If These Walls Could Talk

Chapter 4

Michael woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, which should have been impossible as there were neither coffee grounds in the manor nor another residence for miles where to make such a beverage. Even so, the thought of the familiar drink was enough to invigorate his senses. Opening his eyes before sitting up, he yawned as he looked down at the sleeping woman next to him.

Contrary to his first impression, Lucy turned out to be pretty cool. She was smart enough to probably see right through him, yet she didn't ask any questions. If they had met under different circumstances – and if he wasn't in England just to make a quick buck – he would have taken the initiative to get to know her better.

Michael sighed. He had a job to do, and that was his first priority. Carefully getting out of bed so as not to disturb his companion, he walked across the room to an empty chair.

That was strange; he was sure he'd laid his shirt and pants there last night. Peeking under the furniture, he also found his shoes to be missing. Even through socks, his feet were getting cold on the bare floor, and he rubbed his upper arms with his hands to keep warm. After she woke, he'd have to ask Lucy if she'd seen his belongings, but until then, he couldn't walk around in underwear.

Moving to the wardrobe, he quietly rummaged through the hanging garments and selected an outfit that appeared to be in his size. Slipping into the woolen trousers, button-down shirt, and suspenders, Michael felt like he stepped out of the nineteenth-century.

He probably smelled like it, too.

Wrinkling his nose at the subtle, yet pungent combination of old cigars and mothballs, he dug around for a pair of leather oxfords before tiptoeing out of the room. He grabbed the large key ring from Lucy's former room and then headed toward the stairs. She may have been patient with him until now, but she was bound to eventually get curious about his intentions. He might as well make use of her sleeping to examine as many of the other rooms as he could without interruption.

No sooner had he entered the second-floor corridor than a series of urgent knocks rang out from downstairs. Who the hell could it be and how did they get through all that snow? Surely plows hadn't cleared the country roads this far up the mountain so early.

Michael took the stairs two at a time before unlocking the entry. The bright sunlight streaming in momentarily created rainbow-colored haloes in his vision before the silhouettes of two figures became clear.

"Where's Lucy?" The man – looking to be around his age and carrying three to-go cups in a multi-container holder – strained his neck to peek over Michael's shoulder.

"Who's asking?" Michael snapped back, realizing there wasn't a trace of the white stuff on the ground. After last night's almost blizzard-like conditions, how was that even possible?

The man pulled himself to his full height. "I'm Lucy's fiancée."

"Ahem . . . Bradley, I think you mean boyfriend . . . if that," the petite woman in the colorful headscarf corrected, eyeing Michael with a grin before taking a sip from her own cup.

"Semantics." He pulled his lips into a tight line. "Now, if you'll just tell us where we can find Lucy—"

"Noor, is that you?" Lucy's voice echoed through the hall as she hurried down the stairs.

Although Michael was still blocking the way, Bradley pushed himself into the manor.

"Oh, man. This is just what I needed." Michael sighed, reaching for a cup as the other squeezed by.