A Haven for Her Heart

by Susan Anne Mason

  “But why would you turn down that kind of money?” Darius couldn’t fathom her reluctance. She’d never get a better price for her property.

  “This home belonged to my late husband and to his parents before him. It holds far too many memories for me to let it go.” Mrs. Bennington got regally to her feet. “I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time, Mr. Reed. Now if you’ll excuse us, we must get on with our day.”

  His mind scrambled for something to make her change her mind. “Mrs. Bennington, if you’d just reconsider—”

  “You heard her.” Miss Rosetti moved up beside the widow, color flooding her cheeks. “She said no.”

  Interesting. It appeared the younger woman had taken on the role of protector. Not that Mrs. Bennington needed anyone to defend her. Which begged the question: What exactly was the relationship between these two?

  “Good day, Mr. Reed.” Mrs. Bennington’s words were polite, but the look she gave him was pure steel.

  Darius knew when to cut his losses. “It was a pleasure meeting both of you.” He gave a slight bow and left the room.

  As he walked back to his car, his stomach sank. Mr. Walcott wouldn’t be happy at his lack of progress. Apparently Darius’s charms weren’t as effective as his boss had imagined.

  Still, there was more than one way to achieve their desired outcome.

  Darius’s thoughts turned to the black-tie event. Though he hated to give up an evening with Sofia, he had no choice. He needed to get to the bottom of this strange alliance, and by doing so, perhaps he could figure out a way to break it.

  8

  Olivia frowned at her reflection in Ruth’s full-length mirror, unable to recognize the glamorous-looking woman in the periwinkle gown who stared back. Except for the same brown eyes, she could see nothing recognizable about herself.

  Ruth had insisted on lending Olivia a dress from her own closet, and since the two shared a similar build, the only alteration required was a shortened hem. Ruth’s maid had quickly completed that task yesterday, and now the dress fit Olivia like it had been made for her. Yet that did nothing to alleviate her mounting anxiety.

  Her scowl deepened. “Do I really have to go with you? I’m sure you’d do much better on your own.”

  Ruth stood beside her, the picture of elegance in a long silver gown and what looked like real diamonds sparkling at her neck. “Nonsense. You look spectacular.”

  That was the problem. Olivia didn’t want to look spectacular. She’d always downplayed her looks, never wishing to draw undue attention to herself. Rory had been the only man she’d ever wanted to notice her, and he’d appreciated her natural look. Now, in this dress, with the borrowed pearl earrings and necklace, and her hair swept up in a cascade of curls, she’d never looked so dazzling. However, unlike Cinderella, Olivia wasn’t sure she liked the sensation. It felt far too much like she was pretending to be someone she was not.

  And though she might look the part of a society woman, she was in no way equipped to handle conversations with the hard-nosed businessmen Ruth planned to solicit financial support from.

  Peering into the mirror, Ruth patted her hair. “One glimpse of you, my dear, and everyone will want to meet the woman who has inspired me to make such a bold move.”

  Alarm forced the air from Olivia’s lungs. “You’re not going to tell them—”

  “Heavens no. I’d never do that. Your story is yours alone to share, or not, as you see fit.”

  “But how will we explain my involvement? People are already suspicious of our friendship.” The skepticism in Mr. Reed’s blue eyes came immediately to mind.

  “I have it all worked out. I’ll make an official statement at the beginning of the gala explaining how we met at church and how I offered you a place to stay during a transitional phase in your life. Our friendship grew from there, and we discovered a mutual passion for helping women in trouble, which led to the creation of Bennington Place. That should ward off most questions.”

  Olivia shook her head. “They won’t accept that explanation. I know it.”

  Ruth took her firmly by the shoulders. “We have nothing to hide, Olivia. You must believe that in order to make everyone else believe it. If you cower in a corner like a frightened mouse, people will assume you’re withholding something.”

  “But I am! My pregnancy. My incarceration. Either one could damage your reputation if word ever got out.” Her hands shook as she pulled on elbow-length white gloves. “Maybe I should stay in the background as one of your employees hired to work in the home. No one would question that.”

  Ruth frowned. “You are much more than a mere employee.”

  Olivia’s gaze dropped to the carpet. “I don’t deserve to be.” She certainly hadn’t provided anything other than some opinions on how the house might run. No money. No property. No expertise—other than knowing how it felt to be alone and afraid . . .

  “Olivia, look at me.”

  She raised her head, her eyes meeting Ruth’s in the mirror.

  “You are a child of God, just like everyone else in this world. We all make mistakes, and we are all worthy of redemption.”

  Olivia shook her head. It wasn’t God she was worried about. It was the judgment of those morally superior types who would be in attendance tonight, looking for some juicy gossip.

  “Believe me, all the people coming to this gala have made their share of mistakes too.” Ruth tipped up her chin. “Repeat after me: They are no better than me.”

  “They are no better than me,” Olivia whispered.

  “With a little more conviction, please.”

  Olivia’s lips twitched. “They are no better than me.” Her voice came out louder this time.

  “That’s more like it.” Ruth gave her a quick squeeze. “If you get in over your head with anyone, make an excuse to come and find me. I promise you will get through this, and it will be worth it when the donations start flooding in.”

  Olivia gave a reluctant nod and took a last look at herself. If only she could believe Ruth’s claim, then maybe the nerves pinching her abdomen would subside long enough for her to draw a full breath.

  Darius tugged at his overly tight bow tie as he entered the posh lobby of the Royal York Hotel. There were a thousand things he’d rather be doing tonight than attending this fundraiser. Even plucking chicken feathers for his mother sounded more fun than mingling with a bunch of rich socialites.

  From time to time, his job required that he attend these types of events, and every time he had to grit his teeth and remind himself that it was only one unpleasant aspect of his career. In truth, Darius didn’t really want to fit in with people who were more concerned with appearances than with establishing honest relationships.

  The one thing that made this evening almost bearable was the fact that Miss Rosetti might be in attendance. Something about the woman aroused his curiosity. Her obvious youth seemed at odds with her serious demeanor as well as the world of pain that had radiated from her eyes. Yet there was a simplicity to her he’d found charming. She’d been wearing a plain skirt and blouse when they met, her dark hair in a tidy braid down her back. Even without a hint of cosmetics to enhance her features, her riveting brown eyes and heart-shaped face had captured his attention.

  That she intrigued him took him by surprise, since she was the exact opposite of Meredith Cheeseman, the woman he’d been dating for several weeks now. What that said about him he didn’t care to examine.

  “Darius, there you are.” Mr. Walcott crossed the carpeted lobby toward him, looking very polished in his black tuxedo. “I’d begun to think you weren’t coming.”

  Darius shrugged off his unsettling thoughts to focus on the task at hand. “I’m here.” Begrudgingly. He pasted on a smile. “Shall we get this over with?”

  Mr. Walcott frowned, taking the cigar from between his lips. “Try to show a bit more enthusiasm, and remember what’s at stake here. We need to warn off as many investors as possible.” He led Darius to the wide stair
case and started up, a trail of smoke drifting after him. “For the life of me, I don’t understand how Mrs. Bennington expects to make money on this enterprise.”

  “I don’t believe making a profit is her principal aim.”

  “Then that’s her first mistake. One we will take full advantage of.” He steered Darius toward the open conference room doors. “Who would want to invest in a business that doesn’t intend to make a profit?”

  “A philanthropist?” Darius peered inside the room, dismayed to see so many people milling about. He’d thought it might be a small affair.

  Mr. Walcott ignored Darius’s remark and headed inside. “Good thing there’s a crowd,” he said. “We won’t be as visible. The less obvious we are, the better, if you get my drift.”

  “I understand. Subtlety is my middle name.”

  Walcott snorted, then blew out a smoke ring. “Ah, I see my first target. A. J. Worthington. You start on the other side of the room, and we’ll meet up later to compare notes.”

  Once his boss had left his side, Darius blew out a relieved breath. Overbearing was almost an understatement when it came to Vincent Walcott. Darius preferred to handle matters with less bluster and more finesse.

  He moved into the crowd, the strains of a three-person orchestra barely audible over the hum of conversation. Nodding to people as he went, he scanned the guests for any familiar faces. None, however, stood out. When he stopped at the bar to order a glass of ginger ale, someone slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Mr. Reed, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Frederick Conboy, the mayor of Toronto, squeezed in beside him at the counter and ordered a scotch and soda.

  Darius had only met the man once. The fact that he remembered Darius’s name was more than impressive.

  Conboy tugged his striped vest. “Are you here on business, or is this a personal invite?”

  Darius calculated his response. What better opportunity could he have to feel out the mayor about the unseemliness of the Bennington project? This man’s disapproval could potentially render the whole venture null and void.

  “Business, sir. My employer is very much opposed to this maternity home. He feels it would be a hindrance to the commerce in the area.”

  “I never thought of it as a hindrance.” The mayor studied him. “Though it did cross my mind that the enterprise might be a little out of place in that area of town.” He accepted the drink from the bartender and threw a few bills into the tip jar. “Mrs. Bennington argued that it was an ideal location with the right visibility for the women who would require their services.”

  “But what type of people will the facility attract?” Darius leaned toward him. “And will it undermine the neighboring businesses?”

  The mayor pursed his lips. “You make a good point. I haven’t made up my mind whether to endorse the home or not. I’ll have to consider the businesses directly involved and get the owners’ opinions on the matter.” He clapped Darius’s shoulder again. “Nice talking to you, Mr. Reed. Enjoy your evening.”

  “You too, sir.”

  Darius let out a relieved breath, then gulped down some of his ginger ale. Mr. Walcott would be happy to hear that the mayor hadn’t yet decided to support the home. At the very least, Darius hoped he’d succeeded in planting some seeds of doubt.

  The crowds in front of him parted, and a flash of blue caught his eye. An elegantly dressed woman stood with her back to him, talking to Mrs. Bennington. Darius moved through the group toward them. Who was the widow trying to coerce now? Some wealthy businessman’s wife?

  As he got closer, Mrs. Bennington stepped away to speak to someone else, and the woman in blue turned.

  Darius’s jaw dropped. It couldn’t be . . .

  The woman’s eyes met his, and she instantly stiffened, her expression turning hostile. Then she ducked her chin and pushed through the crowd in the opposite direction.

  Darius blinked. What happened to the simple young woman he’d met the other day? This woman wore a flowing blue gown and long white gloves. Her hair was styled in an elaborate fashion on top of her head, with some loose curls left to frame her face. But what really disturbed him was the bright red lipstick that made her painted lips stand out a mile away.

  His shoulder muscles cinched. It seemed his initial impression of Miss Rosetti had been dead wrong. She was no better than a lot of the conniving women he knew, those who used their looks to lure men for their own purposes. Resentment burned through Darius’s system, spurring his feet to move. He would make sure she didn’t use her charms to take anyone for a sucker.

  With renewed energy, he pushed through the crowd until he spied the flash of blue again. He slowed as he approached, realizing she was standing very close to a man in a brown suit.

  But it wasn’t just any man. It was Elliott Peterson, one of Walcott Industries’ most influential, albeit obnoxious, clients.

  Darius’s lip curled. He should interrupt and save the sorry lout from the woman’s wiles. It couldn’t hurt to have the man in his debt.

  Peterson leaned down and whispered something in Miss Rosetti’s ear.

  “How dare you!” She jerked away from him, but Peterson grabbed her arm.

  “Come now, Miss Rosetti. You don’t think I’d simply give my money away without some type of . . . reward?”

  Disgust coursed through Darius’s blood as he imagined what the man must have insinuated. No matter what he’d assumed about her intentions, Miss Rosetti didn’t deserve to be treated in such a manner.

  Darius stepped forward and held out his hand. “Mr. Peterson! I never would have pegged you for a philanthropist, especially not for a project of this nature.”

  The man’s florid face turned thunderous, but he released his grip on Miss Rosetti to shake Darius’s hand. “My financial dealings outside of Walcott Industries are none of your concern, Mr. Reed.”

  Darius ignored the implied threat. “I’m sure you’d like Mrs. Bennington’s input on any discussion involving the home. Shall I call her over?” He gave the man a steely stare, issuing a challenge of his own.

  “Stay out of this, Reed. Or I’ll tell Walcott you’re interfering where you don’t belong.” The sour scent of whiskey washed over Darius’s face.

  Miss Rosetti used the distraction to back away several paces.

  “I’m sure you don’t wish to cause a scene,” Darius said smoothly. “Especially with Mayor Conboy here tonight. It wouldn’t do to make a bad impression.”

  Peterson growled his displeasure but immediately scanned the room, then gave a stiff nod. “We’ll continue our discussion at a later date, Miss Rosetti. Right now, I see someone I need to speak to.” With that, the man strutted off.

  Darius turned back to the ashen woman. “It’s a shame how some people can’t hold their liquor,” he quipped, hoping to lighten the situation. However, his poor attempt at humor fell flat when she didn’t smile or thank him for his help.

  “Excuse me, I need some air,” she said stiffly. Without a backward glance, she headed toward the exit.

  He blinked. The woman’s whole body had been shaking. Had Mr. Peterson threatened her?

  Darius quickly followed her out of the room into the hallway.

  She paused by the staircase railing, pulled a handkerchief from her purse, then swiped it across her mouth, leaving a bright streak of red on the white cloth.

  “Miss Rosetti, is there anything I can do for you?”

  Her head flew up, and for a brief second, raw vulnerability flashed over her features. Tears trembled on her lower lashes, but she dabbed them away. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  Darius took a cautious step forward. “I don’t know what that man said, but he obviously upset you.”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line, shoving away from the railing to head down the stairs.

  He hesitated only a moment before following her again. In her distraught condition, she might be prey for some other unscrupulous type. He would just keep an eye out and ma
ke sure no one else bothered her.

  Olivia walked straight through the hotel lobby and out the front door, where she gulped in the cool night air.

  She’d predicted this evening would turn out badly, and she hadn’t been wrong. Dressing in this outrageous outfit had given everyone at the gala the wrong impression. Maybe other women could pull off this bold appearance, but all Olivia could hear was her father’s voice. “A woman who wears lipstick is nothing but una prostituta.”

  The man who’d accosted her certainly thought she had loose morals, and likely he wasn’t the only one making errant assumptions.

  She paced the sidewalk in front of the hotel. If she had any idea how to get back to Ruth’s house, she would start walking right now, despite her uncomfortable shoes. But she hadn’t paid much attention to the route the taxi driver had taken. Nor did she have the cab fare to get a ride home.

  She’d have to go back inside and tell Ruth she wanted to leave. However, the thought of disappointing the woman grated on Olivia’s already taut nerves.

  “Miss Rosetti?” a man said behind her.

  A man whose voice was now becoming annoyingly familiar.

  “Per l’amor del cielo.” She whirled to face Mr. Reed. “Why are you following me?”

  His lips twitched. “Did you just curse at me in Italian?”

  Heat bled into her face. “Why? Are you Italian?” Though he had light olive skin similar to hers, his hair was darker, almost black, and his brilliant blue eyes were unlike any of her relatives’.

  His grin broke free this time, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “No, I’m not, but I do understand enough of the language to know when I’ve annoyed someone.”

  She huffed out a breath. “You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Reed. Why did you follow me?”

  And why do you look so handsome in that tuxedo? Olivia purposely kept her gaze trained on the traffic in front of them. She needed to guard her thoughts and her words around this one. He saw too much with those sharp eyes.

  His dark brows drew together. “I sensed that man upset you more than you let on. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”