Chapter 16
Why does that name keep on cropping up? Marsha Steele is central to this entire mystery and her organization, Burning Roses, is where we should focus our efforts.
I spend most of the morning back in the coach house sifting through mountains of paperwork that is as helpful as a chocolate coffee mug. I am so frustrated and hate that we’re wasting time.
My men work hard, but there is obviously nothing here of interest.
Luckily, my chef Simon arrives and wastes no time in setting up in the kitchen, which leaves Polly to explore her new home at leisure rather than worrying about drinks and snacks for her unwelcome guests.
Just before lunch, I decide to stretch my legs and go in search of her because, for some reason, despite my task at hand, she is all I can think of.
Once again, I find her in her in Veronica’s study and this time she has a different task. The old chest that disturbed us in the night is open on the rug and she is sitting cross-legged in front of it. The way she is biting her lip in concentration captures my attention, as does the messy way she had piled her hair on top of her head, the silky strands escaping, trailing down to her creamy white neck that is wrapped in a silk scarf to disguise my brutal attention last night.
The shock on her face when she stared into the mirror this morning has been an amusing memory to keep me sane as I reflect on the horror and anger when she saw the bruising and bite marks revealing what we did last night.
I hover in the doorway, enjoying the view, and she lifts her eyes to mine and smiles. I’m unsure why I react so much to the simple gestures she makes, but I’m guessing it’s because Polly is so different to the women I usually associate with. She is pure, like freshly fallen snow. Not contrived, false or jaded. Her natural beauty shines like the brightest star in heaven and the innocent smile she directs my way is at odds with the woman she becomes under me. A woman of contradictions, the perfect one for me, and when she told me about her plan to meet Marsha Steele, I was more than happy because it meant I extended my stay with her.
“So you faced the haunted attic. You are braver than I thought.”
I tease, nodding to the dusty trunk that is open on the rug.
“No.” She shrugs. “I’m not brave at all. Simon was most helpful when I asked if he minded assisting me with it.”
“Simon?” I raise my eyes, wondering how she managed to get the surly chef to step outside the kitchen and help her. He’s not known for his amenable nature and she shrugs. “He’s so nice, and we had a great hour in the kitchen while I showed him around and then he taught me a cool trick with a cucumber.”
“He did what?”
She giggles as she teases. “That man is a genius with a good hard stiff vegetable. Or is a cucumber a fruit? I never really understand the difference.”
I shake my head and drop down in front of her and stare at the dusty old photograph albums laid out on the rug.
“Did you find anything interesting?”
“Not really. They are old photographs from the past, possibly ancestors I don’t know about. I found a few photographs of her childhood and I some later ones and I recognized my mum from the picture.”
She sounds wistful, and I note the brightness in her eyes that she hurriedly blinks away.
As I lift one of the albums, I notice a younger Veronica staring out happily from the photograph with a woman beside her.
“Is this your mom?”
Polly nods. “Yes, she was pretty, wasn’t she?”
I nod. “Like her daughter.”
“If you say so.”
Polly blushes and I say with sincerity, “You are, and I’m not sure you realize just how pretty you are, Polly.”
“Whatever.”
She says wistfully, “This was taken on my parent’s wedding day. I recognize the dress from our family album.”
She shrugs. “There is one mystery that needs solving, though.”
She holds up the small iron key.
“This doesn’t fit the trunk.”
“What do you mean?” I stare at the metal object in her hand and she inserts it in the lock and attempts to turn it.
“It doesn’t fit. It’s probably why it fell out when the trunk fell.”
She gives it to me and, as I hold it in my hand, I shrug.
“It could be meaningless.”
“It could, but don’t you wonder what it’s for? I’m intrigued.”
She leans forward to peer at it in my outstretched hand, and I enjoy an uninterrupted view of her cleavage as she studies the key.
It’s a distraction that surprises me because it appears that any movement this woman makes commands my full attention and I’m still trying to work out why.
“Is there any way you can research keys like this? I would love to know what it’s for.”
She raises her eyes and stares at me with excitement and I’m lost for words. I want her so badly. It’s all I can think of, and yet she is more interested in some rusty old key.
Polly wears her emotions in plain sight and for a man who guards his well, it’s fascinating to watch.
There’s a rapid beating in my heart that is unfamiliar as I stare into her sparkling eyes and as she pulls back and turns her attention to the photographs, I am left reeling inside.
I’m not certain when my fascination grew into an obsession for this woman. It has crept upon me like a freezing fog on a summer’s morning. What began as a project has turned into something else entirely and I’m confused. The key burns in my hand as I close my fingers around it and say shortly, “I’ll see what I can find out. Leave it with me.”
She nods, her attention already diverted to staring at more photographs, and my heart thumps as I resist the urge to reach out and drag her lips to mine. Why do I want her so much? I’ve fucked her already—twice. That is usually enough, but this time it’s not. I want to do it again, several times over because I have not exhausted the ways I want to make her scream my name.
I am confused and conflicted and just thank God she has extended our stay together, although I doubt it’s because she wants my company. She’s just naturally curious, which I love about her, and has a desire to help me solve the mystery.
The key burns in the palm of my hand and gives me an excuse to leave and so I shut down any fascination I hold for this woman and stand, saying abruptly, “Lunch will be ready in one hour.”
“Um, okay.”
She doesn’t even look up and a soft smile graces her lips as she stares at another photograph of her mom as a child and for the briefest moment, I wish she would look at me with even half of the love she is directing toward her mom.