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shrugged as if the matter were of little importance.

“I’m surprised a man with your talent would feel the need for magic.” Her gaze flickered over his face.

He studied his fingernails to keep her from seeing any hint of desperation in his eyes. “In addition to being curious, writers are notoriously superstitious. If I thought it would get me a number one slot on the New York Times best-seller list, I’d write naked in the middle of Times Square.”

“You’ve already done that.”

“What? Write naked in Times Square?” He grinned at her.

“No!” A breathy laugh escaped her. “I mean you’ve made number one on the best-seller lists. Many times.”

“Hey, it never hurts to hedge your bets.” The vivid pink in her cheeks intrigued him, and he wondered what it would take to make her cheeks go all the way to red. “Who’s to say the success of Ghost Island wasn’t due in part to Marguerite? I did get the idea while staying here.”

“I’ve always thought the power of a charm comes more from believing in it than anything supernatural.”

“If it works, it works.”

“True.” With a jiggle of keys, she opened the door and headed for a bedside table where she clicked on a lamp.

Scott took in the paisley wallpaper, heavy four-poster bed, and other furniture that gave the room a masculine feel. Whoever had decorated the inn had a taste for quality antiques.

She flung open three sets of heavy draperies, revealing a wall of windows that faced the cove. Sunlight poured in as she rattled off the routine for laundry and room cleaning. She opened another set of draperies, revealing a door to the second-floor balcony. He knew a larger balcony, off the ballroom on the third floor, loomed directly above. It was from that balcony Henri had fired a cannon on Jack Kingsley’s ship, killing his wife’s lover. The remains of the ship and Kingsley’s ghost were said to still be at the bottom of the cove... with the two ghosts forever looking for a way to reunite.

“You’ll want to keep this door locked, since you share the balcony with the Pearl.”

“The ghost?”

“No.” Allison laughed lightly. “The Pearl is what we call Marguerite’s old suite in the tower since she was known as the Pearl of New Orleans during her days as an opera singer. Just as we call this suite the Baron, since ‘shipping baron’ was the nicest term we could think of to describe Henri.”

“Makes sense.” Scott nodded.

“I think that covers everything.” She folded her hands before her, looking perfectly composed except for the color still glowing in her cheeks. “Do you have any questions?”

“Just one.” He stepped back to see under the desk. “Where’s the modem hookup?”

“Oh, we don’t have phones in the rooms. So many people carry mobile phones, we decided it wasn’t necessary. We do have a computer set up in the music room, though, so guests can check e-mail.”

He stared at her a moment. “No phones in the rooms?”

“I’m afraid not.” Worry flickered across her brow. “Is that a problem?”

“Actually”—he smoothed his beard to hide a smile— “that’s the best news I’ve had in weeks.”

“Oh.” The comment obviously confused her. “Well then, I’ll leave you to settle in.” He nodded as she made her way to the door. “If you need anything at all, please let us know.”

“I’ll do that.”

The moment she left, he glanced about. “Hear that, Marguerite? If I need anything at all... Well, right now, I could use a damn good idea for my next novel.”

Taking a seat at the desk, he booted up the computer, then stared at the blank screen. His mind remained equally blank. After several minutes he let his gaze drift back to the door. “Although, as long as I’m asking for ‘anything,’ how about you make your great-great-great-granddaughter a little bit less of a ‘nice girl’?”

Chapter 2

Allison hurried downstairs to share her news with her brother and sister. When she entered the kitchen, her dog, Sadie, bounded up from her pallet in the corner with a happy bark. The sassy little sheltie trotted over to greet her, while Adrian and Aurora didn’t miss a beat in their ongoing food fight.

“Come on, Adrian,” Rory pleaded with one hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “I know you have some nuts in here somewhere.”

“For the thousandth time, no,” Adrian insisted. “And for the millionth time, the doctor told you to cut back on salty food to keep your ankles from swelling.”

“It’s not the salt I need. It’s nuts. Any nuts.”

“Still at it?” Alli whispered to Sadie as she squatted down to ruffle the sable and white coat. Sadie grinned back, her brown eyes twinkling.

“Waldorf salad,” Rory muttered as she waddled past them on her way to the refrigerator. Because of her height, Rory’s pregnancy had taken a while to become apparent, but now that she’d reached her final weeks her belly expanded daily.

Alli always marveled that she and her sister were so different in both temperament and looks. While she was reserved and petite and had the coloring of their French ancestors, Rory was as outgoing as one would expect of a woman nearly six feet tall with long tumbling curls of golden-red hair. As Rory rummaged through the fridge, their older brother shook his head in amused frustration.

“You already picked all the walnuts out of the salad last night,” Adrian complained as he slid a batch of lemon poppy muffins into the oven. He wore a red T-shirt and wildly patterned chef’s pants, but the long black ponytail and small gold earring made him look more pirate than cook.

“Pistachio almond ice cream,” Rory said, moving from the refrigerator to the freezer.

“Apparently you ate the last pint some time during the night,” Adrian said, “because it’s all gone.”

“Oh.” Rory’s shoulders slumped. “Chance didn’t tell me it was the last one.” Narrowing her eyes, she glanced about the massive kitchen with its red brick walls and aged rafters. The room held a homey scent that

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