The Haunting of a Duke(14)

At the head of the table, Rhys watched her. He had seen how uncomfortable she had been when faced with the abrasive, gossipy Miss Stone.

Miss Stone was one of Eleanor's pet projects. His aunt was convinced that the grasping harpy would be a perfect bride for him. The young woman was simply intolerable and he'd gone to great lengths to avoid her. Pushy and forward, she had gone so far as to let it be known that she was open to a match with him, whether he'd murdered Elise or not. It hardly spoke well of her. That Miss Walters had so obviously found her off putting was a point in her favor.

He noted that Lord Pommeroy's gaze was fixed on Emmaline's lush bosom, and couldn't help the flash of irritation that caused him. She obviously did not welcome Lord Pommeroy's attentions but that did not make it any easier for him to bear. He was torn between the urge to slap the leer from Pommeroy's face, and the urge to wrap Miss Walters in the table linens to shield her lush curves from others’ view.

"Tell me, Miss Walters, how are you finding country life?"

Emme looked up to see Lord Alistair Brammel speaking to her. He was seated across from her. She had taken Gussy's warnings to heart and had made it a point to interact with him as little as possible.

"I am finding the countryside very much to my liking, Lord Brammel. Thank you for inquiring."

"I'd be delighted to show you more of it,” he offered. “Perhaps a ride?"

Emme thanked him. “I'm sorry, I don't ride, Lord Brammel. Also, I'm afraid I would only be able to accompany you if Lady Phyllis or my aunt were to go as well, as they are my chaperones. I fear Aunt Isabella does not ride either, and Lady Phyllis is far too busy with the party."

He smiled easily enough, but Emme sensed the resentment simmering inside him.

"Of course, Miss Walters. How remiss of me not to realize you were without an appropriate chaperone."

"I have to beg your pardon, cousin, but Mother is hardly an inappropriate chaperone, and Lady Harding is Miss Walters’ aunt. Surely you misspoke,” Rhys intoned loftily.

He despised Alistair's behavior. He was ever the spoiled child.

Alistair's smile never faltered. “Of course she is an appropriate chaperone. How clumsily I have spoken to make it seem otherwise. Your pardon Aunt Phyllis? Lady Harding?"

Phyllis smiled coolly. “No offense was meant Alistair and none was taken. Eat, drink and be merry!"

Isabella raised her glass, but her smile was cutting. “Certainly, Lady Phyllis. It is a party, after all."

Michael had paid little heed to the conversation about him, and he didn't really care that he was being rude. He couldn't take his eyes off the interplay between his friend and the now frightening Miss Walters. She had spooked him in the garden to be sure. Even now, hours later, he hadn't been able to convince himself that it was all imagination or artful trickery.

No one really knew about Melisande, certainly no one spoke of her. Decades later, the tragedy was still too great. As Michael looked back at Rhys, he saw his friend's intense gaze once again settle on Miss Walters, and knew that both Lady Phyllis and Lady Eleanor were equally aware of the interplay. Phyllis was looking at her son hopefully, while Eleanor was coiled and tense, like a serpent ready to strike.

It had been some time since he'd seen Rhys so intrigued by anyone or anything. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Lady Phyllis looking hopeful about anything. As for Eleanor, he doubted that anyone could ever please her. He decided to stir the pot and see what happened. Decision made, he reached for his glass of wine and made a silent toast to the couple.

"You're staring, Rhys,” Eleanor said, leaning past Michael to reprimand her nephew.

She was right, but he didn't really care. Nonetheless, Rhys managed to avert his gaze and resume his place in the innocuous conversation that swirled about him. Even then, his awareness of her did not dim. He recognized the disastrous consequences of his preoccupation with her, but he found himself unwilling to alter it.

After dinner, as the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the music room, Lady Phyllis called out for everyone's attention. “My dear guests, I have a special entertainment arranged for us tonight. While I understand this may be frightening to many of you, I assure you that you needn't participate if you are concerned. Madame Zuniga, a renowned mystic will be joining us tonight, and we will attempt to make contact with our departed loved ones."

Rhys was unprepared for the fury that assailed him. He tracked Miss Walters with a livid gaze and then crossed the room to her, where she was seated at the pianoforte.

He noted that no one had offered to turn the pages for her, and so he said, “Might I offer my assistance, Miss Walters?"