The Haunting of a Duke(10)

Emme toured the house at a leisurely pace, looking for landmarks that might help her later on. When her task was complete, she decided to reward herself with a quiet afternoon in the garden.

With a book of poetry under her arm, she walked toward a narrow stone bench and seated herself in the watery rays of the afternoon sun. The day was unseasonably warm, and she intended to enjoy it while it lasted. With a gentle breeze blowing, and the sun warming her skin, she opened the slim volume and began reading one of Byron's latest works.

"What are you reading?"

The voice, quiet and very soft, had the high pitch of a child. Emme looked up at the little girl who stood before her. She had dark hair and pale, green eyes. She was obviously related to His Grace, Emme thought, noting the slight cleft in her chin.

"A poem, but it is a rather grown up poem. I don't think you'd care for it. But I could tell you a story, if you like."

The little girl smiled. “I'm Melisande. But I don't want to hear a story, I want to tell one.” Her voice had a slight lilt to it, the singsong pattern of a child with a secret.

She was a bit odd, but she was a pretty child and had an amiable nature.

Emme nodded. “I think I would like to hear it very much."

The little girl seated herself on the grass and cocked her head to the side, and then began to speak.

"There was a princess who lived here, in this house. But the princess was very unhappy. She was forced to marry a man she didn't love. He was a kind man though, or tried to be, but the princess was angry at having to marry him, when her own love was so close by. She met her love in secret. But the princess had loved unwisely, and her love had a price. A very dear price."

Emme shivered. It was not a story, at all. It was thinly veiled gossip about the duke. “That isn't a very nice story, Melisande."

The little girl nodded. “Not every story can be nice, Emme."

A chill swept Emme's body. “I didn't tell you my name. Who are you?"

The little girl smiled again and her eyes were knowing as she met Emme's startled gaze. “You never have to tell us your name. We always know who you are."

Gooseflesh raised on her arms, Emme looked at the apparition before her. It had never happened when she was awake, it had never been so clear. She looked to be flesh and blood, but Emme had no doubt the child before her was a spirit.

Panic raced through her, setting her heart pounding. Her nerves stretched taut and she struggled for breath even as the impact of what the ghost child had said began to sink in.

With trepidation, she asked, “Who is this ‘we’ you speak of? How am I seeing you right now?"

The ghost child shrugged dismissively. “Spirits, the dead, whatever you choose to call us—there are many of us here, but only a few of us are strong enough to come through to you this way."

She cocked her head to the side, sparing Emme a measuring glance. “Because you don't really want us to, I think. You want to pretend we're not real, that were just vivid dreams. But you will not find the answers that way. If you want the answers, then you must listen when we speak, even when we say things you do not wish to hear."

Emme shivered as she replied, “I'll try to remember that, thank you."

"Talking to yourself or reading aloud? I don't remember that line from Shakespeare."

Emme looked up to see Lord Ellersleigh approaching her. He halted and leaned against a statue of a nude goddess. He looked perfectly at ease beneath the marble breasts. He then had the audacity to wink at her.

"It isn't Shakespeare today,” she replied, somewhat tartly.

The man was a charmer and a rake, and she was too rattled to deal with him. She glanced to the spot where the ghost-child had been, but there was nothing.

Michael put on his most charming smile. It had gotten him into and out of trouble more times than he could count. “Who were you talking with, Miss Walters? You can confide in me, I promise."

Emme laughed, but the sound was somewhat brittle. Handsome, titled men making such declarations were not to be trusted, and Lord Ellersleigh's reputation was the worst of the lot.

"How many young ladies have you said that to?” she queried, her voice challenging.

He continued to smile at her, but it was a softer smile, not the menacing one that told her he was on the hunt.

Michael sensed her mistrust of him, and it actually raised his opinion of her. He'd always admired intelligence in a woman. “You are a beautiful young woman, Miss Walter, but I have no designs on you. Innocent misses such as yourself require vows I have no wish to make as of yet. I am here as a friend only.” He paused and raised his eyes upward. “That is why I am taking my leisure beneath a pair of marble breasts rather than yours."