Page 8 of Weeping Roses
“It’s been trashed. The drawers upended, filing cabinets open, and the contents spilled onto the floor. The pictures on the wall have been torn down, and the floor ripped up. Nothing has been left untouched, and it’s obvious the person responsible was searching for something of great importance to them because if it were burglars, why leave the house untouched?”
“Show me.”
I waste no time and follow him outside and make the short journey to the coach house and as I step inside, I stare in anger at the evidence littered before my angry eyes.
Fuck!
Artem waits silently beside me, and I growl, “Clean this shit up and get the guys working on sorting the trash from the ones of interest. This could take weeks to filter through, but there may be something we can use.”
Artem nods and I add, “Was there a safe?”
“No.” He shrugs.
“Not in here, anyway. We have yet to finish the search of the house.”
“Keep me informed.”
As I regard the devastation before me, my heart sinks. It’s obvious that what I hoped would be a quick visit to this woman’s home is turning out to be a mammoth task and I am resigned to a longer stay than I first anticipated.
Fuck! Why did I even volunteer for this shit?
CHAPTER 5
POLLY
I’m glad when he leaves. His personality stifles me and I’m on edge when he’s around. Mr. Romanov is a formidable man in every way, and I wish he wasn’t so distracting.
He is gorgeous.
From his imposing good looks to his formidable presence. He is a man who screams alpha and is extremely confusing. I’m almost scared to speak when he is around because it’s obvious he has little time for polite conversation. It’s probably just best to cooperate and hope he finds what he needs and then I can enjoy exploring this amazing home in peace.
I ease off the window ledge and glance around me in delight. I love this house. It’s everything I would have chosen for myself. It’s certainly grand but has a homey atmosphere that makes me welcome. Expensive objects merge with tatty ones that are here for sentimental reasons I expect and as I stare around in gleeful awe, my eye is drawn to the huge tapestry above the desk.
It’s stunning. Breathtaking even, and I stare in wonder at the depiction of wood nymphs frolicking in a green forest. The waterfall appears real, and I can almost hear the crashing water as it spills over the rock face. Wildflowers are beautifully orchestrated, and the faces of the nymphs are angelic in their happiness.
It is perfect for this house, and I could stare at it all day.
Now I’m alone, I slip out and begin my explorations without my surly companion and as I wander through many beautiful rooms, it’s a little eerie trespassing on a woman’s life who I didn’t even know.
I bypass the rest of the rooms downstairs because I don’t want to chance meeting that man or his companions and instead head up the staircase that rises majestically upward.
With every creak of the floorboards that I tread, my breath falters because it’s as if I shouldn’t be here. I imagine the eyes of the paintings on the walls following my progress and shaking their heads with disapproval.
For some reason, I keep on walking as if my feet are taking me somewhere they need me to be, and I ignore the allure of exploring the many bedrooms on the top floor and decide to take a small staircase set at the end of the hallway instead.
It’s almost as if it hides a secret because it winds around with bare stone steps rather than the opulence of the Wilton carpet that graces the rest of the house. Perhaps this was the servant’s quarters in the past. The house is certainly big enough for that and it intrigues me.
I make my way to the top of the house and the wooden door before me appears old and uncared for. There are deep grooves in it and a large rusty key that I turn with shaking fingers.
“What is inside?” I murmur out loud and as I shove the door open, the scent of stale air greets me as I edge inside the room.
I blink against the shadows and almost gag at the stench of musty ruin, and my fingers tremble as I search for a light switch to reveal exactly what’s inside.
My fingers dust against cobwebs and my heart flutters faster than is good for it, but I was right, and my search is rewarded when I flick a switch and a dull light reveals I’m in the attic.
It’s creepy as fuck up here because there are no windows, just endless cobwebs and what appear to be discarded objects and the odd piece of furniture. I’m not even sure why I’m here at all when the rest of the house is so enticing, but something is compelling me to venture inside.
I take a few awkward steps into the room and my foot brushes against something hard beneath my feet.