Chapter 18
Great pleasure has come from great misery. I really feel that now as I stare at the flushed face of a goddess as she lies slumped against the tree. I used her, degraded her even, and didn’t care what she thought. All that mattered was being inside her so I could lose myself in a piece of heaven.
I arrange my clothing and allow my gaze to linger on her heaving breasts, that are already red from my rough treatment of them. The faraway look in her eyes tells me she loved every minute of it, and the soft smile on her lips is directed at me.
As I stare at my English rose, I have never seen a more glorious sight and somewhere deep inside, it tugs on something many call a heart.
Carefully, I rearrange her clothing with a tenderness that surprises me and fix a soft kiss on her lips and whisper, “We should get out more. I didn’t realize how pleasurable walking could be.”
Her infectious giggle settles directly in my heart and she gazes up at me from underneath the longest lashes I have ever seen.
“It was okay, I suppose.”
She frowns, and I raise my eyes. “Okay?”
“I’ve had better.”
She cocks her head to one side and says with a cheeky grin. “Last night was hard to beat. I’m kind of still thinking about that.”
“You liked it.”
She nods and says impishly, “I should disobey you more often if that is my punishment.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer and glances down at her clothing with dismay.
“You know, I really should go home and grab some stuff. I’ve been in the same clothes for two days now and I could use a fresh set, not to mention my skincare, make-up and something to sleep in.”
“You can sleep in me.” I tease and her eyes widen and I detect the soft blush on her cheeks.
“Is that an order, Valentin?”
“Of course, and you wouldn’t want to disobey me, would you?”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Her gentle laugh carries on the breeze and is interrupted by her phone ringing.
“It’s Mr. Perkins.” Her eyes widen. “He must have some news.”
She answers it with her usual, “Polly speaking, how may I help you?” causing me to roll my eyes and chuckle softly.
“I see, um, great, yes.” She listens thoughtfully. “Can you email me the list? Super. And the keys?”
“Fantastic, I appreciate it.”
She cuts the call and her eyes shine as she says triumphantly.
“You were right. She had a gardener, Gregory Parker, a local man who lives in Lower Slaughter. Her housekeeper and handyman died with her in the explosion in Cornwall and Gregory is the only person left who was employed by her. There is a key holder, though.”
I still as I wait for information and she says breathlessly, “There’s a woman who lives next door called Samantha Burrows. Apparently, she kept a key for Veronica and acted as a guardian for the property when she was in London.”
“Then we should pay her a visit?”
She nods. “Now is as good a time as any.”
She grasps my hand, an act that surprises me but stirs that emotion creeping into my heart and says with excitement. “Let’s go and pay her a visit. God, I hope she’s in. This is so exciting.”
I shake my head and laugh to myself because if Polly thinks this is exciting, she really should get out more.
We make the short distance to the house next door, which takes us ten minutes. The properties in this area are impressive and Thorn House stands in acres of grounds that are a considerable distance from the neighboring ones. Carrington House is another fine property that is accessed through electric gates, and as we push for access, I find myself sharpening my edges to deal with a potential witness.
“Let me handle this, Valentin.” Polly says firmly, and I glance at her with amusement.
“Why?”
“Because you’re quite intimidating and Mrs. Burrows may be a sweet little old lady who is scared of visitors.”
Before I can answer, a voice comes through the intercom.
“Who is it?”
Polly replies, “Um, Polly Scott-Stanley and um, Valentin Romanov. Your new neighbors after my aunt’s sad demise.”
“Come in.”
The blustery tones are of a woman who doesn’t sound sweet at all, and as the gate swings open, Polly grins.
“Come on. This is so exciting. I feel like a detective.”
Her enthusiasm makes me smile and as I follow her up a grand driveway, I note the impeccable grounds of a house that must vomit cash because there is nothing out of place, unlike Thorn House. Whoever lives here deserves my respect because, much like the Romanov properties, this one is immaculate.
As soon as we reach the front door, it opens and Polly’s shocked gasp makes me smile as we stare at a woman who is dressed in a flowing kaftan with huge white sunglasses perched on her head. I’m guessing her clothing is designer because I recognize the brand. She must be in her late forties and is made up to perfection.
Polly falls silent and I’m guessing she is intimidated because, as she said, she is wearing clothes from yesterday and probably has my cum running down her inner thigh right now. Her hair is messy, and she has not a scrap of make-up on her face and the disparaging gaze Samantha Burrows gives her sharpens my venom.
Then she glances at me and her expression changes. She obviously recognizes the trappings of wealth from my gold Rolex to the well-tailored pants and black silk shit I am wearing. My jacket is the finest cloth and handmade by my personal tailor in Savile Row and I sense the appreciation I usually receive from women who recognize a potential pay day presenting itself before them.
Her red painted lips part, and she directs a coy smile my way and laughs softly.
“Welcome to Carrington House. I was so sorry to hear about Veronica. Please come inside and I’ll arrange tea.”
As we follow her, Polly grips my hand a little tighter and I’m guessing she also saw exactly what Samantha was thinking.
As expected from the outside, the inside is immaculate and screams wealth and new money. I spy silver-framed photographs on the side table and note Samantha posing next to a man who appears a lot older than her but every bit as successful.
“Is that your husband?” I say directly and point to the man beaming out from the frame.
“Thomas, yes. We’ve been married for an eternity. He owns racehorses and is away in Abu Dhabi at the moment.”
“He must be very successful.” I concede and she nods, apparently bored by the talk of her husband.
“Yes, he is.”
She turns to the table beside her and rings a silver bell and Polly’s eyes widen when a maid appears, dressed in black and wearing a white frilly apron.
“Justine, please arrange refreshment for my guests. We will take it here.”
Justine retreats with a half bow and Polly’s eyes widen further as she watches her walk away.
Samantha turns to me and smiles flirtatiously. “Romanov. I have heard that name several times.”
Now she had my full attention and her hard look didn’t escape me. Yes, Samantha knows a lot more than we give her credit for, and I sling my arms around the back of Polly’s shoulders and say airily, “My father was a frequent visitor to Thorn House. I expect you met him.”
“Andrei.” She nods, her expression revealing that she knows rather a lot as it happens.
“Yes, Andrei and Veronica were a delightful couple. It was such a shame he was away more than he was home.”
Home.
That word drives a dagger in my heart as I picture my father having a different home from the one my mother occupied.
Polly interrupts. “We understand you have a key to Thorn House.”
Samantha nods. “That is true.”
“Um, I don’t suppose we could take it back. It’s just, well, we only have the one and need to get some more cut.”
“Of course.” She stands and moves across to a delicate desk set in front of the window and opens the middle drawer.
“I am happy to remain a key holder if you need one, um, Polly. I can assure you I am trustworthy.”
I watch with interest as she scrambles around on the desk and then an expression of surprise crosses her face.
“I could have sworn it was in here.”
She takes the contents of the drawer out and mumbles, “Now, where is it?”
Her maid returns and Samantha says irritably, “Justine, did you move Veronica’s key from the desk?”
I study the maid and note a flicker of alarm pass across her features and then she closes her eyes and whispers, “No, ma’am.”
I sense Polly staring at the maid with a thoughtful expression, and Samantha sighs with exasperation.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps I can drop it around later. It appears to have been misplaced.”
Polly turns to her but I fix my hardened gaze on the maid who blushes under the ferocity of it, which gives me my answer and I say abruptly, “Of course. I’m sorry, we have urgent business to attend to. Polly.”
I stand and stare at her with impatience and she gazes between us, obviously embarrassed by my fast exit, and Samantha sighs.
“I’ll keep on looking. Anyway, Polly. Please don’t be a stranger. Your aunt was a dear friend to me, and I will miss her immeasurably. If you ever want to chat, I’m nearly always here.”
She flutters her false eyelashes in my direction and smiles coquettishly. “You are just like your father, Valentin. He cut a dashing figure, too. Veronica was very lucky.”
I say nothing because my nerves are already at breaking point and as I storm out of the house, I know exactly what I must do.