The Haunting of a Duke (21 page)

She blushed at such high praise. It was so far beyond what she was accustomed to. Since her mother's marriage five years earlier, she'd become more accustomed to criticism and ridicule. She disentangled herself from his embrace. It unnerved her that he could have such an effect on her, but more specifically, that she might become dependent on his positive regard. She didn't want to need him or his approval.

Rhys felt her withdraw and knew that it was more than physical. It piqued his curiosity, but he chose not to press her. If there was one thing that he was learning about his new wife, it was that she was all but incapable of hiding her feelings. He would learn in due time what had prompted her to distance herself from him. In the interim, they had reputations to protect and a murderer to find.

"We should go,” he said, “as it is, we'll be late enough to make a grand entrance without having to talk to anyone, but not so late that our entrance will be missed entirely."

"You have the art of it perfected, I see,” she said.

"I learned it from Ellersleigh, the master. He will be joining us at the theater, by the way. Assuming he hasn't drunk himself into a stupor somewhere, that is."

"Or become distracted by an available female?"

Rhys didn't point it out, but for Michael, there were few females who weren't available. “Just so,” he said, and ushered her outside and into the waiting carriage. He handed her up and then joined her inside the carriage.

"I've accepted an invitation to the Somerfield Ball, which is tomorrow night. It is a prestigious event and our attendance should please Lady Eleanor, if pleasing her is possible. By the end of the week I hope to be headed back to Briarwood Hall."

Emme couldn't see his expression in the dark interior of the cottage. “Why so anxious? Not that I mind, of course, I'd much rather be at Briarwood Hall. I had thought you wished to stay in London for some time."

Rhys paused before answering. His reasons were twofold. The first of which was that he wanted to be back at home where he could get to know his wife and enjoy her company with fewer prying eyes, the second had to do with finding the culprit. There had been no further accidents since coming to London, not that he wanted more accidents to occur. Still, it felt wrong somehow. It was as if they'd been diverted from their true course.

"I've been shortsighted. Reading Elise's journal is difficult but it must be done. If you are correct, and one of Elise's lovers murdered her and Melisande, then our focus should be on finding the fiend, and not placating my aunt's unreasonable desire for social standing."

Emme was relieved. “I am not much for society, Rhys. I'd be perfectly content to remain in the country all of the time."

"I can't guarantee that we will never come to London, but the trips will be as infrequent as possible."

"Would you come without me?” she asked.

"If needs must,” he said, “but I would prefer to have you with me."

The question burned on the tip of her tongue. Unable to stop herself, she said, “We've never discussed it, but I'm aware that maintaining a mistress is common practice—"

"It is common practice, but it is not one I intend to indulge. I desire no other woman. I have, in fact, never desired a woman with the intensity with which I crave you. I fear that you have become an obsession."

The words thrilled her, but her fear would not be so easily dismissed. “And when you've grown used to me? When I'm heavy with child?"

The very idea of her heavy with his child spoke to a part of him that was so primal he couldn't name it. Rather than answer her, he pulled her to him and kissed her. It was not a gentle kiss, or even a passionate one. It was a claiming. He took her lips with the intensity that burned within him and branded her. In that kiss, he showed her, absolutely, that she was his.

When the kiss broke, he leaned his forehead against hers, and breathlessly, he said, “I cannot promise that I will always be an easy man to live with, or even to tolerate, but I can promise you that I have made a vow to you before God, and I will keep that vow. What happens when you tire of me, when my kisses no longer stir your blood, will you be as faithful?"

Could he really wonder, as she did? Could this glorious man believe that she would ever want anyone else? “I have made my vows, as well, and they will be kept. And I cannot imagine that there will ever come a time when your kisses do not stir my blood. In fact, it takes little more than a glance from you and I am behaving shamelessly."

She felt the smile that curved his lips against her cheek. She turned her head slightly, pressing her lips against his. She traced the contours of his masculine lips with her tongue, nipping at his slightly fuller bottom lip with her teeth, until he groaned and pulled her roughly against him. The square neckline of her gown proved little impediment, and her breasts were suddenly bared to the cool air of the carriage and then to the heat of his callused palms. Her head tipped back, her neck arching with pleasure as he cupped the tender globes, stroking her pebbled nipples until she was gasping. He followed the column of her neck with his tongue, until his lips reached the impudent peaks. He laved and stroked with his tongue, before suckling the furled bud greedily into his mouth. She moaned and the sound was filled with such pleasure and such longing, that it made his hands tremble as he stroked her back and thighs.

But the carriage was slowing. He cursed, and quickly straightened the bodice of her dress, concealing the lush bounty. Realizing that they were approaching the theater, Emme fought to regain some semblance of composure. It was difficult to appear poised, when all she wanted was to rip their clothes off and press her naked body wantonly to his. In a carriage, no less, she thought.

They exited the carriage and entered the theater. Emme could feel people watching them. It wasn't censure, but such avid curiosity that she wanted to hide. Beside her, Rhys took in her kiss-swollen lips and the flush of her cheeks. She had never looked more beautiful. They strode past the crowd just as the gong sounded, indicating that the first act was getting ready to begin.

Lord Ellersleigh was seated in the box already. He eyed them dubiously, no doubt well aware of their recent carnal encounter. As it was written all over Emme's face with every blush, he would be hard-pressed not to note it. “Perhaps I should find another box for the evening? But if I leave you alone, I can only begin to imagine the scandalous activity that would take place—"

"Do hush, Michael,” Emme said, her face flaming, but her voice was stern.

He chuckled and held his hands up in mock surrender. The play commenced and they turned their attention to the stage, aware that every pair of eyes in the house was on them, but not all were simply curious. One glared with hatred, with vitriol and with rage.

After the theater Lord Ellersleigh accompanied them home for a late supper.

In the carriage Rhys spoke of their plans. “We will attend a few key events this week, and then return to Briarwood. Emme has little taste for the social whirl and neither do I."

Michael nodded gravely. “And there are other matters to be addressed."

"There was another accident on the road here. The carriage wheels had been sabotaged in much the same way that the phaeton had. Whoever is doing this knows Briarwood Hall very well and is familiar enough to our staff that his presence goes unnoted."

Michael considered that. Rhys had already apprised him of the revelation that Melisande had gifted to Emme; that both she and Elise had perished at the same hand. “It would make sense. We've moved within the same circle for decades. The same families are always in attendance at Briarwood."

"Have there been other incidents in the area? Other murders?” Emme asked.

Rhys shook his head. “Not that I am aware of. I haven't heard of anything, but then I would be the last person anyone would come to in such an event."

Michael shrugged. “There have been disappearances, but always easily accounted for—maids running off and such. Mrs. Haverston commented on it at the party."

Rhys considered it for a moment. “It is worth looking into. Maids do run off but perhaps there is something more sinister afoot."

Emme shivered. “Elise was not murdered in the same way that Melisande was I can't help but wonder why? The viciousness of the attack on Melisande speaks of rage and perhaps insanity, but with Elise, it was very cold, and the murderer went so far as to make it look like a suicide. That was very cunning and calculated."

Michael considered and then weighed in. “Perhaps the motivation for killing them was different."

Rhys looked away, staring out the coach window before speaking, “It seems even murkier now than it did before. Melisande was a child. How could she have driven someone to that kind of rage, when Elise, who was the most maddening creature on earth, did not?"

Michael braced his hands on his knees. “Then perhaps the rage was not directed at Melisande. She might have only been a pawn, her death intended to inflict pain upon others. Perhaps the viciousness of it was directed more at those left behind."

The carriage rumbled to a stop and Emme was glad. She would far rather converse with the dead than attempt to understand the mind of a vicious murderer. The latter was far more chilling. The door was opened by a footman and Michael and Rhys exited first. Rhys had taken her hand to help her down, but her feet had no more than touched the paving stones of the street when a loud crack echoed through the darkness.

It was instinct more than anything else that prompted Rhys to react. He shielded Emme with his body. There was a searing pain across his right shoulder, and he knew that the bullet had grazed him. He ignored the pain and reacted quickly, pulling Emme away from the carriage and propelling her toward the door. Michael raced off on foot in pursuit of the shooter.

Inside the house, Emme collapsed against the door, trembling and weak. The dark fabric of Rhys’ coat hid the spreading bloodstains. After a quick rap, Michael strode through the door.

"He got away. A hireling from the looks of him, dressed in rough clothing and none too clean."

Rhys cursed. “This has gone too far."

Michael sighed. “I believe that ball took quite a bit of your hide when it went past."

Emme paled. “You were shot?"

"It's nothing,” Rhys protested.

Emme squared her shoulders and began issuing orders to the servants. With hot water and bandages ordered, she followed Rhys and Michael up the stairs to their chambers. Rhys’ valet was there, and Emme thought the man would weep as he had to cut the coat and waistcoat from her husband. There was a shallow gouge that arced across Rhys’ shoulder. It did not appear to be a severe wound but it was bleeding terribly. Rhys was stripped to his breeches and seated on the bed, where Michael began to poke and prod at the wound, eliciting more than a few curses and threats.

Satisfied that his friend would not die from the wound, Michael cleaned the blood away with brisk economical movements.He turned to Emme. “Bring me the Scotch,” he said, gesturing to the decanter on the table.

Emme did as he asked.

She watched as Rhys took a healthy swallow from the decanter and then braced himself for what was to come. Michael poured the whiskey over the wound and Rhys’ breath hissed out between his teeth.

When it was done, Michael applied a few stitches to the wound and then bandaged it. It took only a few moments, but she felt as if it had taken years off of her life. Wearily, she collapsed onto the large chair before the fireplace.

"This has to stop,” she said. “Broken carriage wheels, gunshots, being followed—no, being hunted! We cannot live this way."

Michael recognized the rising hysteria. He gave a brief salute to Rhys and quickly made his escape. With Michael gone from the room, Rhys beckoned her.

When she stood beside the bed, within reach, he took her hands in his and said, “We will stop it. But for now, come to bed. Let's forget about the outside world at least until tomorrow morning."

Emme wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around her. With his assistance, she shrugged out of her gown and stays, stripping off her stockings with no thought as to how seductive her movements were.

Wearing only her chemise she slipped between the covers and took solace in the warmth of his body against hers.

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The Somerfield ball had been pleasant enough, though in light of Rhys’ injury, Emme had wished to beg off. He had refused, of course. He wanted to get their society duties over with and return to Briarwood Park. He also wanted the person who had hired the thug from the previous evening to see him about, hale and hearty. Unable to fault his logic, Emme had relented and endured the stares and whispers. She'd waltzed with Rhys and that had made it all worth it. No one would guess that he had been shot the night before. His movements were as sure and confident as always.

Only the unexpected presence of Lord Alistair Brammel had marred the evening. He'd requested a dance and had done so in such a manner that it would have been rude to deny him and would have undoubtedly resulted in a scandal. Though she'd wanted to run away when he'd taken her arm to lead her onto the floor, Emme had allowed him to lead her in a quadrille. It had taken all of her will not to pull away from him. She couldn't pinpoint why he made her so uncomfortable.

From the tightening of Rhys’ jaw and the icy glare that he had directed at Alistair, she knew that he been less than pleased, as well. She didn't fully understand the enmity between them, but she suspected it had far more to do with Elise, than with Alistair's rapscallion ways. Nonetheless, the tension between the two men was palpable. Thankfully, Alistair had been on his best behavior.

The rest of the week had passed in a blur of parties. Each one had been indecipherable from its predecessor. She had been greeted by whispers, smirks and knowing stares at every turn. She was viewed as the worst sort of upstart by society—a social climber and a fortune hunter. Their reception had little impact on Rhys.