Preface
1894
He stood with his back to the ocean, his gaze on the great house before him. SwanSea. Edward Trahern smiled. The house was truly a monument ... a monument to him.
He had heard that next year in New York City. Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt would open her ftve-million-dollar house on Fifth Avenue. And it was said that Mrs. William C. Whitney was also planning a grand residence on Fifth Avenue. But he had commissioned the great Chicago architect, Louis Henry Sullivan, had worked closely with him, and he was satisfied that when people spoke in superlatives about a house, they would speak of SwanSea. Here on this wild, beautiful, windswept shore of Maine, the house would stand forever, a symbol of his life’s accomplishments.
The morning sun rose behind Edward, spreading its golden warmth over the house. Like a giant fanshaped seashell, the house symbolized the ocean that he had crossed to reach America. The back was narrow, softly rounded, and faced the sea. From there it fanned outward, northwest and southwest, in a series of horizontal structures that mirrored the waves behind him and offered an unobstructed view of the sea from the majority of the rooms. The front was a broad, curving expanse with a long, graceful skirt of white steps. Elegant curvilinear ironwork formed the balcony railings, and friezes of flowers and twisting, trailing vines decorated the facade.
Its four main stories represented the four decades of his life thus far; the next four decades would be his glory.
He had been nothing more than a deckhand when he had first sighted this shore from the railing of a merchant ship. He had brought nothing with him but a strong back, a keen mind, the name of his birthplace, SwanSea, and a terrible burning within him. A burning that wouldn’t let him rest until he had obliterated all memories of the dank, frigid Welsh coal mines where he had labored as a boy.
In a month he would wed Leonora Spencer, a young woman he had chosen with meticulous care for her breeding and social connections. They would be married here at SwanSea in the immense ballroom that seventy-five florists would turn into a bower. Leonora would wear diamonds in her hair and on her gown. Special trains would run between New York and Boston, carrying their guests. From Boston, a convoy of coaches would bring them to SwanSea. Society would be talking about this wedding for years.
He was pleased. The marriage would not only accomplish the feat of bringing society to his doorstep, but Leonora would also provide him with sons.
Without warning, a cloud skimmed across the sun, blunting the light that had been shining on the house, turning its stone cold and its windows dull and opaque. A chill shuddered through Edward. No, he thought. No. This wasn’t right. Deprived of the sun’s golden warmth, the house had no heart, no life; it looked like a mausoleum.
Leonora had said much the same thing when she had first seen the house. For some reason, when she gazed at the house, she couldn’t see what he saw. But he was confident that with time she would. Once the house was filled with furniture, art, and guests, it would be everything he had ever dreamed it could be. As if to prove his point, the cloud passed on, and the full strength of the sun’s light poured over the house again. Edward felt soothed. Everything would be as he planned.
He had made his fortune. Now he would establish his name. His destiny would be his children. He would give them the best of everything, and in return, they would make their marks in business, politics, and academia. Society would open their arms to him and his family. Presidents would come to him for advice.
From SwanSea he would launch a dynasty that the world would come to respect, if not revere. Through SwanSea and his children, he would live forever.
One
The Present Day
She stood with her back to the ocean, her gaze on the great house before her. SwanSea. Caitlin Deverell smiled. She’d been bom in this house, lived her first six years here. During that time and when she’d visited in the years since, she’d always had the house pretty much to herself. But now, painters, plasterers, artisans, and gardeners swarmed in and around it.
Her great-grandfather Edward had had the dream and built SwanSea. Her grandfather Jake had made SwanSea a legend. The walls of the house had seen birth and death, pain and joy, love and hate. The bright and the beautiful, the famous and the infamous had all passed through its doors. But to Caitlin it had always been home.
Now after a long sleep, Swansea was reawakening. And she felt a thrill of pride that under her care and direction, SwanSea would be restored to its former splendor and glamour.
Caitlin lifted her face to the sun-warmed ocean breeze. It lingered around her to tease the skirt of her sundress, lifting the hem then sending it rippling in sensuous undulations against her legs. Traveling on, the wind softly embraced the house before rustling through the majestic pines that lay just beyond.
The sun, the wind, the ocean, and SwanSea. Caitlin sighed with contentment, thinking there was a rightness about the day, a sense that all was in its proper place.
Then, unexpectedly, a cloud scudded across the sun, and the wind shifted. Catching a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision, she turned, and immediately her attention was arrested by a tall man who was approaching.
He moved with controlled grace that would have reminded her of a natural athlete if it wasn’t for the slightest hint of stiffness in his gait. Black jeans molded his long legs, and a lightweight white sweater stretched across his broad chest. The casual outfit took on an elegance that made it seem as if the jeans and sweater had been designed especially for him. Unable to look away, Caitlin stared, rapt by the strong aura of earthy sensuality radiating from the man. The thought flitted through her mind to wonder what it would be like to be made love to by him.
And still she had no sense of anything out of place.
He stopped in front of her, and the sensation that he was dominating all the space around her came over her suddenly. Odd. His thick coal-black hair and pale olive skin drew her gaze; his strong-jawed face interested her; his dark brown eyes riveted her. Unusual.
“Caitlin Deverell?”
She’d been so caught up with her thoughts about him that the sound of his deep voice nearly made her jump. “Yes?”
“I’m Nico DiFrenza. A man named Haines said I’d find you here. ”
“Mr. Haines is my foreman. ’’
Without taking his eyes off her, he indicated the house with a movement of his head. “It has an amazing strength to it.”
She stared at him, taken aback yet strangely pleased to hear from a stranger something she’d always felt. “I know.”
“Yes, I suppose you do.” The walk out to the bluff had taken more out of him than he had expected, Nico realized, and looking at Caitlin Deverell while in his weakened condition wasn’t helping. Her eyes were an unusual green tinted by flecks of gold, and he felt the potent effect of them to his spine. Outlined against the vivid blue sky, with the wind blowing her cinnamon-colored hair and the skirt of her gold sundress, she was beautiful. He wondered why he hadn’t anticipated the impact she might have on him. Not that it mattered.
“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. DiFrenza?” Another time, another place, the possibilities would be endless, he thought, and in spite of his weariness, a slow smile spread over his face. “Yes, you can do something for me. You can let me stay here for a few days.”
She was reflecting on the notion that the sensuality of his smile hadn’t been deliberate when the meaning of his words crystallized in her mind. She stared at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?” Dammit. His approach had been too abrupt. He curled his fingers inward until he had unconsciously made a fist. “I’m sorry. Let me explain. Like practically everyone else in the country, I’ve heard of SwanSea. Then just recently, I read that you were turning the house into a resort."
"That’s true, but it will be months before it will be ready for guests.”
Come on, sweetheart. Don’t make this hard for me. I’m just not up to it. This time his smile was quick and meant to take her breath away. The slight widening of her eyes told him it had worked. He forced his fingers to relax and slipped his hands into his pockets. “At least hear me out. Please.”
She blinked, realizing he said “please” the way another man might caress. Softly. Persuasively. With a certain charm and seductiveness.
"I’m on a leave of absence from my job, and this morning I headed up the coast.”
“That's all very interesting, but—”
“You’re not listening.”
“Sorry.” In the next moment she fought back the urge to laugh. Why was she apologizing? He was the trespasser.
“My heart is set on a room with an ocean view, and under ordinary circumstances, I'm sure I wouldn’t have any trouble getting one. But there’s an insurance convention in Portland, and all the really good places are taken.”
“So you thought you could stay here?” She smiled with regret. “No, I’m afraid not. Look, Mr. DiFrenza—” “Please call me Nico, Miss Deverell.”
With a toss of her head, she sent shining cinnamon strands flying behind her shoulders. Nico followed the motion with a concentration that gave her pause. She’d probably tossed her head in that way thousands of times in her twenty-six years, but no man had ever narrowed his eyes at the gesture in quite the same way as Nico had. It was almost as if her action had caused some inner disturbance in him. A funny little shiver went up her spine. She wrapped her arms around her waist. “It’s a shame that you couldn’t find anything to suit you, but you can’t stay here.”
His dark brown eyes warmed with a smile, and Caltlin realized that she had never met a man who knew how to smile In so many ways. But she wasn’t sure if she’d seen a sincere smile from him yet.
“I’ve tried one place after another, and I’m tired of driving. A little while ago, when I realized how close I was to SwanSea, I decided it was an omen.” His glance darted to the house. “As I said, I really had my heart set on an ocean view.” He felt guilty, deceiving her like this, but he had to stay at SwanSea.
She turned toward the sea, giving herself time to think. Up to this moment, she’d thought all the truly compelling men were in her family. But this man ... He intrigued her. He attracted her. He definitely made her want to do as he asked. She sighed. She couldn't.
She looked back at him and was surprised by the expression of pain on his face. In the next instant, the expression passed, and she decided she had been mistaken. “I suggest that you drive back to the little town you passed on your way here. There’s a lovely tearoom there. Have something to eat, then drive on up the coast. I’m sure you 'll find something to your liking.”
He shook his head, his impatience barely restrained. “Surely you have a room somewhere that I can use, perhaps in a section of the house where the workmen haven’t yet started.”
She did. On the northwest side of the house on the third floor, where she was staying. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Hardly ever.”
She swallowed against a thickness in her throat. The dark intensity of his gaze was stirring up warm quivering sensations inside her that threatened to push aside her common sense. “What you’re asking is impossible.”
“Nothing,” he said, “is impossible.”
“It is, Mr. DiFrenza, if I say it is.”
So there was steel beneath the beauty, he thought, and silently applauded her. A woman in her circumstances should be cautious. Except in this particular instance when her caution stood in his way.
He ran his hand along his waist to his side and felt the tenderness. For a moment, he struggled with himself. Under normal circumstances, he would never expose a weakness—but in this case, he might be able to use it to his advantage. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Miss Deverell. I told you I’d taken a leave of absence from work. What I didn’t say is that I’ve been ill. . .”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
As he had hoped, her guard began to melt away, to be replaced by sympathy. He nodded. “I was discharged from the hospital yesterday after being advised that I might recuperate better away from Boston. ”
Curious though she was, good manners kept her from asking the nature of his illness. But she failed to imagine what could have put him in the hospital. Even with the faint pallor beneath his olive skin, he exuded an astonishing power. It made her wonder what he’d be like when he was entirely well. And, a small voice whispered, if she gave him a room, she’d find out.
In truth, letting him have a room for a few days would cause her very little inconvenience. SwanSea had over fifty bedrooms. And though it was true she knew nothing about him, she also wouldn’t know anything about most of the people who would be arriving to stay when SwanSea officially opened. Still, her instincts told her that none of those guests would come close to moving her in this strange, inexplicable way. “I’ve been living in Boston in recent years. Maybe we know some of the same people.”
Only an inherent self-discipline kept him from groaning aloud. She was going to probe. Why did she have to be beautiful and smart? “Boston is a big town, I doubt it.”
She persevered. “There’s a wonderful family-owned department store to Boston by the name of DiFrenza’s. Are you by any chance related to the owners?”
He hesitated. He had a circle of close and trusted friends. Outside that circle, he didn’t talk about himself. Protecting his family was his first priority, but he had to stay at SwanSea, and to do so, he had to gain Caitlin Deverell’s confidence. “Elena DiFrenza is my great-grandmother.”
Her eyes widened. “She's a legend in Boston. ” “She deserves to be a legend,” he said, gratified to see Caitlin relaxing. “She’s a remarkable woman.” That Elena DiFrenza was his great-grandmother was reassuring, and it was a fact easily checked. But a doubt Caitlin couldn’t quite name continued to niggle at her. “I understand DiFrenza’s is about to open a second store in Beverly Hills. ”
“That’s right.”
“I shop quite often at DiFrenza’s. Are you in the family business?”
“No. In general, I leave the store to my father and my sister. My father heads the store, and my sister is a buyer."
Studying him, Caitlin at first found it difficult to put this obviously rugged man together with the delicate Angelica DiFrenza. Through her frequent patronage of the store, Caitlin had struck up a casual friendship with Angelica, and she often relied on the woman’s impeccable taste when she needed something to. wear for a special event.
“I know your sister,” she said, “and you look nothing alike." Then it struck her. While it was true that Angelica’s waist-length hair was dark brown, not coal-black like his, they had the same eyes. Some people called that particular dark-brown shade and velvety texture bedroom eyes. Now why was she thinking that?
“I guarantee that Angelica would hate it if she resembled me,” he said. Though his words were meant as a joke, his patience was thinning by the minute. “And I wouldn’t take it too kindly if I looked like her. Anyway, Mother Nature knew what she was doing when she created Angelica. She's just about perfect.”
“She is lovely,” Caitlin agreed, reflecting that he was saying all the right things. Why then did she continue to sense something irregular and uneven beneath his smooth manner? Something that made her want to keep digging. “Your sister wears a ring I’ve always admired.”
He’d be amused if it weren’t for the fact that he was suddenly so tired. “Yes, it’s a Colombian square-cut emerald. Her birthstone.” He felt the slight tremor in his limbs. Giving a silent, crude curse, he whipped out his billfold and held out his driver’s license for her inspection.
A quick look showed her a stem, unsmiling picture of him and informed her that his name was Niccolo DiFrenza, that he lived at a good address in Boston, tha
t he was six feet tall and had brown eyes.
On a certain level, she was reassured. Everything checked. But on another level, something told her Nico DiFrenza couldn’t be so simply and neatly explained by fitting him into a slot on the DiFrenza family tree. There was nothing simple or neat about this man.
“Look, Miss Deverell, please reconsider about the room. I really don’t think I can drive one more mile.” His pallor had increased, she noticed with concern. “It’s just that I’m not sure this is the best place for you. We aren’t set up to offer any service. Ramona, my mother’s housekeeper, is with me helping out, but all the workers you see are involved in the renovations.”
“So you do have other people staying here?”
“I phrased that poorly. Only Ramona and I are actually staying here. The workers come in from the surrounding towns each morning. ”
“I wouldn’t expect room service or someone to bring me fresh towels and make up my bed in the morning. All I need is a bed. Period.”
“And an ocean view.” She turned slightly to look at the house. “Well, thanks to my great-grandfather Edward Deverell and his Art Nouveau seashell-shaped design, there aren’t many rooms in the house that don’t have an ocean view.”
He saw that she was softening and pressed his advantage. “I promise I won’t be a bother. I’ll even drive into the town you mentioned for my meals. ” “Ramona would have a fit,” she said dryly. “As soon as she found out you’re recovering from an illness, you’d be lucky if she’d let you lift your own glass of water.”
“Then I can stay?"
She was tempted to say yes, but in the end, caution ruled. Reluctantly, she shook her head. “No. But I will give you a bed for a few hours so you can rest before you start out again.” He accepted her verdict in stony silence. “All right?” she asked.
“That would be very kind of you.”
Nico stepped back to allow Caitlin to precede him through the massive carved black-walnut front doors, then followed her into the grand entry hall with its forty-foot ceiling and majestic staircase that climbed a story, then branched in opposite directions to climb another story.
The Legacy Page 1