Harte's Desire Part 11

"I didn't bring one," Chris replied simply. "Will your date mind you dancing with the guest of honor?"

"I felt like coming alone tonight, too. So, if you don't mind a partner with two left feet, I'd love to dance," Libby replied, making it known she was single there by choice and not default. The rational part of her mind said she should have pretended to bring a date, while the emotional part screamed not to.

His heated gaze sent s.h.i.+vers of desire down Libby's spine. Realizing she was taking a calculated risk by dancing with him, Libby quickly decided she really could bury any physical response being in his arms might bring.

Although she loved to dance, Libby had never been that adept at following music in an ordered rhythm. Kicking herself for not having taken the lessons her mother suggested in high school, Libby followed Chris onto the dance floor with dread and trepidation.

Chris gently pulled Libby close, placing one arm solidly behind her narrow waist, while cupping her hand and bringing their entwined arms to rest intimately on his broad shoulder.

Libby quivered with his nearness and the havoc it was wreaking on her senses. His smell was thoroughly masculine and infinitely alluring, a heady combination of soap, aftershave, and something so personally him as to be undefinable. His hold on her was possessive but not threatening and she felt his muscular strength scorching through every point their bodies made contact.

As he whirled them around the dance floor, Libby marveled at the fluidity of his motions and the ease with which he led her, transforming her usual clumsiness into something more closely resembling grace and accomplishment. He was a marvelous dancer, she noted, with the natural ability to make her feel an equally-talented partner.

She relaxed against him with a small sigh and felt his powerful arms tighten slightly around her in response. With his hand gently guiding her at the waist, Libby allowed herself to get lost in the music and the utter thrill of being held captive in his protective embrace.

Chris leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I thought you said you had two left feet! You could've fooled me."

His breath was so close she imagined him kissing the soft folds of her ear.

"I usually do have two left feet," Libby replied, suppressing the growing excitement that was spiraling downward in delicious waves. "But you seem to have taught them to behave properly tonight. I'm as surprised as you are!"

Libby laughed, and drew back to look at him, hoping the distance would break the sensual spell she was falling under. His eyes were dark and impossible to decipher in the now dimly-lit room.

Chris pulled her back into him with tender forcefulness. "I'm surprised we didn't meet before I came to Borden's Landing, Libby," he whispered huskily. His hand was now traveling lightly away from her waist, tentatively exploring the upper curves of her back through the red silk that softly covered it.

Libby stifled the urge to moan in response to his exploring touch, taking a deep breath instead to dispel the riot of emotions surging unchecked through every muscle and pore.

"I'm surprised, too," she replied, thinking of the many times she'd thwarted his development plans. "But when you consider we travel in entirely different circles, it's probably not that unusual."

The closeness of his hold brought her hips provocatively next to his, each step causing sensuous friction between them.

Libby hoped her pounding heart and sweaty palms wouldn't alert Chris to the effect he was having on her.

"You look beautiful tonight," Chris murmured, now caressing the sensitive valley between her shoulder blades before pus.h.i.+ng her hair aside to tenderly stroke her neck. Libby thought she would surely die from the pa.s.sion unleashed by his touch. She longed to trace his hard jawline, looking so smooth, freshly-shaven, and inviting.

A moment later, the music abruptly ended. Chris gently released her and she felt reason flooding back into her veins.

"They're announcing dinner. May I escort you to your seat?" Chris made the suggestion with what sounded like a trace of annoyance.

Just in time, she thought, or else she would be repeating past mistakes, making a fool of herself again. Chiding herself for falling under his spell, she nodded in response to his question, grateful to have an excuse to escape his alluring embrace.

"Any idea where you're sitting?" Chris asked.

"Sister Mary Clare mentioned putting me at the head table," Libby replied, hoping desperately that their place cards would be at opposite ends.

As they approached the table, Sister Mary Clare appeared almost magically to direct them to their seats.

"I put you next to each other," she declared, giving Libby a conspiratorial wink. "I thought, since neither of you brought a date, you might enjoy each other's company tonight."

She looked up quickly as someone called her name. "Oh, dear. Sister Roberta needs me again. I'll be back to join you in a minute."

Chris pulled out Libby's chair, then helped her get seated before sitting down next to her. Gallantly, he withdrew the elegantly-folded linen napkin from the gla.s.s in front of Libby and handed it to her. Glad that he hadn't volunteered to arrange it on her lap, Libby accepted it with a faint smile as she watched him deftly place his.

As the other guests took their seats, Chris introduced them to Libby, effortlessly remembering their names along with their connection to the Orphanage which he then shared with Libby in the course of their conversation.

Libby marveled at the apparent ease with which he conversed, speaking variously with a banker, lawyer, school teacher, and mother of four, ultimately drawing them all into a lively discussion about dog breeding, of all things.

Libby watched him respond with genuine interest to each person's comments and observed he was a man who could make anyone, from any background or occupation, feel at ease.

Libby recalled Sister Mary Clare's earlier words. Chris had never mentioned being put in an orphanage. Only that his father had died. Libby naturally a.s.sumed his mother was still living. Silently wondering about the circ.u.mstances which brought him here, she didn't notice the conversation around her had stopped.

Jolted out of her thoughts, Libby found all eyes looking at her expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer to a question she hadn't heard.

"Libby," Sister Mary Clare quickly intoned, "we were wondering if you would give us a short tour of the building after dinner and before the awards ceremony? You know, show us the highlights of the restoration from your professional point of view?"

"Sister, you're probably a more knowledgeable guide than I am," Libby demurred. "Besides, I noticed Harvey Faunce, the preservation architect here, tonight. Surely he'd do a better job than me."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Faunce has to leave right after dinner. Maybe between the two of us, we could explain the process to these laymen," Sister Mary Clare quipped, gesturing to those seated around the table.

"I never could say 'no' to you Sister, and I'm not about to start now!" Libby grinned. "I'd be honored, but only if you promise to help out."

Dinner proceeded smoothly, with easy bantering among the guests as each delicious course was served. Although seated next to Chris, Libby carefully managed to keep any contact with him, personal or otherwise, to an absolute minimum.

Libby enjoyed learning where each person lived and relied on her intimate knowledge of the greater Philadelphia area to provide her with a mutual topic of conversation. She knew most people were familiar with at least one historic building in their neighborhood or town and were more than eager to discuss its current status with her. Libby found herself avidly listening to various tales of mis-guided restoration, clever adaptive re-uses, and several instances of demolition by neglect where the owners allowed the building to deteriorate beyond the point where it could be saved. One story of outright demolition by a local developer was told, and Libby heard Chris grimace audibly at the topic which was such a sore point between the two of them.

Silently, Libby was thankful to find several ardent supporters of historic preservation among the group gathered around the table. She hoped that some of their enthusiasm for old buildings would rub off on Chris.

Several times she felt Chris watching her closely. Always, though, he kept any personal reaction to her comments safely hidden behind a mask of indifference.

Did he suspect she was Libby Chatham? She doubted it. He'd asked her to dance, hadn't he? Surely, he wouldn't dance with the enemy he'd sworn to avenge.

Finis.h.i.+ng the last morsel of moist chocolate cake, Libby indicated to Sister Mary Clare that she was ready to start the tour.

Libby a.s.sembled the small but curious group in the wide hallway and carefully explained the process of making scagliola along with the steps for its restoration. After taking a quick look at the freshly cleaned brick and sandstone exterior and telling about the water wash used to gently scrub it clean, Libby brought the group back inside to examine several other rooms slated for restoration.

The indoor playroom, with its innovative built-in toys of sliding board, swing, and monkey bars elicited the most reaction from the group. Libby had fun explaining how missing pieces were being replicated with the use of plaster molds, how the room was to be repainted in its original bold and lively colors as determined by a paint a.n.a.lysis, and how the leaded gla.s.s skylights, long ago boarded over, were to be uncovered, recreating the sunny indoor haven envisioned by its famous architect.

Every so often, Sister Mary Clare would inject a comment, but the tour was largely Libby's responsibility. She found Chris listening intently to her dialogue and was surprised when he asked several astute questions about the project. She couldn't decide if his interest was motivated by personal curiosity or, more likely, by the desire to know how his million dollar contribution was being spent.

Libby returned the group to the cafeteria, just as the dais was being moved into place for the awards ceremony.

Deciding she'd had as much of Chris's presence as she could handle, Libby pulled Sister Mary Clare aside and began thanking her for the evening. Sister Mary Clare, however, insisted that Libby stay at least through the awards speeches, even if she didn't want to partake in the dancing that was to follow.

Not wanting to slight the woman, Libby sat down and listened to the Monsignor introduce Chris to the audience. Amidst a standing ovation, Chris approached the podium, appearing somewhat embarra.s.sed by the loud show of approval. Holding his hands up to gain their silence, he cleared his throat and began speaking.

At first, Libby only half-listened to the thank you's Chris acknowledged in his speech, delivered with the usual humbleness of a speaker wis.h.i.+ng to share the praise.

At the mention of her name, however, Libby bolted upright in her chair.

"...a tour given by Miss Elizabeth Reed," she'd heard him say.

"Less than an hour ago, I had the privilege of seeing first hand, the exciting changes taking place here at St. Bernadette's," he continued.

Libby leaned forward, her heart racing, as she strained to listen.

"You may, or may not, be aware that I spent eight years of my childhood in this old building. I clearly remember playing tag in its run-down playroom, roaming the drab, dingy halls, eating in this depressing dining room. As they are today, the Sisters were always kind and loving to us children, but they struggled daily to get us hot water and proper lighting from its ancient plumbing and electrical systems."

Chris was relaxed and open, addressing the audience with the ease of a seasoned professional.

"About a year ago, I made an offer to Sister Mary Clare and the Monseigneur that I was sure they wouldn't refuse. I told them I'd tear this place down and build a brand new one, at my expense. I was sure they'd jump at the opportunity. But I was wrong."

Libby was held as captive by his story as was the rest of the audience. The room was completely silent.

"Sister Mary Clare," Chris called out, searching the room before locating her. "Do you remember what you said to me that day?"

Sister Mary Clare rose from her chair.

"I sure do, Chris," she replied in a voice loud enough for all to hear her. "I told you that if this building was good enough to produce such fine people as you, then it might turn out even better ones once we restored it." Beaming, she took her seat.

"Those were her exact words. She went on to tell me that she and the other Sisters' great love for this place wouldn't let them even consider demolition. She was stern and indignant. Basically, she told me to pack my money bags and leave. So, I left. Wondering where the heck they were going to find the money to even fix the Orphanage, let alone restore it."

"Now, those of you who've had to deal with the good Sister know how tenacious she can be. A few days after our conversation, she called me. 'Chris,' she says, 'we're applying for a million dollar state grant to restore St. Bernadette's.' Suddenly, I'm sending her a check so she can hire a professional to write the complex application for them."

He paused, looking over the crowd.

"I admit, I didn't donate the money willingly at first, but you know how persuasive Sister Mary Clare can be when she really wants something!"

The audience laughed gently in agreement.

"The rest of the story you are familiar with. St. Bernadette's got the grant and, after yet another lecture from the Sister, I agreed to match it."

Chris took a sip of water from the gla.s.s on the dais.

"I didn't think it possible--or worthwhile--until an hour ago. Miss Reed showed me tonight the hidden splendor being carefully revealed. After restoration, St. Bernadette's will be a model inst.i.tution and a wonderful place to nurture the children who so desperately need a home filled with light and hope."

Libby felt hot, wet tears gather in her eyes at his words. Had she finally managed to break through the barriers of his resistance?

"I must tell you, though, I still don't believe every old building deserves to be saved. But the Orphanage clearly does. To Sister Mary Clare and all the others who backed this project, I acknowledge you were right all along."

"To Miss Reed, I say thank you for opening my eyes and changing my way of thinking. And in closing, thanks to all of you for contributing your time and money to restoring St. Bernadette's."

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause again and as Chris turned to accept a plaque honoring the occasion from the Monsignor, Libby got out of her seat and slipped quietly out of the room.

Chapter Nineteen.

The air in the tiny contemplation garden behind the Orphanage was still balmy despite the lateness of the evening. Libby sat on one of the garden's several wooden benches, savoring the fragrance of the heirloom rose bushes cl.u.s.tered to her right. Strains of music coming from the building signaled the end of the speeches and the resumption of dancing. Needing some fresh air and a quiet moment before the drive home, she decided to spend a few minutes in the lovely green sanctuary she'd discovered during her research at the Orphanage.

Taking a deep breath of redolent air, Libby relaxed against the cold, hard wood slats and stared at the star-filled sky overhead, her mind racing with thoughts of Chris.

"Beauty fleeing the Beast?"

Chris's instantly-recognizable voice floated through the night from somewhere behind Libby. He appeared before her and gestured to the bench.

"Mind if I join you?"

Libby watched uneasily as he removed his black tuxedo jacket, carefully folded it in half, and casually laid it over the arm rest. With a sigh, he unb.u.t.toned the s.h.i.+rt cuffs and slowly rolled up the sleeves. Oblivious to her examination, he loosened the formal bow tie and opened several b.u.t.tons at his neck, revealing a sculpted chest sprinkled with dark hair. Libby swallowed hard at the memory of his perfect body as it looked during their workout several weeks ago now. Suddenly, she felt as though the sun had risen anew with the heat invading her body.

When Chris caught her peering at him, she stammered in embarra.s.sment. "F-forgive me, I know how rude it is to stare."

"You're forgiven," he replied lightly. "I find myself staring at you sometimes, too. Especially tonight." Chris laughed and raised his eyebrows in a wolfish leer.

"That was a nice acceptance speech you gave this evening, Chris," Libby proffered, evading the sensual awareness always present when he was near. "You may not believe this, but it wasn't my intent to make you into a preservation advocate with my tour of the orphanage after dinner!"

"Don't worry, you haven't," he began slowly. "But I meant every word. You can be very persuasive, Libby. You helped me see this old place in a different light and I wanted to express my thanks publicly."

The sincerity in his eyes caught and held Libby.

"Sometimes it takes an outsider to show you something new about a place you've pa.s.sed by a hundred times before but never noticed," Libby countered. "A man I used to date was an avid fisherman," she continued. "You know, the kind of guy who'd rather catch his own bait than buy it from the store? Well, we had just started dating and one Sunday afternoon he took me to a spot to catch herring, a kind of bait that he used."

Libby paused, deep in remembrance, then continued.

"It was a lovely place on the Mullica River. You could only get to it by walking along an abandoned railroad line that crossed the river back in the early 1900's. We parked his pick-up truck and starting walking down the dirt road where the tracks used to be, scanning the marshes along both sides of the old rail bed for herring. The water is shallow there and you can see the fish splas.h.i.+ng close to the surface. They're only there for a week in the spring, maybe two, sp.a.w.ning before they head back down the river to the bay."

"I noticed up ahead of us that the old railroad bridge was still there, spanning the river. Of course, the rails had been removed long ago, but the huge oak beams that held them were in place. You could actually cross the river there if you didn't mind balancing on those 12" beams."

"Well, I got all excited about finding the bridge and as I looked more closely at it, I became very curious about two metal beams placed smack dab in the middle of the wooden ones. I thought maybe it had been a drawbridge or could move somehow, so I convinced him to go out with me and look at it."

"We gingerly made our way over the river but even standing on top of the metal beams, we still couldn't figure out what purpose they served. From our perch out there we had a beautiful view of the river. The sun was low in the sky and you could hear the ducks quacking over the noise of the fast-running water below us. In the distance, he pointed out a beaver, paddling swiftly to get to the other side."

"After admiring the scenery, we turned around and headed back to the embankment. Then we retraced our steps along the road, still searching the marshes for herring. Finally, we found some hiding in the weeds along the banks and my friend caught of few dozen in his net."

"I'll never forget. As he started emptying them into the holding tank he brought along on the truck, he began to laugh. He said he'd been down that old railway hundreds of times and, sure, he'd seen the bridge. But he'd never noticed the metal beams sitting amid the wooden ones."

"Then I started laughing. I told him that if he hadn't been with me, I never would have seen the bait fish lurking so close to the road in my single-mindedness to explore the bridge. And I probably wouldn't have noticed the beaver, either."

"We agreed that each of us had learned something from the other's unique perspective."

Libby stopped, realizing that she'd related much more than she ever intended to. Chris was watching her closely through the darkness, seemingly absorbed in every word she said.

After a moment of silence pa.s.sed between them, he finally responded. "So what have you learned from me, if anything?"

Libby thought for a minute, staring up into the starlit sky as she did. "I've come to see now that your plan for Harte's Desire, the site I should say, is a good one. The town desperately needs more office s.p.a.ce in addition to the tax ratables your project will bring." Libby looked at him with open honesty as she spoke. Although the garden's broad shadows made his features barely discernable, she could see he was listening to her avidly.