The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,60
From the peak of the Newport Bridge, sunlight spilled across Narragansett Bay in every direction. Cold fear dampened any thrill of the view from two hundred feet above sea level. The thick feeling in her throat made it hard to swallow.
“What do you think?” He turned to study her. As much as she enjoyed staring at Logan’s face, she wished he’d keep his eyes on the road.
“We’re up so high.” Her breathy voice exposed her rising panic.
“We’ll be down in no time. Take a breath.” He kept his grip on the steering wheel no matter how hard she wished he’d reach for her hand again. “I thought you’d enjoy The Breakers from a design standpoint. I assume you’ve never been.”
She drew a steadying breath and focused on the conversation instead of the shark-infested water below. “You’re right. I’ve only ever seen photographs.”
“Well, as much as I love a good picture, it’s never the same as experiencing something firsthand.” He winked.
An unexpected admission given his profession. She didn’t want to concede the point, because, for so long, she’d convinced herself that books and images were more than enough.
But the moment they passed through the entrance gate to the seventy-room Vanderbilt mansion, she knew she’d lost any argument she might’ve raised. The home’s one-acre footprint provided for four floors of living space inside the limestone castle.
Opulence befitting its Gilded Age construction greeted them the instant they stepped into the great entrance hall, which had six wide doorways leading to other parts of the house. Her gaze bounced from the central marble staircase, carpeted in red, to the ornately carved, gilt-coated ceilings, to the wrought iron railings and figurines and gazillion other details she strained to take in.
Logan was attaching a big lens to his camera. She supposed he might shoot some interesting close-ups of the detail on the high ceilings and other hard-to-see places.
“And you think Arcadia House is fussy,” she joked, remembering his endless teen complaints about its touch-me-not decor. To her, the Prescott home had been romantic and nostalgic—a dreamy mansion by the sea. To him, it had seemed like a museum, not a home. Just another point of contention between him and his parents, she supposed.
“Yes. Please don’t consider this a hint or use this trip to gain insight into my tastes. I only thought you’d find the architecture and design interesting.”
“It is. It really is, Logan.” She didn’t feel threatened in this public space, possibly because someplace so unreal couldn’t possibly be dangerous. Or maybe because there weren’t many visitors at the moment. “Thank you.”
For a while, her gaze remained fixed upward at the art and carvings and ceiling coffers. Between all that and the barrage of statistics dizzying her mind—more than seven hundred fifty doorknobs, twenty bathrooms, forty servants, and more—she practically floated through the palatial home. It was as if she’d stepped into the pages of one of her beloved historical romance novels.
The library’s walnut paneling, impressed with gold leaf, made the walls look like a leather-bound book, to say nothing of the room’s massive five-hundred-year-old stone fireplace, which had been taken from a sixteenth-century French chateau.
The billiards room, done in the style of ancient Rome, appeared to be carved out of Italian marble. Rose alabaster arches provided pops of color and a frame for the ceiling mural. Assorted semiprecious stones formed mosaics of acorns—the Vanderbilt family emblem. Renaissance-style mahogany furniture lent depth and richness to the room.
Claire had no idea how much time had passed when it finally occurred to her that she’d been so entranced by the self-guided tour, she’d scarcely spoken to Logan. She paused the recording and took off her headset. “You must be bored out of your mind.”
“Moi?” He lowered his camera, wearing a playful grin. “I’ve always been curious about what it’d look like if King Midas threw up everywhere.”
She laughed. “So you have been bored.”
“No.” His expression warmed, surprising her with a quick snap of his camera aimed at her. “Watching you respond to it all has been fascinating. Truthfully, I’m rather pleased with my abduction plan.”
“Abduction?” She elbowed him gently. “Now who’s making your motives sound suspect?”
He leaned close to her ear and said in a low, rich voice, “Well, maybe they are.”
A delicious tingle blossomed in her stomach and traveled a little south, but she forced herself to walk without stumbling.
They entered Mrs. Vanderbilt’s oval bedroom through one of its multiple doors. “I always find it amusing that spouses kept separate bedrooms. I suppose it could be