The Haunting of a Duke (28 page)

Emme was on the verge of retorting that her requests meant little to her husband, but Lady Eleanor entered the room escorted by Lord Alistair. Lord Pommeroy trailed in behind them, looking sallow and grotesque. He and Alistair had arrived together that morning, both of them dressed in their clothes from the night before. While Lord Alistair was only beginning to show the signs of dissipation, Lord Pommeroy's face had become a testament to his excesses.

She swallowed the retort in deference to the newly arrived and cast a disparaging glance at her husband. He met it with a raised eyebrow that both challenged and provoked her. She said a quiet good morning to the newcomers. She didn't wish to give Eleanor more ammunition by displaying a lack of manners.

Eleanor gave a slight nod of acknowledgement but all of her attention was focused on Alistair. The fawning and preening from dinner the night before continued. Alistair, on the other hand, looked sullen. His face was bloated and his eyes were bleary, but next to Pommeroy, he looked the picture of health.

He didn't fill his plate but poured himself coffee instead. As she watched, he slipped a silver flask from his pocket and poured a copious amount of liquid into his cup and into Pommeroy's as well. Everyone else at the table was aware of the tableaux but discreetly remained silent.

Michael attempted to engage them in conversation, but Eleanor only had interest in her son and Alistair had interest only in his liberally enhanced coffee. Pommeroy looked ready to cast up his accounts on the breakfast table.

Rhys was still tense and angry and Emme found the situation to be exhausting. She pushed her plate away and stood. Dutifully, the gentlemen rose to their feet, as well, their manners ingrained in them since birth. Rhys finally spoke.

"I shall see you this afternoon."

Emme nodded but didn't reply. She made her excuses to the rest of the group and escaped to the morning room.

She used the time to write a letter to her mother and to Larissa. She wrote to them that she was expecting a child, finding that informing others made it seem more real. She did not include anything of her quarrel with Rhys though she wished fervently that she had someone to talk to. She missed having Larissa close by, though what she was currently experiencing was far beyond her sister's scope. They had always been one another's confidantes. They'd shared so many secrets, and she wished desperately to be able to confide in her sister.

Shaking her head to clear it of her maudlin thoughts, she refocused her attention on the letter she was penning to her Aunt Isabella.

It was a letter of duty and lacked warmth, but she would send it just the same. She had just finished pressing her seal into the warm wax when she looked up and saw Melisande outside in the garden.

She rose from the desk and unlocked the French doors that led to the garden. The air was chilled and she'd left her shawl upstairs, but there was no time to get it. She approached the girl in the same spot where she'd first encountered her, near the statue of Venus.

She sat on the ground, plucking at the grass and she appeared to be deep in thought. She looked up when Emme neared her, and her eyes were solemn. “I made Michael very sad,” she said. “But I didn't mean to."

It was the only time that Emme had ever heard Melisande sound like a child. Normally when she spoke she sounded like an adult.

Wanting to comfort her, Emme settled herself on the bench and asked, “Why do you think that?"

Melisande didn't look up, but kept her gaze focused on the ground in front of her. Her voice was tearful as she spoke. “Because you have seen me and Rhys has seen me, but he hasn't."

Emme sighed. “Why have you not showed yourself?"

"I've tried to make him see me but he never does. But he feels me when I am there, and that makes him sadder."

"Why can't he see you, Melisande? I've encountered many spirits, but I have never seen one so clearly as you. You are so strong."

She met Emme's gaze, and her green eyes shimmered with tears she was unable to shed. “It doesn't work that way. I can't just appear to anyone. There has to be a reason. It isn't time for him to see me yet. He will see me when he needs to."

"Perhaps I could tell him that for you?"

Melisande didn't answer. Her gaze had grown cautious and she looked around the garden almost fearfully. “He's been here, the monster. He comes back here all the time. But just as Michael cannot see me, I cannot see the monster. I feel his presence, I feel his darkness, but his face is hidden from me."

"Why does he return? Can you see that?"

"There are clues, Emme, in the journal that Michael brought. And as for why he comes back, he left things behind, as did Elise. They tell the story."

"Are you lonely here, Melisande?"

"I am always near the ones I love, but they never know, or see me. Until Rhys, that is and he only saw me because of you, because you made him believe."

"Will you be able to talk to him again?"

She shook her head. “It isn't like with you. I can talk to you whenever I want, but with everyone else there must be a reason. Perhaps because he has seen me once he will be able to again, but I do not know."

Emme started to speak, but was distracted by a gust of wind rattling the dry tree branches. She glanced up, and when she glanced back toward Melisande she was gone. With a weary sigh, she rose and headed toward the house again. As she approached the French doors, Lord Pommeroy came into view in the doorway.

"Good morning, Your Grace,” he said, amiably.

In spite of the amicable greeting, Emme felt a small frisson of fear. “Good morning, Lord Pommeroy,” she replied, and tried to move past him into the room.

As she did so, he moved again, blocking her entrance. She could smell the whiskey he imbibed at breakfast. It was strong on his breath. She stepped back, and caught the smirk on his face as she did so. He'd interpreted her retreat as fear rather than distaste. He withdrew a flask from his pocket and took a sip from it. He settled himself more comfortably against the doorframe.

The smile that crossed his face was more like a leer. “Running off so soon? I thought we might become better acquainted."

Emme had a fairly good idea of what he meant by acquainted. “Perhaps we can converse more at dinner. It's become quite chilly out here, so if you'd please move aside."

"Perhaps I could help to warm you,” he suggested, taking a longer pull from the flask. “I warmed your predecessor quite frequently."

Emme's lips firmed and she realized that her previous state of innocence had protected her from Lord Pommeroy's advances. Now, as a married woman he thought she would be fair game for his licentious games. “Lord Pommeroy, it appears you are being quite inappropriate, unless I am mistaken. I am mistaken, am I not?” she queried coolly, challengingly.

He smiled again, displaying teeth that were overlapped and jagged. “I am as proper or as improper as you desire, Your Grace."

Emme inclined her head coolly. “Then when I tell my husband of our conversation, I shall assure him that you were the soul of propriety as that is all I desire of you."

His smirk remained firmly in place, but his eyes grew cold. “As you wish, Your Grace."

Relief stole through her as he unfolded himself from the doorway and turned to exit the morning room. She stepped inside and closed the door, realizing too late, that rather than exiting the morning room, he had closed the main door and turned back to her.

"Don't play coy with me,” he said, as he stalked toward her. “I've seen you panting after your dear husband and Ellersleigh! You will be for me as well!"

Emme's fear spiked, but she did her best to conceal it. “Lord Pommeroy, I will tell my husband about this. He will challenge you. Do you really feel that you could face him on a field of honor and not lose your life?"

The odious cad, with his weasely face and whiskey-soured breath raked his eyes over her as if she were already naked. “You won't tell. Either because you'll be ashamed, or because you will enjoy it and wish to repeat the experience."

The door opened and the butler entered, his impassive face revealed nothing but Emme didn't doubt that he had heard the exchange as he approached.

"Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace, but Lord Wolverston has arrived along with a young woman who claims to be your sister."

"Thank you, Winstone,” she said.

Her voice quavered slightly but her spine was rigid as she brushed past Lord Pommeroy.

He grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully. “We are not finished."

In spite of the pain, she twisted her wrist from his grasp. She was firm when she said, “We are finished, Lord Pommeroy. You are a guest in this home, and you have imbibed too freely both last night and this morning and because of that, I am willing to overlook this lapse in judgment and decency. However, should you ever importune me in such a fashion again, I will not hesitate to tell my husband and rest assured he will see that you pay for it! In the meantime, I suggest that you find some pressing business to attend to at your own estate, something that would necessitate prematurely ending your stay at Briarwood."

Winstone placed himself between her and Lord Pommeroy and escorted her to the drawing room where Wolverstone and Larissa were awaiting her. She paused outside the door, took several deep breaths and tried to calm herself. Winstone, understanding her need to compose herself, stood at the door and waited for her signal. When she felt reasonably like herself, she gave him a slight nod, and he opened the door.

Gervase Spencer, Lord Wolverstone, or simply Spencer to his friends, rose as Emme entered the room. He was not what she had anticipated. Blond where both Rhys and Ellersleigh were dark, he was a veritable giant of a man. He stood several inches taller than both of them, and had the physique of a warrior. He was a Viking from the top of his blond head to the tips of his rather enormous feet.

He was not the person who held her interest, however. Larissa was seated on the settee. Her face was pale and wan and she appeared to be quite gaunt. Her once curvaceous figure was little more than skin and bone.

"Larissa!” she gasped, her encounter with Lord Pommeroy completely wiped from her mind. “Are you ill?"

Larissa started to answer but words failed her and she turned instead to Lord Wolverstone. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I fear your sister was quite ill when I happened upon her at a posting inn. While attempting to come to her aid, I discovered we shared a destination."

Emme crossed to the settee and embraced her sister. Larissa felt fragile in her arms, and she fought back tears. “What did he do, Ris?"

Larissa smiled weakly. “Mr. Stidham felt that my joining you at Briarwood Hall so soon after your marriage would be inappropriate."

He had locked her in her room, and from the looks of her, he'd starved her, as well.

"Well, you are here now, and everything will be fine,” she reassured.

Larissa met her gaze knowingly. “Is everything fine? I was very worried for you."

Emme didn't ask. She knew of course that Larissa had a vision. “I am fine. You've arrived just in the nick of time,” she said.

Larissa exhaled with relief. “Thank goodness. But I fear there is more to come."

Aware of the curious stare from Wolverstone, Emme said, “We will discuss all of that later. Right now, I want to get you upstairs and into bed. You will rest and you will eat. You are so thin!"

As they rose, Rhys and Michael entered the room. Rhys took in Larissa's haggard appearance. She bore little resemblance to the vivacious creature he'd met in London.

He turned a questioning eye to Spencer who merely shook his head. With that wordless communication he knew that all would be explained later. “Miss Walters,” he said, “welcome to Briarwood Hall. I'll have Winstone show you to your rooms so that you can rest after your journey."

"Thank you, Your Grace. You must call me Larissa, since we are family after all."

"Certainly, Larissa. You may address me as Rhys, or as Briarleigh, if you prefer."

"Rhys,” she said, warmly. “Thank you for taking care of my sister."

Rhys understood in that moment that Larissa was as extraordinary as her sister. She knew something that he did not, as of yet, but he had little doubt that she would tell him. Emme's safety was her concern as well. He signaled to Winstone and the women followed him from the room.

When they had gone, he turned to Spencer who wiped a hand across his face in a gesture that he had long come to understand signaled frustration and disgust. “That girl looks like death,” Michael said succinctly. “I've seen desiccated corpses with more flesh on them."

"He is a harsh disciplinarian. Emme had told me once that he would lock them in their rooms without food when they did not bend to his will."

Spencer shrugged. “There is nothing she could have done to warrant the sentence he imposed."

Michael normally took umbrage with Spencer's opinions as they reflected absolutes in morality that were simply beyond his capability. In this instance, however, recalling the gaunt face and emaciated frame of what had once been a beautiful girl, he couldn't disagree and oddly, for once, was not compelled to argue for argument's sake. “Well, I'm no longer a practicing physician, but if she needs further assistance, I would be happy to provide it. I doubt very much that bringing in the local physician and spreading gossip would benefit her as I imagine she will be staying with you for some time."

"Altruism, Michael? I had thought you long past such trite sentimentalities,” Spencer said caustically. “I can hardly credit that you have seduction in mind, given her appearance and state of health but I've never known you to offer assistance to a woman for any other reason."

Michael shrugged. Spencer was spoiling for a fight but he had no desire to give it. Of course, he couldn't let such a slight go entirely unanswered. “You are hardly my shadow Spence, to know my every deed and thought. If I offer assistance to a lady and she offers herself in return, I am unlikely to say no. However, in this instance, I do understand that it would be vastly improper to seduce the ailing and painfully young sister-in-law of my only friend."