Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Unable to help myself, I reached for a gilt and leather book, the title indicating it was a French Almanac, I guessed from the eighteen hundreds. Just in time, I snatched my hand back.
"You can look at it." Tenn's amused voice had my spine going stiff. Somehow, I'd forgotten he was there.
A flush of embarrassment heating my cheeks, I made no effort to touch the book again. "Not without gloves," I explained. "I don't know how delicate it is. Something this valuable shouldn't just be sitting on a shelf, but I've learned not to trust collectors to take care of their things."
Tenn's laugh was harsh. "My father wasn't into art or history unless it could give him more money or power. He could have bought something priceless and then shoved it here and forgotten about it."
I shook my head and stepped back, eyes drifting over the columns of shelves. "I don't know, whoever arranged this room had an eye for design. For art. It's hard to imagine that same person being careless with antiques. But I'd still rather have gloves on before I touch any of the books."
Now that the spell had been broken, I was aware of Tenn once more. He followed me as I drifted down the side of the vast room, my eyes greedily absorbing one treasure after another. Tenn said nothing, his eyes on me rather than the books and art. When I came to a sudden halt, he bumped into me, the hard heat of him a jolt, cutting through my art-induced haze.
Clearing my throat, I mumbled, "Sorry," my hand reaching to touch once more. The oil on my skin wouldn't damage this piece, but it was so rare, so delicate, the stroke of my fingertip was feather-light.
"Please, tell me you don't let Nicky run around in here." The thought of the child bumping into the ancient Roman flask was terrifying.
Tenn started to shrug, then stopped. "I doubt it. Why? Is it valuable?"
"May I?" I asked instead of answering, my fingers itching to touch.
Chapter Ten
TENN
I was transfixed by the reverent expression on Scarlett's face. I walked through this room all the time and couldn't remember the last time I'd really paid attention to the place. I liked to read, though I found myself digging into a good book on audio most often these days, but the Heartstone Library had never felt like my place. As children, we'd been forbidden to enter, and by the time I was old enough, I'd lost interest.
Watching Scarlett, the mix of awe and curiosity suffusing her entire body, I realized I might have missed something. She studied the short, squat piece of glass as if it were a hundred-carat diamond, her fingers hovering in the air, clearly longing to touch.
"Go ahead." I didn't bother to tell her to be careful. I already knew there was no one in this house who'd take more care than she would.
Shooting me an impatient look, Scarlett wiggled her cuffed wrist. "Undo me, just for a minute. If you jerk your arm, I might drop it."
I pulled the key from my pocket and released her. I had no doubt I could chase her down if it came to that, but my gut said Scarlett wasn't going anywhere. Even if we didn't have her son, this room would hold her here for now.
Her touch delicate, she removed the bottle from the stand, turning it carefully, eyes narrowed, cataloging every detail.
"What is it?" I asked, needing to know what about the thing had her so transfixed.
Her voice was hushed when she finally spoke. "It's an aryballos. First-century Roman. A perfect and very rare example of the splashed glass technique."
"How rare?"
Absently, tracing a finger over the texture of the gray splotches obscuring the blue glass beneath, she said, "The last one that went to auction was six or seven years ago and it sold for around forty-thousand pounds."
I let out a low whistle. In a million years I wouldn't have guessed the small blue and gray bottle was worth so much. "Did you say first century? As in A.D.? And what's an aryballos?"
So very carefully, Scarlett placed the little bottle back on its stand. "Yes, first century A.D. Roman. An aryballos is a flask. This was probably used to hold perfume or oil." Her voice was distant as if she answered by rote, her mind caught by the piece itself.
"Why is it worth so much? The age?"
Scarlett shook her head, reaching out again to trace her finger over one of the gray splotches. "No, not the age. Or not just the age. See this? The technique is called 'splashed glass' and it was only used for a few decades in the first century, and then rarely on aryballos. It was done by attaching these gray chips to the already-blown glass and then reheating and reinflating the aryballos to create an effect that mimicked a mosaic."