A New Foundation by Rochelle Alers (philippa perry book txt) 📕

bed. His last thoughts before Morpheus claimed him were of Sonja as he stood beside her bed, watching her sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

Decelerating, Sonja turned onto the private road leading to Bainbridge House. Some of the older trees that had been still bare the last time she’d come to the estate were now resplendently covered with bright green leaves. She drove through the open gates and seconds later they automatically closed behind her. She wanted to get to the house by eight and work nonstop until midafternoon. Maneuvering into the driveway behind Taylor’s car, she shut off the engine. It was obvious she wasn’t the only one planning to begin early.

Scooping up the tote with her camera, legal pads and felt-tipped pens, and the insulated bag with her lunch in glass containers filled with salad, fruit and bottles of water she got out of the SUV. She climbed the six steps, opened the front door and came face-to-face with a tall, slender man dressed entirely in black: shirt, jeans and boots. Sonja forced a smile she didn’t quite feel because there was something about him that made her uncomfortable. The dark green eyes the exact shade of peridot had deepened to a dark emerald the longer he stared at her. She wanted to ask him if he’d been taught it was impolite to stare.

“I’m Sonja Rios-Martin,” she said, shattering the soporific spell.

The man inclined his head. “Dominic Shaw.” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “Taylor wanted me to give this to you. It’s the remote device for the front gate. The first button opens the gate. It will close automatically once you drive over the metal plate, but if you want to keep it from closing, then tap on the left.”

Sonja took the remote device. “Thank you.”

Dom ran a hand over raven-black hair. “I brought up some crates and put them in the library.”

She smiled. “Thank you again.”

“Taylor’s in the back checking the foundation. Do you want me to get him for you?”

“Please don’t bother him. I’ll see him later.”

“I’m going to be in the cellar for most of this morning. So, if you need anything and Taylor’s not available, then just come down.”

Sonja wanted to tell the man she doubted whether she would need him for anything. He wasn’t what she thought of as handsome, but attractive. There were too many sharp angles in his lean face. “Okay.”

She walked in the direction of the library, curbing the urge to look over her shoulder to see if Dominic was still staring at her retreating back. There was something about him that was creepy. Taylor had told her that Dom, as he called him, was the only one living on the property, and Sonja deduced that the man had spent so much time alone that he probably resented having to share what had become his private lair. She could not imagine living on a 350-plus-acre property year-round with only sporadic human interaction.

Sonja entered the library. There were eight crates lining one wall. Unfortunately, none of the crates were labeled with their contents, which meant a guessing game as to what she would find. Setting the tote on a small round table, Sonja took out the materials she needed to begin identifying and cataloguing.

“Yes,” she said softly after she’d removed the top of the first one. She took out a crystal wineglass protected by Bubble Wrap. Sonja recalled Taylor telling her the late-nineteenth-century mansion was abandoned in the 1960s when the last Bainbridge died at the age of ninety-four, and his father was the last surviving direct descendant of the original owner. She knew bubble wrap hadn’t been invented until 1960.

She emptied the crate, lining fragile glassware on an oak Mission-style table. One by one she photographed a liqueur glass with transparent enameling, circa 1900; a Daum Frères cameo glass vase, circa 1890; E. Bakalowits & Söhne floral glasses; four Bohemian drinking glasses with purple and gold medallions on the base and two more Bohemian liqueur glasses in a rich ruby color. The minutes stretched into hours as she took pictures of the glassware, listed them on pads, and then carefully rewrapped them and returned them to the crate. Sonja found it odd that there were no complete sets, leaving her to wonder if someone had packed them away without regard to whether they matched. She marked the crate with the date and its contents, and then moved onto another one.

This one was filled with large flannel bags of velvet boxes she knew contained jewelry. There was a gold, pearl and amethyst brooch; another with parrots bejeweled with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds and onyx. Her breath caught in her throat when she held a Cartier brooch with large bloodred rubies, diamonds and sapphires. There were more brooches, rings, necklaces, earrings and bracelets with priceless stones set in gold and platinum.

“How’s it going, muñeca?”

Sonja turned on her chair to find Taylor in the doorway. She smiled at him. “One down and who knows how many more to go.”

Pulling over a chair, Taylor sat and brushed a light kiss on her mouth, increasing the pressure until her lips parted. “You look and smell delicious.” He didn’t think he would ever tire of kissing Sonja, inhaling the sensual fragrance of the perfume that was perfect for her hypnotic feminine scent.

“That’s because you’re biased,” Sonja whispered.

“Hell, yeah.” He reached out and picked up a pin with a large blue stone surrounded with gold leaves topped with rubies and stems dotted with diamonds. “Someone really liked bling.”

“Someone was really partial to brooches.” Sonja handed him one completely covered in diamonds designed with an arrow attached at the back of a heart. “This is an amatory brooch.”

“Amatory as in love?”

Sonja nodded. “They were jewels representing sentiment and love, common from the seventeenth to the late nineteenth century. Early symbols included the true lover’s knot, and Cupid shooting arrows and flaming hearts like this one.”

Taylor set the brooch on the table and picked up a