up in the attic. Heaven knows what she was doing up there, but she asked me to give them to you.” Libby walked over to the table and peered with uncontained curiosity at the box. Gingerly plucking out the heavy