Authors: Sally Goldenbaum
“You’re not supposed to have coffee in the library.”
“You’re not supposed to have that positively X-rated,
sensuous smile on your face while you read”—she flipped over the book resting open in front of Halley—“
Post Civil War Cemeteries!
That
definitely
doesn’t deserve a smile!”
“I like cemeteries. And I liked the weekend,” she added softly.
“Hah! Now we’re getting down to the nitty-gritty!”
“It was fantasy all the way, Rosie, but not so bad.”
“Yes, yes—”
Halley stared off into space for a minute, and her friend smiled. Then, with sudden zeal, she stood and scooped up her books. “Sorry, Rosie, I’d love to chew over all the juicy details with you, but I have a meeting with the Thorne Center board this afternoon.”
“Finnegan, sometimes I wonder why I put up with you.”
Halley loosened one arm from under the pile of books and hugged Rosie tightly. “Me, too, but I’m awfully glad you do, because for all your ill-conceived ideas, you’re quite a lovely person and a ten-plus in the friend category.”
“Well,” Rosie muttered, walking alongside Halley as they made their way through the main library hall and toward the front door, “you sure as hell don’t treat me like a ten.”
“Why don’t we have dinner tonight so we can debate that?”
“I’m meeting Fred at the Grill.”
“Great. I’ll join you and fill you
both
in on the wild escapades of Contessa Halley Finnegan. Ciao.”
“Fred agrees with me, you know,” Rosie shouted after her as Halley scampered down the wide marble steps in front of the mansion that was now a library. “You need some sex in your life, Halley Finnegan. Pure, enjoyable, simple sex!”
Several sedate, elderly couples strolling the spacious
estate lawns stopped to stare at the young woman who stood alone on the library steps.
Rosie smiled sweetly in their direction, lifted one shoulder in a playful shrug, then bounced down the steps and off into the sun-drenched Monday afternoon.
“So, ladies and gentlemen,” Halley said, pushing her glasses back up her nose, “as you can see, the Thorne Center is quickly becoming far more than a library. The entire estate is being put to use for a variety of purposes. We now have fourteen programs in place and nearly a dozen more on the drawing board.” She smiled happily, slipped off her glasses, and sat back down in the leather chair.
“I have something to add to all those numbers Ms. Finnegan’s been shoving at us.” The balding, elderly Leo Thorne stood up and smiled kindly at Halley. “If my father had any idea what good things that Irish lass was going to do for the neighborhood, he’d probably have given up his home years ago and moved into a bus station! A fine tribute it’s become, and it’s a damn shame he died before Ms. Finnegan talked me into this harebrained idea!”
Halley smiled at the white-haired man who was responsible not only for her going on to college but for her job as well. She cared deeply for Leo Thorne. He’d never been anything but wonderful to her—with the exception of coercing her into attending the Harringtons’ party.
That
idea of his had cost her a sound sleep last night when she finally returned home from the Harringtons’, her head filled with thoughts of barons and her heart slightly askew. She’d have to speak to her dear friend privately and let him know he owed her one.
A shuffling noise at the boardroom door caused the room to hum with muffled voices for a moment as a younger man came in and took a seat near the
door. Halley squinted but couldn’t make out the newcomer without her glasses. Probably another reporter, she thought. Whenever they needed a heartwarming human-interest story, they’d come to Halley, then write gushingly about “the blue-collar neighborhood surrounding the Thorne Estate which now, thanks to a few dedicated souls, has its very own library.”
Another report was passed around, and Halley retrieved her glasses. One of these days, she thought as she put them on, she’d dress appropriately for these meetings. Heels, nylons, the works. Leo usually held them at his bank, and the women on the board came looking elegant. She glanced down at her long jeans skirt and big, soft overblouse. She’d slipped a belt around her waist as an afterthought that morning and suspected she looked a little like Annie Hall. She bit back a laugh. No, she wasn’t the elegant type, no matter
what
fantasy she’d played out this weekend. She was plain Halley Finnegan, librarian. That’s who she’d always be. But no matter, the weekend
had
been lovely. Nick the Baron had been a handsome prince who wouldn’t be soon forgotten. She thought about what he’d said, about wanting to see her again, and shook her head gently. No, Baron, that is not to be … The thought caused a pain of regret deeper than Halley cared to admit, and she forced herself to concentrate on Leo’s discourse.
“So, my fine friends, until next month, let’s call it a day and get on with the business of life.”
Halley lifted her head and smiled at Leo’s solemn words, the same words he used to end every meeting she had ever attended. She scooped up her papers and notes, dumped them into her huge purse, and walked across the room to where Leo stood chatting with a small group.
He winked at her over the head of several people,
but it was when the group parted that she realized the reason for the wink.
Standing next to Leo, looking every bit as elegant as he had in her dreams, stood her Baron.
Her heart thudded uncontrollably. “You!”
Nick grinned. “Me.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Nick smiled.
“Well, now, this is one of the most fascinating conversations I’ve been privy to for some time!” Leo clapped Nick on the back familiarly.
“Leo … why is he here?” Halley pushed her glasses up until they nested comfortably in her hair. Little did Leo know that monosyllables and simple sentences were absolutely all she was capable of right now.
“Personal invitation, my dear.”
“So you know Nick, then.” It wasn’t a question, but somehow Halley felt a need to state the obvious. Then she’d know whether this was a part of the dreams that moved her in and out of sleep all night, or real, true life.
Nick stood quietly, his eyes carefully recording every inch of her, and suddenly Halley realized why. Although
he
still looked every inch the Baron—immaculately groomed, wearing an expensive three-piece suit, his thick hair carefully combed—
she
was Cinderella at her hearth.
“Leo is a good friend of my uncle’s.”
“Of course,” she murmured, remembering why she had been at the party in the first place. She pushed a wayward strand of hair back in place while she collected her thoughts.
“I told you I wanted to see you again, and you were about as difficult to find as the Statue of Liberty.”
“Find? I wasn’t lost, Nick.”
“You ran off.”
“Oh, no, really, I—”
“And you didn’t leave a slipper. But I had this and wondered if it fit.” He pulled the flowing emerald-green scarf from his pocket.
Halley looked at it and thought of sweet-smelling woods and a lovely, passionate kiss. Her laughter was soft as she fingered the silky material. “No, actually it
doesn’t
fit. It belonged to a contessa. But as you can plainly see, she’s not here.”
Her smile was warm and honest, and Nick wondered briefly what the hell was happening to him. He hadn’t slept much the night before. In half sleep, his arms had reached out for a beautiful, enchanting contessa, and his lips had yearned for the sweetness she held. She had haunted his thoughts for hours, like a beautiful, magical witch.
Now he was here, standing in front of her again. From a distance she had seemed plain compared to the ravishing, sexy beauty of the previous day’s contessa. He’d almost walked out for a moment, certain that he had made a mistake. But up close she was every bit as beautiful—even with those crazy horn-rimmed glasses that stuck out from her windblown hair like a visor. It was a different kind of beauty, and the sensuality was softer but definitely still there. Her freckles were more prominent without makeup, but the lovely curves he had traced with his hands were still the same, even with the layers of clothing she wore and the denim skirt that dipped way below her knees. Like a fine fabric, the blended, woven lines of her were even more lovely up close.
“Oh, but the Contessa is here.” Nick fingered a lock of hair that fell over her shoulder.
Leo Thorne coughed loudly. “Excuse me, you two, but I have business to attend to.” He edged his way to the door.
“Leo, wait! Isn’t Nick here to see you?”
“No, my lovely. He and I talked before the board meeting. Oh, and Halley?”
“Yes?”
“I promised Nick you’d take him on a tour of the Thorne Estate. He was fascinated by what we’ve done out there.”
“But, Leo—”
“I’d do it myself, but I have another meeting, and you do such a good job of showing the old place off, you know.”
Leo’s swift movement through the door belied his seventy years. Halley watched him silently, her hasty objection left hanging like the last leaf of autumn on a barren branch.
“Do you mind?” Nick’s rich voice filled the empty room.
“Well …”
“We’re not strangers, you know.”
“But in a way we are, Nick. The weekend was just a game, pretending. I’m someone different. I’m Halley—”
“Yes, you are. Halley Elizabeth Mary Finnegan.”
She glanced up at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “But what’s in a name? Do you know, also, that I’m not really a contessa?”
“I don’t know that at all.” Nick wrapped an arm around her and steered her out the front door of the bank. “You’re my denim-clad contessa. I think it’s rather nice.”
“But not chic, Nick. Not chic at all. Or glamorous.” She put her glasses back on and looked up into the deep black eyes. Oh, my, he was handsome! she thought. “I’m a—”
“Librarian. Leo told me.” His fingers played with the hair at her neck, and he found himself wanting to play with far more. “I’ve never met a librarian before. I mean, person-to-person—”
Halley laughed and shook her hair free. “We’re a fascinating breed.”
Her freckles deepened when she laughed, and Nick was enchanted. “I know.”
“To add a serious touch to this conversation, Mr. Harrington, what the devil are you doing here?”
Nick held open the door of a Porsche 944, and Halley slipped inside, inhaling the wonderful leathery smell. She could smell Nick, too—his sexy, musky after-shave smelled like those envelope samples from Giorgio’s that passed across her desk at the library.
Nick was around the car and beside her in seconds. “I told you. I came to see you.”
Halley looked straight ahead, trying to keep her smile appropriate. To see
her?
Crazy! A man with a III behind his name didn’t pursue someone like Halley Finnegan! She shifted in the seat to look at him, and when she read the seriousness in his eyes, her laughter spilled out. “Oh, Nick …”
Nick’s smile was confused. “I didn’t know I was so funny.” He started the engine and steered the car into the line of traffic.
“I’m sorry, Nick. It’s simply a surprise. I didn’t really expect to see you again.”
“Are you disappointed?”
She shook her head and pointed directions toward the tiny pocket of the town that housed the neighborhood known as the Hill. “Of course not.”
“Good—although I would have come, anyway.” His hand moved over and rested on her thigh.
Halley continued to give directions, ignoring the searing heat that lit her up like a Christmas tree. She prayed he wouldn’t notice. Lord, he’d think she was some sex-starved juvenile and not a twenty-seven-year-old woman who simply reacted very strongly to his touch. Like food or smells or music—some turned you on, some didn’t. It certainly wasn’t personal.
“The Thorne Estate is on Jackson Avenue at the top of the Hill.”
“I know. We went there once when we were kids and the Thornes still lived there. A Christmas party, I think, with the biggest Christmas tree I’d ever seen in my life.”
“I remember when the Thornes used to do that,” Halley said softly. “All the kids in the neighborhood would try to climb the fences and hide behind bushes to see the fine cars coming up the drive.” She laughed. “I got caught once by the gardener and thought I’d die. Somehow my torrent of tears softened his heart and he let me go.”
“I can imagine!” Nick laughed. “So you grew up around here?”
Halley nodded. “Born and bred on the Hill.” She looked out the window at the neatly kept white frame houses and small, familiar stores. It was a world in itself, old, comfortable, secure, and light-years away from the world of Nicholas Harrington.
“Well, looks like we’re here.” Nick slowed the car and turned onto a tree-lined, curving drive that led up to the great mansion. He followed it slowly, taking in the small roads that led off to the gate house, the greenhouse, and the stables. “I remember now,” he said as memories flooded back.
They’d all come to the Thorne Christmas party. All the wealthy leaders of the city, as well as their wives and children, had come to the lower-class neighborhood where Leo Thorne had staunchly remained in the huge estate left him by his father. They’d driven through the neighborhood on their way to the party, and Nick remembered watching the kids playing on street corners and having snowball fights. And he remembered, all these years later, being struck by the porches. Every house had a friendly porch that stretched wide across the front of it, and in the dead of winter, rocking chairs and gliders still sat there
empty, except for a coating of snow that made them look like pieces of sculpture. He shook his head. Funny the memories he’d hung on to …
“The library is on the main floor of the house,” Halley said, forcing his memory to fade. He parked the car at the turn in the wide drive and they got out.
“It’s amazing how everything has been kept intact.”
“That was one of Leo’s goals when we started planning all this. When his father died, neither Leo nor his brothers and sisters wanted the house, but no one wanted to sell it, because they were afraid it would be torn down and the land divided up. That’s when we thought of the library. Keeping everything intact was a priority for all of us who were involved. Come, let me show you.”