The Legacy

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.

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.

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.