The Haunting of a Duke (12 page)

She felt ill. Was that why she couldn't remember falling? Because someone had struck her forcibly, she wondered? Questions rattled through her mind at a dizzying pace, but one demanded an answer more than others. She sat down heavily, her knees buckling. “How did Melisande die, Lord Ellersleigh? You cannot say horribly. I have to know and for whatever reason, she cannot tell me. Now it seems more lives are at stake."

She saw his jaw clench and thought he would refuse. But after a pregnant pause he began to speak. His voice was pitched low and in spite of everything he did to disguise it, there was a tremor in his voice that made her hurt for him, and for the little boy he had been.

"I have never talked about this, not even with Rhys. It was brutal, what he did to her.” He paused, as if collecting himself, or perhaps steeling himself to revisit the horror he had witnessed. “She was in the woods, in a small clearing. When I found her, she was still breathing, though only just—forgive me, Miss Walters, but I must speak bluntly as there is no gentle way to say this—her clothing was bloody and torn, there were numerous wounds to her head, and beside her was a large rock, coated with her blood. Whoever did it had attempted to simply bash her skull in, but that was not all. There was also a ribbon tied around her neck. It was one that had been in her hair earlier that morning. I recognized it because I had given it to her. In secret, of course, with the small allowance I was given, I had purchased it for her."

Neither spoke for several minutes. The words hung in the air, heavy and thick with emotion.

Finally he said, “I had wanted to stay with her, you know? I had wanted to spend the day traipsing through the woods with her, holding her basket while she collected flowers and pretty rocks and doing all the nonsense things girls like to do. But I didn't. When Jeremy and Rhys suggested going to the village for sweets, I agreed to go with them because I was too embarrassed to admit I would have preferred to remain behind and moon over her."

He stopped speaking for a moment, as if reflecting on the past and the choices that he felt had contributed to her death. “They had been teasing me unmercifully about her. It wasn't mean-spirited, you understand, but just the way boys are. Had I not been so prideful I would have been with her, and her senseless death would not have occurred."

Emme's heart broke for him, for the guilt that he carried needlessly. His devil-may-care facade was withering before her eyes. It was a mask to hide his pain and guilt. Melisande wanted her to help him, to heal him. “Or you could have died with her. You were twelve years old, Lord Ellersleigh.” Emme could tell that he wasn't hearing her, he was putting up the walls to keep her out and to keep all the pain bottled up inside.

He understood the wisdom of her words, but looking at the child he had been through a man's eyes was difficult. His guilt was with him, a part of him, and a few pretty words would not rend that bond so easily. “Excuse me, Miss Walters. I am returning to my bed. It is far too early for a man of my delicate sensibilities and love of brandy to be out and about. I trust with the information I imparted to you, you will not leave the house unescorted?"

Emme nodded. “Of course, Lord Ellersleigh,” she agreed readily. As he walked toward the door, she called out. “And I am sorry to have pressed you so, Lord Ellersleigh. I know it must have been terribly difficult for you."

He waved off her apology. “Perhaps it's for the best to get it out in the open? It has festered long enough, I think."

He walked away and Emme stared down at her plate with no interest in food whatsoever. Very little could put off her appetite, but what Lord Ellersleigh had disclosed had succeeded. She sipped her tea and contemplated how to amuse herself during the day without leaving the house.

In his aunt's sitting room, Rhys glared coolly at his aunt. “You will be the soul of hospitality to Miss Walters, Aunt Eleanor. She is an invited guest in this house, and as for my ‘undue’ attention to her, it is frankly none of your concern."

Eleanor's mouth firmed, and the grim expression revealed all the faint signs of her age that she worked so hard to conceal. “She is unacceptable, Rhys. Surely, you can see that? Inviting her as a guest is hardly the same as this vulgar interest you are displaying."

"There is nothing vulgar about my interest in her,” he said. He knew, of course, that his definition differed greatly from his aunt's.

"Miss Walters, in spite of her eccentricities, has displayed nothing untoward since she has arrived here. The same cannot be said of you. I will not repeat this, aunt, so listen well. There will be no veiled threats, no blackmail, no social slights or any other vile plots you may have devised."

"Rhys, you make me sound like some sort of villain,” she protested hotly.

Rhys considered his next statement carefully. His aunt had never failed to put the family's name and reputation above all else, at any cost. He had little doubt that she would do whatever was necessary to prevent Miss Walters from “damaging” the family name in any way. “Not a villain, but I would be foolish not to recognize your formidable nature. Miss Walters is not a subject I intend to discuss with you again. You will treat her with the same solicitude and concern you show to any other guests."

He rose, and added, “The house party ends on Saturday, and with Madame Zuniga's murderer apprehended, I imagine many will leave early to impart that glorious bit of scandal, but I intend to ask Miss Walters to remain for another week, to find the answers Mother is seeking. And to answer older questions."

"Older questions?” Eleanor asked, her face paling.

Rhys had debated with himself whether or not to disclose the information that Michael had shared with him, but in the end had decided to be forthcoming. “Miss Walters has apparently been communicating with Melisande."

"Melisande is gone,” Eleanor said abruptly.

Rhys gave her an assessing stare. “You were willing to indulge Mother's belief that Elise's spirit is here, but not Melisande's?"

"I have never believed Elise was here, or that even if she were, that woman could communicate with her! I chose to humor your mother, however. As for Melisande, any mention of her to your mother, or the notion for your dear mother that the child is not at peace would destroy her!"

It was true. Melisande's murder had nearly destroyed his mother, and the years since had not been without turmoil. He was only too well aware of his mother's delicate emotional state. “You need not fear, Aunt, as I have no intention of being anything less than discreet. As much as Mother deserves solicitude in this matter, Melisande deserves justice for what was done to her. If Miss Walters can provide that, then no price is too high."

Lady Eleanor paced the room, all but wringing her hands. “Surely you haven't been taken in by her!"

"I have not been taken in by anyone. But I am willing to entertain the notion that Miss Walters possesses skills that are beyond the norm. I have finished with this conversation. There will not be any further discussion about Miss Walters’ purpose here, or her treatment by you,” he said with force and finality.

Eleanor nodded her agreement, but he did not trust her. As he left the room, his thoughts focused on his sister. His memories of her were becoming unclear, faded with time. When he thought of her, he invariably thought only of her loss and not of her short life. It was because she had been so young, he thought. Her life had ended so abruptly and so prematurely that she'd never really lived at all.

It seemed strange to think that if his sister had lived, she would now be a grown woman, married no doubt, and with children of her own. He recalled seeing her with her dolls and how she'd cared for them so tenderly.

If Miss Walters could tell him who had ended her life, had deprived her of the future that had been her right, there was nothing he would not give her. Nothing would stand in his way.

He turned toward the stairs and headed toward the breakfast room. He knew that Miss Walters was an early riser. He found himself anxious to see her, and purposely chose not to examine that feeling too closely. He had ceased trying to deny his attraction, but at the moment, that was unimportant. There were other matters that required tending to, and he meant to address them.

Entering the breakfast room, he spied her alone at the table. She appeared lost in thought.

"Good morning, Miss Walters,” he said, “I was hoping to find you here. Would you like to accompany me to the village today? I will be taking the phaeton, and thought you might like to see the sights, such as they are."

While he could never have issued such an invitation to another young woman, Miss Walters’ status as a spinster and her advanced age meant the rules didn't have to be followed in the strictest sense. As it was an open carriage, and it was a brief outing, he did not foresee any difficulties.

Emme glanced up from her plate, and felt the now familiar stuttering of her heart. He was dressed in doeskin breeches, riding boots, and a coat of blue superfine. His shirt points were modest, his cravat simple and exquisite, and his waistcoat a simple brown and blue brocade. He didn't carry a quizzing glass and there was only a simple watch fob on his waistcoat. The lack of excessive ornamentation only heightened his appeal, which was already considerable.

"I would enjoy that tremendously, Your Grace.” The answer was out of her mouth before she could even remind herself that she needed to be cautious with him and to discourage her growing ten'dre for him.

He nodded, while filling his plate at the sideboard. She was dressed in a simple muslin gown that was vaguely blue. The color undoubtedly had some ridiculous name, but he didn't know what it was. He only knew that the pale blue enhanced her grey eyes, until they appeared almost silver.

Her glorious hair, which he ached to bury his hands in, was pulled back in a sleek chignon, its mass testing the fortitude of numerous pins. He had not found a woman so desirable, so tempting, since before his marriage. Certainly, he hadn't been so tempted by any woman since his wife's death. Elise had managed to put him off women for some time, and when physical desires could no longer be denied, he had chosen to indulge with a discreet mistress. A former opera dancer, Madeline had been lovely, uncomplicated, and content to part ways with the gift of a ruby necklace. He had been without a mistress for months now. That accounted for his physical arousal, but he could not lay his curiosity for Emmaline firmly at that particular doorstep. He could desire a woman physically and not long for her company.

"I understand you are quite the historian, Miss Walters. There is a Gothic chapel in the village that dates from the 12th century that I believe you will find quite entertaining."

"That sounds lovely. I've always found Gothic architecture fascinating, but even more so when not on the grand scale of cathedrals. It is more charming than intimidating in such applications."

She was blathering, and she knew it, but it seemed impossible to stop. She clamped her teeth together in an effort to stifle her loose tongue.

"Indeed."

He really couldn't have cared less. If it meant an hour in the phaeton with her seated beside him he would have looked at a dung heap. “There are a few shops in town that might interest you as well. I must visit one of the merchants on a matter of business."

"When did you wish to leave?” Emme asked, making it a point to keep the question succinct and to the point.

Rhys consulted to watch discreetly tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat. “I should think half an hour?"

"I need to fetch my wrap and inform my maid of my departure."

"I will await you in the morning room,” he said.

Emme told herself, as she made her way up the elaborately carved staircase, not to make more of the invitation than he'd intended. He was concerned for her safety. He needed to go to the village and the best way to ensure that she was safe was to keep her at his side. He still had questions about her motives for being there and about her moral character. There were many reasons that had nothing to do with a desire to be in her company that might have prompted him to offer the outing. Nonetheless, her heart thrilled at the idea of being alone with him, even in the open phaeton.

When she returned to the morning room, a paisley shawl draped about her shoulders and her new poke bonnet dangling from her fingertips, he was waiting for her. He rose when she entered and offered her his arm. Placing her fingertips atop the rigid muscles of his forearm sent heat spiraling through her. She flushed, and her pulse pounded, her blood coursing through her veins at a dizzying pace. The heat of his nearness was intoxicating, and her visceral reaction frightened her.

He helped her into the phaeton and then climbed up beside her. His hip pressed against hers and she could feel the heat of his thigh pressed against her own, even through the layers of their clothing. She wanted alternately to press closer and to move away. Instead, she stared at the road, determined to make polite conversation and to behave as if he had no effect on her at all. Her reputation was precarious at best, and any improper behavior on her part would be catastrophic. She could only imagine how viciously her aunt would scold her, let alone the reaction of Lady Eleanor.

Beside her, Rhys was fighting a battle of his own. He exerted all his considerable control to keep his libidinous urges in check. He'd gone rock hard the minute he'd touched her. Her ability to arouse him without any apparent effort was inconvenient to say the least. No doubt the drive into the village, over the rutted road, would be just punishment.

"Emmaline,” he began, when they'd cleared the estate's drive.

"Emme,” she corrected, “Since you intend to make free with my name when we are alone, please at least use the more palatable version of it."

It suited her more.

"Emme, then. I've spoken with Lord Ellersleigh about your visitations for lack of a better word."

Her heart sank, and cold dread washed through her. “Indeed."

He looked at her intently. “I find myself wondering, why you confide to him about the spirit of my late sister, but will not even discuss it with me?"