Harte's Desire Part 3

"Do you know her? She's an old nemesis of mine. Done a lot of work on historic buildings down in the Philadelphia area."

"I'm familiar with her work." That much was the truth, Libby thought. Dear heaven, don't let him delve any further she silently prayed.

"Strange," Chris continued. "n.o.body's heard anything from her in a couple of years. It's almost as if she disappeared. You don't happen to know what's become of her, do you?"

He nonchalantly shuffled some papers on his desk, then peered at Libby intently.

She struggled for control and nervously s.h.i.+fted her eyes from his inquiring ones.

"Maybe she moved out of the area." It was sort of the truth, wasn't it?

"Well, it doesn't really matter now," he said, dismissing the subject with the wave of a hand. "Anyway, can you help me out?"

Could she help? Why, she knew exactly the doc.u.mentation the state needed. It would be a snap, and it was the kind of research she loved to do. How cruel that she was being asked to do it for Harte's Desire, though, of all buildings. She fought the urge to plead incompetence. How she wished tell him what she really thought about his plans for demolis.h.i.+ng her favorite landmark.

But she needed the work, desperately. Being away for two months had taken its toll on her income and she could use any job available to keep her business afloat. If only her mother...Libby caught herself. There was no changing the past. There was only now, and Christopher Darnell was anxiously awaiting her reply.

How ironic that he would be hiring her, of all people, for this job. If he discovered her secret, he would be furious to learn he unintentionally hired his greatest foe. Heaven help her, she hoped she'd never have to face the man again. Yet here she was taking a job from him, no less.

They would have contact almost daily for several weeks while she conducted her study of Harte's Desire. From a professional point of view, it would be thrilling to examine the building more intimately. And, she could more easily coordinate the fundraiser while working there. From a personal point of view, she decided it was pure foolishness on her part to be around him every day, but she needed the money. She silently swore to do her utmost to avoid him while she was there.

She met his gaze squarely. "Yes, I believe I can do the job for you."

"Excellent," he replied, looking at her steadily. "When can you start? Soon, I hope?" Although spoken as a question, it was delivered as a command.

"I can rearrange my work schedule to accommodate your project," she lied easily, not feeling the least bit remorseful. "I can start on Monday if you wish."

"Perfect. The last thing I need is another setback to my demolition schedule. I'm already behind as it is."

Libby winced inwardly at the reminder, but recovered quickly. "What is my deadline?"

"Is a month reasonable?" he asked, c.o.c.king an eyebrow.

"Six weeks would be better."

"Fine," he replied, thinking again how beautiful she looked sitting there. So poised, collected, professional. The breeze was seductively teasing her hair, lifting it first one way then another. He was fascinated by the expressiveness of her eyes and had to force himself to concentrate on the purpose of their meeting. h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, he thought. This woman was entirely too desirable.

They agreed on her fee and reimbursable expenses before he rose from his chair, signaling an end to their meeting.

"There's something I wish to make perfectly clear, Elizabeth." He stared at her, his hypnotic blue-green eyes flas.h.i.+ng with unconcealed warning.

"Yes?" Libby swallowed hard and met his gaze head-on.

"There are two things I demand from the people I employ, no matter how briefly." He paused, watching her closely.

"Punctuality and honesty. I'll expect you here at nine a.m. sharp Monday, and further, that you'll have the report ready by the date we agreed upon. As to the honesty, I will take you at your word that you've got the ability to do this job. I haven't got the time to check references or see samples of your work. I rarely forgive--or forget--any deception played out at my expense. Understood?"

Libby gulped at his words, but refused to succ.u.mb to the desperation his words incited.

"You'll get exactly what you're paying for, Mr. Darnell. On time, as promised."

"Good." He released her arm and gestured toward the door. "Till Monday, then."

She took three steps and turned back to face him, knowing she had to come clean with at least one thing. "If it's honesty you want, then I do have a confession to make, Mr. Darnell." Her voice was clear with new-found strength. "I'm one of the few in town who doesn't approve of your plan to raze this building."

He looked up sharply at her words and she could see he wasn't used to being challenged, one-on-one.

"However, my opinion will not affect the work I do for you," Libby continued, knowing there was no turning back now, "regardless of what I might think of you professionally."

Although a muscle in Chris' jaw twitched at her words, his voice remained steady. "Then it's a good thing I don't need your consent, Elizabeth, because this building is surely coming down."

With that, she exited the room, knowing there was no reb.u.t.tal to the truth in his words.

Chapter Six.

Libby set the trowel down and glanced over at the driveway as Connie's green SUV appeared in front of a cloud of dust as she slammed on the brakes and got out.

"Hi, Lib!" Connie called, walking towards the garden where Libby was working. "I'm out running some errands and thought I'd stop by. I have to know. How'd your meeting with Christopher Darnell go?"

"Couldn't wait until Monday, could you?" Libby admonished with a laugh. She stood up and brushed a clump of black soil from her knees.

"Nope. I want the Prince Charming report!"

"Well, I'm still alive."

"That bad, huh?" Connie chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "He knows?"

"Believe it or not, he doesn't, Connie!" Libby smiled triumphantly.

"So why the meeting yesterday?"

"He hired me to do a study on Harte's Desire. Something Rich Stone wants before Prince Charming can demolish it."

"Libby, that's great! That report should be a piece of cake for you!"

"Yeah, if only it weren't on Harte's Desire." Libby frowned and looked at Connie sadly.

"I know. But you need the work, don't you?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Libby said. "Which reminds me, I need you to draw up a consulting agreement for the project on Monday."

"Let me guess," Connie said, "You spent last night working again, didn't you?"

"Yep!" Libby replied. "Now, let me guess. I'm about to receive another 'get a social life' lecture from my administrative a.s.sistant, right?"

Connie laughed at her boss's accurate impersonation. "Absolutely! And that's another reason I stopped by today. Got any plans tonight?"

"Ah...no." Libby had a sinking feeling she was about to, though.

"Gee, I was kind of hoping Prince Charming asked you out." Connie arched her eyebrows optimistically.

"Are you crazy? I wouldn't go, even if he did. What if we started to really like each other or something?"

"Yeah, that would be stupid," Connie agreed, then continued. "Listen, a bunch of us are going to the Chesterfield Inn tonight. Nothing formal or fancy. Just dinner and then we thought we might go to that new dance club in Mercertown. Wanna come?"

"I really don't think..." Libby began.

"Please, don't tell me about all the reasons why not. Just come, OK?"

"But what if I feel like being alone tonight, Connie?"

"I'm tired of that excuse. You use it all the time."

"I do, don't I?" Libby sighed, realizing Connie was going to persist until she agreed to join Connie's amiable group of friends.

"Come on, Lib. It's Sat.u.r.day night!"

"Well..."

"And you love the Chesterfield Inn," Connie insisted.

Libby hesitated. The quaint, eighteenth-century tavern a few miles away was one of her favorites. Why shouldn't she go out and have a good time?

"Oh, alright," she finally conceded. "It will probably be good for me."

"That's the att.i.tude! We'll meet you there at seven."

Connie waved good-by and hurried back to her car.

Her outdoor ch.o.r.es momentarily forgotten, Libby sat down on the back porch, tired from the day spent busily attacking a variety of projects. After cleaning the kitchen, she headed outdoors to the large perennial garden that was once her grandmother's pride and joy. She pulled out invasive weeds and last year's acc.u.mulation of dead leaves, exposing tender new shoots emerging from their winter's nap. Poppies, orange and red, held aloft on fern-like foliage, were soon to bloom. Daisies, too, were full of buds on the verge of blossoming.

Libby loved the smell of freshly turned earth and didn't mind the moist dirt which streaked her face and clung to her clothes. She found great satisfaction in gardening's physical labor and felt the stress of yesterday's events melting away with each new task. Even the fresh air seemed to lift her spirits, she decided, surveying the garden emerging from its dormancy. Although Libby felt hot and sweaty from the exertion, she'd barely thought about her mother, or Chris, she'd been so busy.

And that's just the way she wanted it.

Several hours later, Libby took her second shower of the day, carefully scrubbing away every trace of dirt and grime. After drying off, she rubbed a soothing lotion over her body, concentrating on her hands and knees which had borne the brunt of her activities. She opened the closet door, searching for something not too dressy, but not too casual either. A newly-purchased denim skirt was just the thing, she quickly decided. Libby slipped it on, added a crisp white linen s.h.i.+rt, then tied a multi-colored woven belt around her waist for a dash of color.

Pausing before the mirror, she admired the way her outfit emphasized her figure, making her waist seem smaller and her bust a little bigger. She opened a few b.u.t.tons down the neckline, stopping at a point just short of being risque. Her nicely rounded b.r.e.a.s.t.s were enhanced by the new decollete and Libby felt absolutely adventurous as she viewed her reflection. It was time she got out and enjoyed life, even if only for a few hours, she decided. Her mother wouldn't want her sitting home, brooding about the past and what couldn't be changed.

She casually fluffed her almost dry hair into a soft halo of waves, noticing the way her slightly tanned face glowed from being outside most of the day. After applying mascara and a hint of blush, she headed out the door.

Chapter Seven.

Christopher Darnell sat alone at a small table for two, nursing a beer as he watched the restaurant and bar in the Chesterfield Inn fill with a noisy crowd of Sat.u.r.day night patrons. They were an interesting mix of young and old, couples and singles, who came for the delicious food and cozy but casual atmosphere.

Chris looked around the inn.

It wasn't his usual sort of place. Too old-fas.h.i.+oned and intimate. One end was dominated by an enormous, turn-of-the-last-century oak bar complete with bra.s.s rails and an ornate mirror. The dining area was full of antique tables covered with fabric tablecloths, linen napkins, and fresh flowers. A variety of mis-matched antique chairs were cl.u.s.tered around each table, making the room seem warm and welcoming.

Tonight it didn't matter what the place looked like, Chris decided. It was just nice to get out and be among other people for a while.

He took a sip of almost-warm beer and idly played with the few cold French fries remaining on his plate. The meal left him satisfyingly full while the beer made him relaxed and mellow.

He'd spent a busy day at Harte's Desire, putting in a full eight hours of work even though it was Sat.u.r.day. There were plans to review, contractors to meet with, and endless piles of paperwork to wade through. The phone had been thankfully quiet, so he had gotten a lot accomplished. At the end of the day, satisfied he'd done all he could and thoroughly tired of being alone amid the quiet stillness of the old mansion, he decided to try this restaurant Edwina McElroy had recommended. Although he hated eating by himself, tonight he couldn't spend another minute sequestered in the mansion's absolute silence.

As he sipped on the tepid beer, he pondered yesterday's meeting with Elizabeth, speculating when she was going to tell him the truth, if ever.

"Libby," he vocalized out loud. The name suited her so perfectly.

He recalled his conversation Friday morning with Rich Stone, head of the state office. When Stone told him about the report on Harte's Desire that had to be filed, Chris inquired if there was anyone locally Stone could recommend who was qualified to do the job.

"You've got one of the state's best consultants living practically in your back yard, Mr. Darnell," Rich Stone had replied. "Libby Reed lives in Borden's Landing and I can't speak highly enough of the caliber of her work. She's had a lot of dealings with my office and I can tell you that if anyone can do it, she can. And, if I may be frank with you, Mr. Darnell, you're darned lucky Libby was out of town when you bought the property. I know she would've fought you tooth and nail to save that place."

Mention of the name "Libby" had momentarily taken Chris by surprise. He knew of only one Libby--Libby Chatham--the woman who had cost him millions of dollars in legal fees, forfeited options, and lost profits from projects that were sc.r.a.pped because of her meddling.

A simple question put to Rich Stone solved the mystery as he learned of her name change a few years ago. They hadn't met as foes in well over two years so it was entirely possible she could have moved and resumed using her maiden name without him knowing it.

He hung up the phone thoroughly livid that he had unknowingly agreed to let her use Harte's Desire. True, it wasn't for her benefit, he acknowledged, but had he known the charmingly attractive and all-too-capable Miss Reed was really Libby Chatham, he would have taken great pleasure in thwarting her plans for a change.

How he would have gloated as he denied her use of the mansion in retribution for those times she'd challenged him and won. He would have relished the look on her face at his words, knowing that for once he was the victor, and not her.

And why hadn't anyone on his staff mentioned just how attractive she was? Chris was almost embarra.s.sed that he'd never met her in person before yesterday. He'd only glanced at the newspaper articles about her which his PR department clipped and placed on his desk. The d.a.m.ning headlines were all that caught his eye. If he'd bothered to personally appear at the various public meetings she attended, he would have been able to recognize her for the enemy she was.

Well, he knew now, he scolded himself, taking another swallow of beer. It was a pity she was so d.a.m.ned desirable. But that hadn't altered the plan for revenge he formulated after talking with Rich Stone.

His first thought was to confront her with the truth, letting her know in no uncertain terms that he hated her dishonesty as much as he hated her. He would then coldly withdraw his permission to use Harte's Desire for the dinner dance. Maybe she would beg him to change his mind, although he wouldn't, no matter how hard she pleaded.

Unfortunately for him, he was a man of his word. The kind of man who wouldn't even now take back something he already promised, as much as he might want to.

After discarding that plan, another quickly came to mind. He mulled it over, examined it from all possible angles, and knew he'd come upon the perfect revenge.

Of course, he couldn't hire Libby Chatham to do the work. He had his pride, and she had her secret. But he could hire Elizabeth Reed, pretending he didn't know her true ident.i.ty. Stone hinted that Libby probably needed the work, so Chris figured she wouldn't turn the job down.

And it was perfect, hiring her to study her beloved Harte's Desire before he tore it down. Poetic justice at its best, he decided, popping a cold French fry into his mouth. And he would find every opportunity to involve her in its pending demolition.

But he hadn't counted on his unexplained fascination with her. Their meeting yesterday had gone exactly as he hoped when she readily agreed to take on the a.s.signment. However, the last thing he expected was her bold condemnation of him and his demolition plans. What s.p.u.n.k!