Page 17
“Right this way,” she said, pulling a key ring from her pocket.
I followed her across the room and into another, lined with shelving and with four wide tables centered in the middle. She pulled on thin cotton gloves as she approached the display.
“The Hausburg,” she announced, grabbing a carton. She flicked open the cardboard and gently set the box on a mat.
“Ebony veneer and inlaid abalone, and here,” she pointed but didn’t touch, “we have inlaid platinum. Exceptionally rare due to the high melting point. We haven’t told anyone. You are the first.”
Whether or not the ink rumors were true, I knew right then I would be making the purchase. It was unheard of for Hausburg to use platinum in his designs. It was very likely the item was being mistakenly attributed to the man.
When Maryann opened the box lid, I knew my suspicions were correct. The velvet wasn’t blue—it was an ultra-fine deep purple with a metallic iridescence. I managed to stop my heart from skipping a beat. The item wasn’t from here, and this woman had no idea what she was in possession of.
Allowing my gaze to wander over the shelves for a moment, I took my time meeting her eyes. “And the writing instruments?”
Her shoulders slumped a fraction. “They are all here,” she said, gesturing toward the utensils, tucked in leather bands.
Maryann fussed with the prize, showing me secret drawers and extolling their virtues before she lifted the panel where the ink was. “Screw top. There may still be ink inside; I don’t dare open it myself. The historian who found it stated that there was.”
The small silver bottle rested in her palm, and I nodded. “I’ll take it. Please package it up.”
“Always a delight, Mister Hawthorne.” She squared her shoulders and dipped her head slightly before returning the box to its cardboard shell.
By the time we returned to the main desk, the Hausburg was safely ensconced in a perfectly sized wooden box.
“Will you be perusing the books today as well?” she asked.
Lifting the small crate, I answered, “Yes.” I paused. “May I ask where your historian procured this Hausburg?”
She shook her head. “It came from overseas and he didn’t have any provincial knowledge. We are assuming it came from an estate sale, but we aren’t confident.”
“Very well. Thank you.” This was typical for these types of items, and I decided I would pay the historian a visit.
But first, I would examine the library.
Leaving the antiquities office, I strolled down the long corridor before coming to a set of doors with brass knobs and frosted glass panes on the upper half. When I let myself in, I was disappointed.
Clusters of people surged about, while I was used to having the place mostly to myself. This time, multiple humans perused the towering shelves, if they weren’t surrounded by stacks of books at the tables.
Sunlight streamed through high windows onto a pile of leather tomes at a desk where an elderly man sat rapt, fully absorbed in the words he was reading.
As I passed him, I inhaled the comforting scents of leather, wood polish, and ageing paper. Rather than approach the front desk, I headed straight for the towering rows.
I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I was thrown off my normal routine by the surprise appearance of a crowd. I should have sensed them; it shouldn’t have been a shock. I was off my game and that was a dangerous place to be. Even now, my heart was still thudding against my ribs.
The last time I’d felt this vulnerable was when my parents were killed.
Collecting myself, I forced my body into submission, hiding my mental, emotional, and physical state and took several deep breaths. What the hell was wrong with me?
There was an empty space on the shelf in front of me and I set my wooden box containing the Hausburg down. I shoved my shoulders back and raked a hand through my hair before I heard someone ask, “Are you a squatter?”
CHAPTER 7
Brittney
That was the hottest dream I’d ever had, right up until the threat of homicide.
Although, honestly, he sure hadn’t been acting like he wanted me dead. I giggled as I climbed out of bed. If this was how my dreams were gonna start being, I’d have to start scheduling in some naps whenever I could.
My body was still tingling in anticipation as I made my way to the bathroom. When I stared at myself in the mirror, remembering how the man had shoved everything off the table and laid me out, my cheeks turned red. No one had ever thrown me around like that before, like they couldn’t get enough of me.
