Page 41 of Weeping Roses
He obviously notices my expression and merely nods, staring after us thoughtfully as we exit. When we get outside, I move a short distance away from the men currently emptying the cars and say with a soft smile, “What do you want to tell me?”
He coughs nervously. “Your aunt was a practical woman and her affairs were kept in order. We are, um–” He glances around nervously and then says in a whisper, “That is, we have details of her safety deposit boxes and certain paperwork only to be opened in the event of her death by her beneficiary. She was most clear on that Miss Scott-Stanley. You must come alone and open them in private, away from the house. They were her strict instructions and I must ask you to keep this information to yourself, um, also as per her instructions.”
The expression in his eyes conveys how serious he is taking this and my heart is beating furiously as I consider the mystery surrounding me now. Aunt Veronica has many secrets, it seems, and I am the only person alive who is now privy to them.
He steps back and nods politely. “I will await your call, Miss Scott–Stanley, and remember, discretion will work in your favor.”
He briefly smiles and then heads off down the smart street. Clutching his coat around him like a shield and I stare after him in bemusement because what the hell is happening? I am stumbling from one mystery to another and don’t know who to trust and yet there is one man standing center stage in all my dreams and nightmares who I am aching to talk this through with.
But I can’t.
This may involve his father and, subsequently, him. I could be in danger, or about to discover the Holy Grail and once again, it reminds me that the only person I can now count on in life is me.
CHAPTER 23
VALENTIN
Polly is drowning. I could tell the moment she saw her legacy first hand. I have grown up surrounded by more money than I will ever spend and the shopping trip meant nothing to me outside of proving that to Polly. I want her to be comfortable with wealth. With my wealth because for some reason she is fixating on paying me back for everything,
I may be using that to my advantage, but I will never accept a dime from her or even a British pound. All I want is her help and her body, although I am trying not to rely on her company too much. The soft glances she directs my way and the deep yearning in her eyes are way too addictive and confusing.
Her sympathetic touches at exactly the time they are needed are something I have never experienced. Nobody ever cares how I’m feeling or how things affect me at all. I am a Romanov and emotion is something we don’t have a lot of. It’s always business first for the good of the family. It’s our way of life and I wonder when that changed for my father.
It hurts that every stone we turn reveals he had another life. A different life to the one he enjoyed with us and it’s shaping up to be a better one for him. How did they get away with this for so long? Nobody knew. His business trips were never questioned and when Mikhail discovered his involvement with the organization Burning Roses, we believed at first it just involved sex with a paid whore.
However, Veronica Scott-Stanley was that paid whore because from all accounts, he was her only customer. A mistress if you like but those letters proved she was a lot more than that. As I watch Polly talking quietly with the agent from the solicitors handling her aunt’s London affairs, I know immediately there is another piece of this disturbing puzzle about to be revealed.
She heads back inside and attempts to smile brightly, but I register the confusion in her eyes and I nod toward the large kitchen that overlooks the garden.
Simon is already unpacking the huge delivery from Harrods’ food halls and so I direct her through the bifold doors into the small garden that I believe is considered large in London.
“This place is beautiful, Valentin.” She gazes around in awe at the well-tended garden that is awash with roses in bloom.
There is a small stone bench set under an apple tree, and I guide her to it and dust the leaves from the seat.
“Let’s sit for a while. This must be a lot to take in.”
She smiles gratefully. “It is.”
Her soft laugh catches on a sudden breeze and her shy smile hits me somewhere deep inside my jaded heart.
“Now I’m conflicted.”
“In what way?” I reach for her hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and she surprises me by resting her head on my shoulder.
Something tugs deep inside me as I sit with her alone in the sunshine and even the birds have a lot to say as they serenade us with their sweet songs.
“I love this house, and I love Thorn house. I can’t choose between them now.”
“Do you have to choose?” I fail to see what the problem is, and she rolls her eyes as she peers up at me from under her long lashes.
“Spoken like a man who has never struggled for money in his life.”
“I haven’t.”
I shrug and roll my thumb around the top of her hand, loving how it feels inside my own tattooed one. It appears so small, delicate, even and more intimate than when I am deep inside her body. That is just sex, a physical gratification, but this is something else entirely. It’s a simple pleasure that costs nothing at all. No sacrifice to your soul or money spent. Just a sweet simple pleasure that speaks volumes, and I sense my heart beating faster as I savor the moment.
“No. My problem is the bills. I earn less than two thousand pounds a month and that is on a good one. Out of that I pay tax, electricity, water, and food, not to mention other sundry items.”