Thursday afternoon, Rory could hardly contain her excitement as she sat beside her brother in the back seat of the real estate agent’s Explorer. The only thing that kept her from babbling away was Chance’s presence.
He sat in the front seat with his elbow propped on the window ledge, his fist resting against his mouth. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d started for Pearl Island. Was he thinking about yesterday and the kiss they’d shared in the garden?
Her stomach fluttered at the memory of his lips on hers, his hands running over her back, their bodies moving together. Heat flared deep in her belly. She shifted in her seat and forced her mind back to the conversation.
“Someone told me you can’t have a gift shop in a bed-and-breakfast,” Allison said. “Does anyone know if there really is a restriction against it?”
“There is one within the city limits,” the real estate agent answered. The woman, who had the remarkable name of Summer Love, dressed and acted as if she were in her mid-twenties, but Rory suspected she was well over fifty.
“The restriction is intended to keep neighborhoods from losing their residential feel,” Summer said. “Pearl Island is out of the city limits, though, so a lot of the restrictions won’t affect you.”
“Oh, good.” Allison, who sat on Adrian’s other side, leaned forward to smile at Rory. “The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.”
Chance finally turned toward them with a concerned look. “You’re thinking of starting a B and B
and
a gift shop?”
“Maybe,” Rory answered vaguely. His obvious disapproval made her feel dumb.
Chance sighed. “I’d strongly advise against spreading yourself too thin.”
She nodded as Adrian and Alli gave him looks of irritation. None of them mentioned they’d also talked about a catering service and a tearoom. The last few days had been filled with talk and dreams, concerns and excitement. Maybe Chance was right about not doing everything at once, but she could see it all so clearly in her mind.
Summer turned off the main road onto a private drive. A short distance later, she stopped before an imposing wrought-iron gate flanked by a tangle of brush. From atop the red stone columns, gargoyles snarled down at them. Not the least intimidated, Summer lowered her window and punched a series of numbers into a keypad mounted on a post. The gate creaked and clanged as it opened.
The minute they drove through the gate and onto the narrow bridge, Rory spotted the house up ahead and caught her breath. She’d never approached it from land like this, had always seen it from the front that faced the cove. But the sight of it had the same powerful effect it always did, as if someone—or perhaps the house itself—were watching and waiting, and drawing her near.
“When I did my preview of the property, I noticed the bridge is in remarkably good shape,” Summer said as she drove. She had one hand on the steering wheel as she glanced back at her passengers with the air-conditioning blowing her long fall of silver hair. “So I don’t think you’ll need to do any repair work there.”
“Too bad the LeRoches didn’t keep up the rest of the property.” Adrian ducked his head to look out the front window.
Reaching the other side of the bridge, they followed the oyster-shell drive through a stand of oak trees that allowed only glimpses of the house. Then suddenly, they came through on the other side, and there it was: three stories of pink granite with a high-pitched, gabled roof, multiple chimneys reaching toward the sky, and a spire over the front turret. Rory stared, transfixed, as Summer pulled to a stop before the chain-link fence.
“Well, here we are,” Summer announced, turning off the engine. “What do y’all think?”
The enormity of the moment hit Rory. After a lifetime of imagining the inside of the house, imagining what life had been like within those walls for Marguerite and her daughter, she was finally going to see it. She sat staring at the wide stone steps that led to the veranda. Even in the bright light of mid-day, she felt as if dark shadows and darker secrets waited beyond that imposing door.
Finally, Chance turned to the real estate agent. “I think we should have a look inside.”
“You got it.” Summer climbed from the Explorer and Chance followed suit, leaving the three of them alone while Summer took care of the padlock and chain at the gate.
Rory glanced sideways and saw her emotions mirrored on Adrian’s and Allison’s faces. “You feel it, too, don’t you?”
They both nodded and then the three of them laughed, each relieved they weren’t the only one who felt the house’s presence as if it were a living creature.
“Well.” Adrian took a deep breath. “Let’s go check it out.”
Together, they climbed out and headed through the open gate. Summer led the way up the steps and they waited in the cool shade as she opened the lock box and retrieved the key. A shiver of anticipation raced down Rory’s spine.
“We haven’t had a chance to get a cleaning crew over here, yet,” Summer said. “So I’m afraid the place is covered with about ten years of cobwebs and dust.”
“I’m surprised it’s not fifty years’ worth,” Adrian said, since that was how many years had passed since anyone had lived on Pearl Island.
“I was trying not to scare you off.” Summer struggled to fit the key in the ornate lock. The lock gave and the door swung open on rusty hinges that screamed in outrage. “Here we go.” Summer motioned for the three of them to precede her.
The temperature dropped several degrees within the thick stone walls, and the scent of dust and age filled Rory’s nostrils. She blinked against the utter darkness.
“Hang on, I’ll get the lights,” Summer said. Rory heard her feeling her way through the dark. “The plumbing and electricity were put in back in the twenties, so the wiring is old, but it does work.”
A few dim, worn-out bulbs came on overhead, the only ones working in an elaborate chandelier. The weak light revealed a central hall, as wide as a room, with dark wood covering the walls, floor, and ceiling. A massive fireplace filled the space between two doors to the right. At the far end, a stairway swept upward past three tall, stained-glass windows that had been boarded up. To their left, more doors opened into dark mysteries of rooms beyond.
“Wow,” Rory whispered, and the sound echoed.
“It’s exactly how I pictured it.” Allison walked to the center of the room where she turned in a slow circle and laughed. “Well, except I pictured it much cleaner and a little brighter.”
Adrian moved to the fireplace and ran his hand over the carved sea serpents that held up the mantel. The theme was repeated in the carved molding near the ceiling, where tall ships rode the backs of serpents beneath the waves. “Marguerite described it well.”
“Marguerite?” Chance asked from the doorway.
Rory turned at the sound of his voice and found him silhouetted in the sunlight. The glare of light shining around him made his image shimmer. For a moment, his shoulders seemed broader, his hair longer, darker, his white shirt became a billowing, long-sleeved affair.
Her breath caught in her throat as she imagined Captain Jack Kingsley swaggering through the door to steal Marguerite’s heart. Then Chance stepped toward her, into the dimmer light of the hall, and the illusion vanished. She saw him as he was, tall, a little on the thin side, with his scholarly glasses and dress shirt tucked neatly into suit trousers. He was always so starched and pressed, she wanted to run her fingers through his hair just to muss him up a bit, to see him flushed and fumbling as he’d been in the garden after kissing her.
With a sigh, she looked away and realized Adrian, Allison, and the real estate agent had disappeared into a room to the left of the entry. “Adrian was referring to Marguerite’s diary,” she explained.
“Marguerite kept a diary?” he asked. “I’ll bet the Historical Society would love to get their hands on that!”
“I’m sure they would,” Rory answered with a smile that let him know her family had no intention of indulging Galveston’s curiosity. She looked around, all too aware that she and Chance were alone in the cavernous entryway and standing close together. She glanced back and found him watching her.
Their gazes held as awareness grew between them. The moment lengthened, until their breaths came in slow unison. In his eyes, she saw the memory of yesterday’s kiss, and the desire to kiss her again.
Yes.
Her body leaned toward him. He leaned closer, as well, opened his mouth as if to speak... or taste her lips.
“Hey, Rory!” Adrian’s voice echoed from one of the rooms, giving her a jolt. “Come check this out.”
She jerked back. “I, um... have to go.”
Chance nodded and turned away.
What on earth had that been about?
she wondered as she went in search of her brother and sister. He said he wasn’t interested in her, but the look he’d just given her had her heart racing.
She found Allison peeking under a white dust cover in the center of the room where fingers of light pressed through the storm shutters to stripe the dusty floor.
“Rory, look at this desk,” Allison said. “From the style of the carving, I think it might be original to the house.” She straightened and glanced about. “This must have been Henri’s office.”
“Forget the desk, take a look at these shelves.” Adrian glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, Rory, do you think these built-ins would be enough to hold my books?”
Rory laughed at him. “There aren’t enough shelves in the world to hold all of your books.”
“True.” Grinning, he turned toward a wall of sliding panels. “How much you want to bet the music room is through there?” He moved to the panels and searched for a handle. Finding it, he slid one panel open, revealing a dark, spacious room beyond. “Bingo.”
“Let me see.” Allison hurried past him, her voice echoing. “Oh, Rory, come look.”
Rory followed and shared her sister’s delight at what they found. Enough sunlight seeped in for them to make out a fireplace of rose-colored marble with gilt accents. In the fresco overhead, Rubenesque women cavorted with mermen while winged cupids took aim from peach-and-gold clouds. Allison peeked beneath a dust cover to find a grand piano with lavish gold-leaf accents.
“Do you know if the furniture is for sale?” Allison asked Chance when he joined them. “I can’t imagine the LeRoche family parting with it.”
“Actually, they don’t have any say in the matter,” Chance answered. “John LeRoche was notified that anything left in the house after last Friday would be forfeited along with the property. Apparently, he didn’t take us seriously.”
“So the furniture comes with the house?” Allison asked, glancing from Chance to Summer.
“That’s up to the bank,” Summer said, directing the question back to Chance.
“We’ll need to have everything appraised first,” Chance answered. “But since we’re in the banking business, not the antiques business, I’m sure we’d rather sell everything together.”
Excitement lit Allison’s blue eyes. “How much furniture is here?”
“There’s a dining table big enough to double as an aircraft carrier in the room across the hall,” Summer said. “And a few odds and ends in the bedrooms upstairs.”
“Really?” Allison said. “Can I see?”
“Follow me,” Summer said, and led the way.
In the dining room, King Neptune ruled the ceiling with seahorses pulling his great shell chariot. More seahorses, serpents, and mermaids adorned the backs of each chair. The room was fit for a king’s banquet, and Rory could almost see Henri sitting in the throne like chair at the head of the table with his beautiful wife seated in the smaller throne at the other end.
“This is where Marguerite met Captain Kingsley,” Allison said in a hushed voice. “Rory, what did she write about it?” Turning to Chance, Allison explained. “Rory has the most remarkable memory. She might be slow when she reads, but she remembers everything word for word.”
“Well, not everything.” Rory blushed, wishing her sister hadn’t mentioned her slow reading.
Allison smirked at her. “Tell us what Marguerite wrote in her diary.”
Rory glanced sideways and found Chance and Summer watching her with interest. Her stomach fluttered at being the center of attention, but her memory was a gift that made her proud. “The night she met Captain Kingsley, Henri was having one of the dinner parties she’d come to hate. Not the lavish sort of parties Galveston was famous for, but the private parties he threw for the coarsest seafaring men imaginable.”
Moving into the room, Rory pictured them, drunken men in their filthy clothes smelling of sweat. She could almost hear their rowdy laughter. “The men were already seated around the table when Marguerite came downstairs. She was wearing a Parisian gown and the jewels Henri insisted she wear whenever he entertained.”
Rory turned and faced the door where the others stood, but in her mind she saw the delicate, dark-haired Marguerite, with her skin as pale as pearls and eyes like blue diamonds. Rory summoned the words from her memory. “ ‘Tonight at dinner there was a man, a man I’ve not seen before. He was a sea captain, like the others, and yet he wasn’t like them at all. I still can picture how he looked in that first moment I saw him. Seated near the head of the table next to Henri, he was leaning back in his chair, holding a goblet of wine. He watched the room with lazy eyes and a half-smile that said he found the other men amusing but beneath him. There was about him an unmistakable arrogance, as if he, not the painted Neptune over his head, commanded the very tides to do his bidding.’ ”