thoughts, she turned to close the
door behind her, and then decided it was best left open.
It was a beautiful old place, obviously well cared for. The
woodwork and floors were of dark oak. The walls were covered with
Victorian-looking wallpaper. Heavy, dark-red draperies hung at the windows.
But it was the furniture that held her attention. There were
a few pieces she was certain dated back to the thirteenth century. She ran her
hands lovingly over a fragile Queen Anne sofa, admired the graceful lines of a
Sheraton table, stared in awe at an ancient Greek urn.
Wandering from room to room, she saw chamber pots and bed
warmers, laces and cloths, fireplace screens and grandfather clocks, porcelain
dolls dressed in long gowns, roll-top desks, flat irons, old pictures and wall
hangings, dishes and glassware, silverware and cooking utensils made of silver
and gold, brass and pewter. A suit of armor stood in one corner.
She glimpsed hand-lettered signs from stores long gone,
posters advertising operas and ballets, circuses and lynchings.
One room contained pot-bellied stoves for heating, and
wood-burning stoves for cooking, ice boxes and vegetable bins. Another held a
long mahogany bar reminiscent of the kind seen in old Westerns. There were
shelves of all sizes filled with knick-knacks and bric-a-brac. Other shelves
held canister sets and cookies jars, sugar bowls, cream pitchers, and salt and
pepper shakers. A large wooden box held a variety of mismatched silverware.
She was unaware of the passing of time as she strolled from
room to room, her fingers caressing the back of a velvet-covered settee,
plinking out a tune on an old player piano, gently stroking the head of a china
doll.
She fell in love with a Queen Anne chair that dated back to
the 1730’s, admired an Empire cane-backed daybed that she knew had been made in
China in the 1840’s. Another room held a Federal square-backed sofa that dated
back even further than that.
She thought it odd that all the mirrors were covered.
The rooms upstairs held bedroom furniture. Here, too, the
mirrors on the highboys and chests were covered with cloths.
She examined a number of armoires, some of oak, some of dark
red mahogany, but none caught her fancy.
She paused to study a Chippendale canopy bed, then moved on
to a nineteenth-century sleigh bed. But it was a turn-of-the-century canopy bed
that made her heart skip a beat. Made of mahogany and pine, she was certain it
was well over a hundred years old.
“Find anything you like?”
His voice went through her like the rumble of distant
thunder, and she whirled around, startled to find him standing in the doorway
behind her.
“Everything.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I’ve
never seen such a treasure trove.”
“I’ve been collecting for a very long time,” he replied with
a shrug.
“Really?” She frowned. He didn’t look to be much older than
she was, but then, looks could be deceiving.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“Well, I was hoping to find an armoire, but…” She smiled
self-consciously. “I really like this bed.”
“It’s a fine old piece,” he replied. And, indeed it was.
Long ago, it had been the bed he slept in. “The mattress is new, of course.”
“Of course,” she repeated, mesmerized by his gaze, by the
sound of his voice, the sheer masculinity of the man.
“Care to try it out?”
“What?”
“The bed. Would you like to try it out?”
A strange warmth unfurled in the pit of her stomach as she
thought of lying down on the bed while he was in the room. Slowly, she shook
her head. “I don’t think so.”
She was a pretty woman, Navarre thought. She wore a blue
silk dress that complemented the color of her hair and skin. The soft material
subtly emphasized the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts.
He had been long without a woman and he felt a sudden
frisson of heat lance through him as he imagined her lying on the bed, her
door behind her, and then decided it was best left open.
It was a beautiful old place, obviously well cared for. The
woodwork and floors were of dark oak. The walls were covered with
Victorian-looking wallpaper. Heavy, dark-red draperies hung at the windows.
But it was the furniture that held her attention. There were
a few pieces she was certain dated back to the thirteenth century. She ran her
hands lovingly over a fragile Queen Anne sofa, admired the graceful lines of a
Sheraton table, stared in awe at an ancient Greek urn.
Wandering from room to room, she saw chamber pots and bed
warmers, laces and cloths, fireplace screens and grandfather clocks, porcelain
dolls dressed in long gowns, roll-top desks, flat irons, old pictures and wall
hangings, dishes and glassware, silverware and cooking utensils made of silver
and gold, brass and pewter. A suit of armor stood in one corner.
She glimpsed hand-lettered signs from stores long gone,
posters advertising operas and ballets, circuses and lynchings.
One room contained pot-bellied stoves for heating, and
wood-burning stoves for cooking, ice boxes and vegetable bins. Another held a
long mahogany bar reminiscent of the kind seen in old Westerns. There were
shelves of all sizes filled with knick-knacks and bric-a-brac. Other shelves
held canister sets and cookies jars, sugar bowls, cream pitchers, and salt and
pepper shakers. A large wooden box held a variety of mismatched silverware.
She was unaware of the passing of time as she strolled from
room to room, her fingers caressing the back of a velvet-covered settee,
plinking out a tune on an old player piano, gently stroking the head of a china
doll.
She fell in love with a Queen Anne chair that dated back to
the 1730’s, admired an Empire cane-backed daybed that she knew had been made in
China in the 1840’s. Another room held a Federal square-backed sofa that dated
back even further than that.
She thought it odd that all the mirrors were covered.
The rooms upstairs held bedroom furniture. Here, too, the
mirrors on the highboys and chests were covered with cloths.
She examined a number of armoires, some of oak, some of dark
red mahogany, but none caught her fancy.
She paused to study a Chippendale canopy bed, then moved on
to a nineteenth-century sleigh bed. But it was a turn-of-the-century canopy bed
that made her heart skip a beat. Made of mahogany and pine, she was certain it
was well over a hundred years old.
“Find anything you like?”
His voice went through her like the rumble of distant
thunder, and she whirled around, startled to find him standing in the doorway
behind her.
“Everything.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I’ve
never seen such a treasure trove.”
“I’ve been collecting for a very long time,” he replied with
a shrug.
“Really?” She frowned. He didn’t look to be much older than
she was, but then, looks could be deceiving.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“Well, I was hoping to find an armoire, but…” She smiled
self-consciously. “I really like this bed.”
“It’s a fine old piece,” he replied. And, indeed it was.
Long ago, it had been the bed he slept in. “The mattress is new, of course.”
“Of course,” she repeated, mesmerized by his gaze, by the
sound of his voice, the sheer masculinity of the man.
“Care to try it out?”
“What?”
“The bed. Would you like to try it out?”
A strange warmth unfurled in the pit of her stomach as she
thought of lying down on the bed while he was in the room. Slowly, she shook
her head. “I don’t think so.”
She was a pretty woman, Navarre thought. She wore a blue
silk dress that complemented the color of her hair and skin. The soft material
subtly emphasized the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts.
He had been long without a woman and he felt a sudden
frisson of heat lance through him as he imagined her lying on the bed, her
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