"So I'm told." He tasted the wine, approved, then waited for Amanda's to be poured. "Perhaps you'll find some time and act as my guide."
"I don't think—"
"Hotel policy's already been bent," he interrupted, and touched his glass lightly to hers.
"I wanted to ask you how you managed it."
"Very simply. I gave your Mr. Stenerson a choice. Either he could make an exception to his policy, or I could move to another hotel where it wouldn't be an issue."
"I see." She took a thoughtful sip of wine. "That seems a bit drastic just for a dinner."
"A very delightful dinner. I wanted to get to know you better. I hope you don't mind."
What woman could? she asked herself, and only smiled.
It was impossible not to relax, not to be charmed by his stories, flattered by his attentiveness. He did not, as so many successful men did, talk constantly of his business. As an antique dealer he'd traveled all over the world and, throughout the meal, gave Amanda glimpses of Paris and Rome, London and Rio.
When her thoughts drifted now and again to another man, she doubled her determination to enjoy herself where she was, and with whom.
"The rosewood chiffonier in your foyer," he commented as they lingered over coffee and dessert. "It's a beautiful piece."
"Thank you. It's Regency period—I think."
He smiled. "You think correctly. If I had run into it at an auction, I would have considered myself very fortunate."
"My great-grandfather had it shipped over from England when he built the house."
"Ah, the house." William's lips curved as he lifted his cup. "Very imposing. I half expected to see medieval maidens drifting about on the lawn."
"Or bats swooping out of the tower."
On a delighted laugh, he squeezed her hand. “No, but perhaps Rapunzel letting down her hair."
The image appealed and made her smile.”We love it, and always have. Maybe the next time you visit the island you'll stay at The Towers Retreat."
"The Towers Retreat," he murmured, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his lips. "Where have I heard that before?" "A projected St. James hotel?"
His eyes cleared. "Of course. I read something a few weeks ago. You don't mean to say that your home is The Towers?"
"Yes, it is. We hope to have the retreat ready for occupancy in about a year."
"That is fascinating. But wasn't there some legend attached to the place? Something about ghosts and missing jewelry?"
"The Calhoun emeralds. They were my great-grandmother's."
With a half smile, he tilted his head. "They're real? I thought it was just a clever publicity gimmick. Stay in a haunted house and search for missing treasure. That sort of thing."
"No, in fact we're not at all pleased that the whole business leaked out." Even thinking about it annoyed her so that she began to drum her fingers on the table. "The necklace is real—was real in any event We don't know where it might have been hidden. In the meantime we're forever bothered by reporters or having to chase erstwhile treasure hunters off the grounds."
"I'm sorry. That's very intrusive."
"We hope to find it soon, and put an end to all the nonsense. Once renovations start, it might turn up under a floorboard."
"Or behind the ubiquitous secret panel," he offered with a smile and made her laugh.
"We don't have any of those—at least that I know of."
"Then your ancestor was remiss. A place like that deserves at least one secret panel." He laid a hand over hers again. "Perhaps you'll let me help you look for it...or at least let me use it as an excuse to see you again."
"I'm sorry, but at least for the next few days I'm tied up. My sister's getting married on Saturday."
He smiled over their joined hands. "There's always Sunday. I would like to see you again, Amanda. Very much." He let the subject, and her hand slip gently away.
On the drive home he kept the topics general. No pressure, Amanda thought, grateful. No arrogant assumptions or cocky grins. This was the kind of man who knew how to treat a woman with the proper respect and attention. William wouldn't knock her to the ground and laugh in her face. He wouldn't stalk her down like a gunslinger and fire out demands.
So why was she so let down when they stopped in front of the house and Sloan's car was nowhere in sight? Shaking off the mood, she waited for William to come around and open her door.
"Thank you for tonight," she told him. "It was lovely."
"Yes, it was. And so are you." Very gently he placed his hands on her shoulders before touching his lips to hers. The kiss was very warm, very soft—an expert caress of lips and hands. And to her disappointment, it left her completely unmoved.
"Are you really going to make me wait until Sunday to see you again?"
His eyes told her that he had not been unmoved. Amanda waited for the banked desire in them to strike some chord. But there was nothing.
"William, I—"
"Lunch," he said, adding a charming smile. "Something very casual at the hotel. You can tell me more about the house."
"All right. If I can swing it." She eased away before he could kiss her again. "Thanks again."
"My pleasure, Amanda." He waited, as was proper, for her to go inside. As the door shut behind her, his smile changed ever so slightly, hardened, cooled. "Believe me, it will be my pleasure."
He walked back to his car. He would drive it well out of sight of The Towers. And then he would come back to do a quick and quiet tour of the grounds, to note down the most practical entrances.
If Amanda Calhoun could be his entry way into The Towers, that was all well and good—with the side benefit of romancing a beautiful woman. If she didn't provide him with a way in, he would simply find a different route.
One way or the other, he didn't intend to leave Mount Desert Island without the Calhoun emeralds.
"Did you have a good time?" Suzanna asked when Amanda came in the front door.
"Suze." Amused but not surprised, Amanda shook her head. "You waited up again."
"No, I didn't." To prove it, Suzanna gestured with the mug in her hand. "I just came down to make myself some tea."
Amanda laughed as she walked over to rest her hands on her sister's shoulders. "Why is it that we Irish-as-Paddy's-pig Calhouns can't tell a decent lie?"
Suzanna gave up. "I don't know. We should practice more." "Honey, you look tired."
"Mmm." Exhausted was the word, but she didn't care for it. Suzanna sipped the tea as they started up the stairs together. "Springtime. Everybody wants their flowers done yesterday. I'm not complaining. It looks like the business is finally going to turn a real profit."
"I still think you should hire on some more help. Between the business and the kids you run yourself ragged."
"Now who's playing mama? Anyway, Island Gardens needs one more good season before I can afford anything but one part-time helper. Plus I like to be busy." Even though fatigue was dragging at her, she paused outside of Amanda's door. "Mandy, can I talk to you for a minute before you go to bed?"
"Sure. Come on in." Amanda left the door slightly ajar as she slipped out of her shoes. "Is something wrong?"
"No. At least nothing I can put my finger on. Can I ask you what you think of Sloan?"
"Think of him?" Stalling, Amanda set her shoes neatly in the closet.
"Impressions, I guess. He seems like a very nice man. Both kids are already crazy about him, and that's an almost foolproof barometer for me."
"He's good with them." Amanda took off her earrings to replace them in her jewelry box.
"I know." Troubled, she wandered the room. "Aunt Coco's set to adopt him. He's slipped right into an easy relationship with Lilah. C.C.'s already fond of him, and not just because he's a friend of Trent's."
Pouting a little, Amanda unclasped her necklace. "His type always gets along beautifully with women."