trunks piled high in several places. The inside appeared to be filled with folded clothing.
“Wow, look at that lace.” Annie moved beside him, trying to ignore his rich masculine scent. She reached into the trunk and fondled the snowy cotton. “It doesn’t look like it’s ever been worn.” She lifted the garment, which unfolded in a single soft movement, revealing itself as a delicate nightgown or petticoat. “Who did this belong to?”
“I have no idea. I confess to only ever rifling through the boxes with firearms and other guy stuff in them.” Again his mischievous grin made her heart quicken. “I never touched the girlie stuff.”
“Would you look at that.” Setting the petticoat aside, she peered into the large wooden chest to examine a richly worked bodice of green satin with red-and-gold edging. The needlework was exquisite and the material shone as if it had been woven yesterday. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Sinclair pulled the garment from the trunk and held it up. Low-cut at the neck and with a tiny waist, the dress was an extravagant ball gown.
“It’s stunning. And that blue one underneath it looks spectacular.” She reached in and fondled a striking peacock-blue silk garment with tiny pearl bead accents. “These should be in a museum.” It seemed a crime to leave them unseen in the dusty attic even a minute longer. “Let’s bring them down into the house and hang them properly.”
“If you like.” Sinclair looked skeptical. Of course he probably only cared about finding the cup. “Sure, let’s do it.”
Had her face betrayed her disappointment so readily? His sudden change of heart touched her. She smiled. “Great! I’ll carry as many as I can.”
Sinclair strode down the narrow, rickety stairs without a moment’s hesitation, despite his arms being filled with clothes. Annie teetered behind him, the heavy garments weighing her down and making her worry about missing her footing. “We can put them in the big wardrobes in the yellow bedroom. They’re empty since your mom gave away those old fur coats.”
She followed Sinclair back into the house and they laid the garments on the wide double bed. “I can’t believe how beautiful this gray silk dress is. How on earth did they weave the silver and blue into the fabric?”
“Probably took someone years. Things were done differently back then. Each item was a handmade work of art.”
“I suppose ordinary people never even touched anything like this.” She fingered the delicate fabric with its intricate ribbon detailing. “Unless they were helping madam fasten her corset, of course.” That’s what she would have been doing back then. Hey, she was still more or less doing it now, in a time when most women her age sat in plastic cubicles talking on the phone all day. She let her fingers roam inside the deep pleats at the waist and sighed. “What a stunning dress. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Why don’t you try it on?” Sinclair’s deep voice surprised her. She’d almost forgotten he was there.
“Me? I couldn’t possibly. They’re museum pieces, and my waist isn’t nearly that small.”
“I disagree. About your waist, that is.” His eyes settled on her waistband for a moment, making her stomach clench. Had her boss ever glanced at her waist before? She didn’t think so.
Her heart pounded with excitement at the prospect of trying a dress on. Of course she could always wait until she was all alone in the house. But then someone would notice it had been worn, and she’d look foolish. What if this was her only chance? “Well …” She plucked gently at the peacock-blue evening gown. “I still don’t think they’ll fit, but …”
“That settles it. I’ll discreetly turn away until you need help with the fastenings.” He strolled to a tall arched window on the far side of the room.
Annie’s heart quickened. She had an odd sense that a line between them was about to be crossed. Sinclair wanted her to try on the dresses. What did that mean?
Nothing, silly. He thinks it would be fun for you and he’s humoring you. Don’t get carried away. Really. This was foolish. She’d end up ripping a seam. “I’m sure they’re supposed to be worn with all sorts of elaborate corsetry and I don’t think—”
“Do you want to go back up and hunt for the cup?” He lifted a dark brow.
She hesitated, her fingertips still pressed against the rich fabric. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe just one dress.”
Sinclair nodded, a smile in his eyes, and turned away.
How sweet of him to let her try on a family heirloom. But which one? Without hesitation, she chose the rich peacock-blue. She held it against herself for a moment—the length was about right—and though the waist was narrow, it wasn’t quite as tiny as she’d first thought. Maybe it would fit, after all.
She resisted the urge to turn and check on Sinclair as she unbuttoned her Oxford shirt. She knew him too well to imagine even for a second that he’d be sneaking a peek. He had women falling all over him wherever he went, and barely seemed to notice them.
She lowered her khakis and stepped into the crisp blue fabric. It was creased from being folded and smelled slightly of camphor, but otherwise looked fresh as if it were sewn yesterday. The tiny pearl beads tickled her arms as she pushed them into the short, puffed sleeves. The low-cut neck revealed a broad expanse of her white Cross Your Heart bra, so she quickly undid the bra and slipped it off through a sleeve. She had done up nearly half the tiny, fabric-covered buttons by the time Sinclair asked if she needed help.
“Just a few hundred more buttons.” She smiled, already feeling like a princess in the luxurious gown. It fell to the floor and gathered there slightly, suggesting she should wear heels.
“Wow.” Sinclair had turned and stood, staring at her. “Annie, you look spectacular.” His eyes widened slightly as he surveyed her, slowly, from head to toe. “Like a different person.” He crossed the room and fastened the last few buttons. “As I suspected, it fits.”
“Odd, isn’t it?” She fought the urge to giggle like a little girl playing dress-up. It didn’t help that Sinclair’s fingers were so near her skin that she felt giddy. “But why would we think people had different bodies two hundred years ago? They weren’t so different from us.”
“No, they weren’t.” Sinclair’s voice was lower than usual. Done with the buttons, he moved in front of her again. His gaze rose over her neck and cheek, and she self-consciously tucked away a loose curl that had escaped her bun.
He frowned slightly. “You look pretty with your hair up.”
“I always wear my hair up.” She reached self-consciously for her bun.
“Do you? I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before.” His gaze heated her skin.
“It’s the dress.”
“Maybe it is. You hide under your clothes and conceal the fact that you have a beautiful figure.”
Her breasts swelled inside the fitted bodice. The cut of the dress acted as a bra, lifting things front and center. “Funny, I’m not sure I’ve ever had cleavage before.” She tried to laugh, to hide her shock at her own bold statement, but the sound withered under Sinclair’s
