Falling for You by Julie Ortolon Page A

took a step back so that they stood in a circle staring at the floorboards as if expecting to see a body materialize. When they realized what they’d done, they glanced at each other. He and Summer blushed, but the St. Claires burst out laughing.
    “Perhaps we’ll leave that little detail out of our promotional brochure,” Adrian suggested.
    “No, people love a good ghost story,” Aurora said as they climbed the stairs.
    “Okay, then we’ll paint a white outline in the shape of a body,” he suggested.
    “Adrian!” Aurora glanced nervously about, as if looking for the offended spirit. “Have some respect.”
    “Oh.
Sorry!
” Adrian said to the house at large.
    The second floor had another large, central hall with several rooms opening off it. It had also suffered the most renovations. There were five bedrooms in all. The bathrooms that had been installed were woefully inadequate and Chance saw little choice but to tear them out and start over. Although, much to Allison’s delight, the largest of the rooms held an odd mix of headboards, chairs, and even an armoire. She found a fainting couch in the sitting room, located in the tower where sunlight spilled through the storm shutters.
    “These must have been Marguerite’s rooms,” Allison said, and a dreamy look settled on her face. “Here in the tower is where she’d stare past the cove, waiting for Captain Kingsley to return.”
    “So,” Adrian said, joining them. “We have two large suites, two medium-sized bedrooms, and one small room, all with the potential for full baths.” He looked at Aurora. “Will that be enough to make a living?”
    “I don’t know.” She looked to Chance.
    “We’ll have to run some numbers,” he answered.
    “Actually,” Summer smiled, “you could fit more rooms upstairs.”
    “Oh, that’s right.” Aurora beamed. “The ballroom.”
    They found the stairs to the third floor through a door over the back hall and headed up the dark passage. The steps creaked in protest and a chill snaked down Chance’s spine. There was an eerie feel to the air that could almost make a person believe the place was haunted.
    They reached the top and stood in a close group, held together by the darkness.
    “Hang on,” Summer said, her voice echoing. “Let me find the light switch.” He heard a click, but no light followed. “Darn, it must have burned out. I’ll try to open the doors to the balcony.”
    As they waited, Chance became aware of Aurora standing beside him. He could smell her faint floral scent, hear the soft rhythm of her breathing. He imagined if he reached sideways, his fingers would brush hers. His skin tingled at the thought.
    With a pop and a creak, a set of French doors swung open, and sunlight flooded in.
    Aurora gasped in wonder. “Oh, Allison, look.” She moved into the large open room. Paneling with a faux finish of pink marble surrounded acres of parquet wood flooring. White columns guarded alcoves created by the gabled windows. And overhead the ceiling arched and dipped with a series of frescoes. The scenes depicted French aristocrats frolicking in lavish gardens. Ladies in pastel satin dresses danced with their suitors, waving streamers of flowers. Bewigged gentlemen pushed ladies on swings suspended by floral chains. The style of the paintings, and the fashions depicted, would have been a hundred years outdated by the time the house was built, but Chance marveled at their whimsical beauty. Henri LeRoche had spared no expense in his quest to impress others with his wealth.
    “It’s just like Marguerite described it,” Allison said, joining Aurora in the middle of the room. “Like the inside of a music box.” With arms spread wide, she turned about. “Can’t you just picture ladies in ball gowns twirling on the arm of gentlemen clad in formal black?”
    “What I picture is four good-sized bedrooms,” Adrian said.
    “Do we have to divide it up?” Aurora asked, clearly charmed by the ceiling as