miles long from one end to the other, you know, and it’s mostly fed by snow melting up in the mountains. The water doesn’t really warm up for another month or so. But with the hot weather we’ve been having, it should be getting tolerable.”
“Jenny’s just scared of the lake monster,” her husband said, ruffling his wife’s hair fondly. “What’s his name again?”
“Ogopogo,” Gina told him. “Lots of the local people say they’ve seen him. He’s supposed to be about sixty feet long, quite playful, with several humps and a head much like a horse.”
“Have you ever seen him?” Jenny asked.
Gina smiled. “Maybe,” she said. “But I’m not telling. Hurry up and go for your swim, or you won’t be back in time for tea.”
“I love teatime,” the husband said with enthusiasm.
“Forget the tea and cakes,” his wife teased. “The sherry’s what he really likes.”
The young man grinned, then ran off along the path to the beach, laughing as his wife came scrambling after him.
Gina watched them until they disappeared behind a rocky promontory. At last she turned and headed back up to the house, climbing the stairs to the gold room with its piles of wallpaper scraps.
SOON SHE WAS ABSORBED in her task again, lulled by the mechanics of the job, the careful measuring and fitting and the almost magical transformation as the fresh new paper covered the faded walls.
Gina hummed softly, thinking about curtains. The old lace panels looked limp and discolored against the new paper. Maybe she’d make a set of white priscillas for the window seat. Or some muslin panels on fling rods, trimmed with macramé lace…
She frowned, considering, and took a step closer to examine the window frame. In most of her decorating projects, she tried to stick to an authentic Victorian look, which was in keeping with the rest of the house. But window coverings, those were a real challenge.
She preferred a light fresh look in draperies, something that let in the marvelous scenery and the fragrant breezes from the garden and the lake. She hated the Victorian habit of swathing windows in yards and yards of heavy brocade and damask, often further cluttered with fringes and valances, all designed to keep the sun at bay. She paused to look out the window, pleased by the sights and sounds of her little world. Far below on the beach, she could see the honeymoon couple lying on the beach, stretched out on their dark blue Edgewood towels, their hands touching.
The elderly couple had left the sunroom and were strolling in the garden, admiring the geraniums. No other guests were in evidence, although five of Gina’s nine rooms were currently occupied. People tended to scatter after breakfast, off exploring the countryside or visiting one of the resort towns along the lake.
But they were usually careful to get back in time for afternoon tea, served with cakes and sherry in the wood-paneled library. This charming custom had been established with great success during Gina’s early years at Edgewood Manor, and was one of the features that brought people back year after year.
Through the open window, she could hear a gentle medley of sounds. Bees hummed drowsily among the flowers in the garden, Mary’s pudgy poodle whimpered somewhere nearby—obviously still suffering from hunger pangs—and sea gulls cried around the dock.
It was heaven, Gina thought, absently fingering one of the lace panels. The place was simply heaven.
“Hello?” a voice said behind her, startling her. “Are you Gina Mitchell?”
She dropped the curtain, whirled around—and found herself staring in confusion at one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen.
GINA STUDIED the newcomer. He appeared to be about forty, no more than average height, but powerfully built. He wore casual pleated slacks and a white polo shirt, and had curly dark hair, heavily frosted with gray at the temples. His face, with its finely chiseled features and clear intelligent blue eyes, was severe in repose, despite the fullness of his lower lip. She thought his mouth hinted at a sensual nature, well controlled but very intense.
“I’m sorry if I startled you.” His tone was courteous. “My name’s Alex Colton. I phoned earlier to say I’d be coming out this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s right. My housekeeper mentioned your call. But I’ve been so busy today I forgot all about it.”
Colton looked around at the wet scraps of paper littering the hardwood, then at the flowered walls, now almost completely covered. He turned back to Gina with a smile. “It looks great. You’re quite the decorator.”
The smile surprised her. It transformed his face, driving away the severity and making him seem happy, almost boyish. But as suddenly as it had appeared, the smile faded and the severity returned.
Or was it sadness? Gina wondered. If a woman lived with this man, she’d probably spend a lot of her time trying to make him smile.
Gina wiped her hands briskly on her shorts and moved past him to the door. “My housekeeper mentioned that you were interested in renting a room?” she asked over her shoulder.
“I wanted to discuss terms,” he said. “If you have a few minutes to spare.”
“I always have time to spare for business.”
Gina led the way down the stairs, conscious of Alex Colton just behind her. For such a powerfully built man, he had a tread as light as a cat.
“That window is magnificent,” he said, gazing upward. “Do you happen to know who did the stained glass?”
Gina paused in the foyer by the newel post, fingering an intricate carving of grape leaves in the polished oak. For the second time that afternoon, she told the story of Josiah Edgewood and his reluctant bride.
Colton stood above her on the stairs and listened in apparent fascination, emotions playing visibly across his face. The man was such a good audience that Gina had to force herself to stop talking. She felt as if she could go on for hours, telling him stories about the house and its history, enjoying the way his eyes lit up and that elusive smile touched his mouth.
“Well, it seems my wife was right, as usual,” he said at last. “I think this place is going to be perfect for us.”
His wife.
Gina was surprised and a little annoyed with herself for her swift surge of disappointment. After all, she was hardly the sort of woman who looked on every man as a romantic prospect.
She led the way across the foyer and into her office. Moving behind the broad oak desk, she gestured to one of the leather chairs nearby and reached into a drawer for the reservation book. Her guest settled in a chair and examined the placid scene beyond the window.
“When were you and your wife thinking of coming to stay with us, Mr. Colton?”
He glanced at her, looking startled and unhappy, and turned back to his study of the yard. “What’s wrong with that dog?” he asked.
Gina followed his gaze, watching as Mary’s fat white poodle lumbered past the window and settled near a clump of pink alyssum, whining piteously.
“She’s hungry,” Gina said. “Her name’s Annabel and I’m afraid she’s on a diet.”
“She certainly should be,” Colton said with another of those brief shining smiles. “But she doesn’t seem to have a lot of willpower, does she?”
“Not a lot,” Gina agreed. “Annabel doesn’t believe in suffering silently.”
She stole a glance at her visitor, who was still watching the dog. He looked so intrigued that