The Trouble with Magic (Loveswept) Read Free Page B

the moment, but they, too, added only splendor to the possibilities he was envisioning.
    A low rock wall circled the cliff that looked down on the cove sheltering the boat house and dock from harsh weather. Between it and the flagstone patio in front of the house was an entire field of neatly clipped grass and carefully tended flower gardens.
    “I accept your apology,” he said, looking around with an appraising eye.
    “For what?” she asked, startled.
    “For not asking me here in the summer or fall, when this place must be spectacular.”
    She smiled, again affected by his praise.
    “We call it the Bride’s Garden because the women of my family have always tended it, and until my mother, of course, all the women came here as brides.”
    “No male heir, huh?” he said, walking across the lawn toward the house.
    “Well, yes, there was a son before my grandfather died. But my mother’s brother was killed in Germany during World War II, and my grandmother, a Jovette by marriage herself, had no one else to leave it to but my mother.”
    “Then she married a Wheaton, and the island eventually came to you.”
    “Right.”
    “And up until you, it’s always belonged to a Jovette?”
    “Since the early sixteen hundreds, yes.”
    He stopped cold. “That’s over three hundred years.”
    She turned grave eyes on him. “I know that, Mr. Dunsmore.”
    Attempting to hang on to a legacy that was three hundred years old would undoubtedly be an awesome responsibility—certainly one he found difficult to imagine, his own family being a mishmash of steprelatives and in-laws. There was a tightening in his chest, and he encountered a wave of sympathy for her before he pushed it aside and reminded himself that her indebtedness was none of his doing.
    “You know,” he said slowly, his expression wary. “I’d be reluctant to mention this, except that I’m sure it’s already occurred to you, but with everything else you’ve done to interfere with the sale of this island, why didn’t you try to get it declared an historical landmark?”
    She shook her head and started across the stone terrace to the front door. “I’d have to open it to the public, and then it might as well be a resort.” She spoke as if resort were another name for Den of Iniquity. “It’s a home, Mr. Dunsmore. Not a tourist trap.”
    He could have let her comments pass, he had a vague understanding of her feelings for the place, but ...
    “I don’t know,” he said, stepping into the house behind her and taking a slow appreciative survey of the spacious foyer, the graceful curve of the staircase to the second floor, the highly polished antiques. “I don’t seem to be having any trouble seeing this as a small, intimate lobby ... maybe a quiet little bar in this room over here and ... How big is the dining room, Ms. Wheaton?”
    Bristling, she turned to him. Amber sparks of anger flashed in her eyes and did strange things to the rhythm of his heart. Reflex snapped her head up straighter on her neck and proud indignation stretched out her spine to a new height. It was a stance that inspired admiration.
    “I wouldn’t count my hotels until the neon sign goes up, Mr. Dunsmore,” she said, hoping the fear and dread she was feeling wasn’t evident in her voice. “I have every intention of persuading you to leave Jovette Island unmolested.”
    “Unmolested, Ms. Wheaton? Have you thought that I might be the one to save this place from ruin?”
    “Does it look ruined to you, Mr. Dunsmore?”
    “Not yet. But if you can’t pay the taxes and you’re behind on the mortgage payments, how do you plan to keep up the maintenance?”
    “I’ve told you before,” she said, shifting her weight uncomfortably, loath to discuss her finances with a stranger. “I can pay the taxes, catch up on the mortgage payments, and maintain this place, but I need time. Just a little time.”
    “Planning to win the lottery?”
    “Where the money comes from isn’t your