the lamp had fuel, she pulled a book of matches out of her pocket, lifted the chimney, struck a match, and touched the flame to the wick.
The welcome flare of light put her fears to flight.
After adjusting the wick, she replaced the chimney and blew out the match; then, lamp in hand, she moved out of the entryway and into the parlor, her tennis shoes making hardly any noise on the hardwood floor.
The parlor had high ceilings. An enormous stone fireplace with a black marble mantel took up one whole wall. It was the biggest fireplace she had ever seen, easily large enough to hold a horse.And its rider.
Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she walked across the floor to the windows and drew back the heavy draperies, exposing tall, leaded windows. Her mood brightened considerably as the late-afternoon light filtered into the room. The trim around the windows and the doors was also made of oak. The walls, freshly painted, were off-white.
Feeling suddenly lighthearted, she blew out the lamp and put it on the mantel, then went out to the car to get the groceries she had purchased in the quaint little village at the foot of the hill.
The kitchen was large, with windows on three sides. There was a round oak table, cupboards galore, plus a relic of a gas stove and a small refrigerator, both of which she planned to replace in the near future.
After she put the groceries away, she explored the rest of the first floor. She opened the curtains as she wandered from room to room, mentally remodeling each one as she looked around. In addition to the parlor and the kitchen, there was a large library paneled in dark oak and a small room she guessed had been a sewing room at one time.
A winding staircase led to the second floor. She fell in love all over again with the first room at the top of the stairs. It was the master bedroom. Large and square and papered in an old-fashioned dark blue stripe, it featured a corner fireplace and a walk-in closet. One of the windows overlooked the backyard, the other overlooked the ocean. A small sitting room papered in the same dark blue stripe adjoined the bedroom. The bathroom had been recently remodeled. It was powder blue with white trim and contained a new sink and an oval tub.
There were two smaller bedrooms further down the hall, a linen closet, a good-sized bathroom with a pedestal sink and a claw-footed bathtub, and, at the far end of the corridor, a rectangular room with large windows set in three of the walls. One window had an eastern exposure. She nodded as she glanced outside, pleased that this room also offered a view of the ocean. This would be her studio.
Going back downstairs, she began to unload the boxes and suitcases from her car.
By nightfall, she had managed to carry the rest of her things into the house. Her clothes hung in the closet, her underwear and hose were in the dresser, her toiletries were in the bathroom, and she was ready for a hot bath. Holding her breath, she turned on the light switch in the bathroom and murmured, "Hallelujah!" as the light came on over the sink. Silently blessing the electric company for coming through, she turned on the faucet and added some lavender-scented bubble bath to the water.
While the tub filled, she lit a pair of vanilla-scented candles, pulled a bath towel from one of the boxes, grabbed a paperback from her handbag, and returned to the bathroom. The air was warm now, fragrant with the mingled scents of vanilla and lavender. Undressing, she turned off the tap, then settled into the tub, book in hand. Scented candles, a froth of warm bubbles,a good book. What could be better?
There was someone in the upper house. Dominic St. John felt the presence of another immediately upon waking. Rising, he took a deep breath, his senses reaching out, testing the night air much the way a nocturnal animal might sniff the wind for danger.
He smiled faintly. He was in no danger from the woman upstairs. He could hear the water draining from the tub, smell the fresh, clean scent of her as she moved into her bedroom and slipped something silky over her head.A nightgown, perhaps?
A wave of his hand and half a dozen candles sprang to life, casting flickering yellow shadows on the gray stone walls. No one living knew