The Haunting of a Duke(15)

Emme looked up at him. His smile was almost fiendish, and while it had been phrased as a request, they both knew she could not decline. “Thank you, Your Grace. Your assistance is most appreciated."

He watched her fingers fly over the keys as she played one of Mozart's newest compositions. She played well, passionately and with skill. When she had finished, he offered her his arm and led her away from the piano. Across the room, Miss Stone watched them with venom in her eyes.

"I fear your attention has garnered an enemy for me, Your Grace."

Rhys glanced toward Miss Stone and shrugged nonchalantly. “I doubt that Miss Stone would ever secure my attentions, regardless of who may or may not be present. Surely her enmity is leveled in my direction rather than yours?'

Emme didn't bother to glance back at Miss Stone to see whom she glared at. It was unnecessary. She could feel the weight of the woman's venomous stare. “No, Your Grace, you are the object of her schemes, and at present, I appear to be her obstacle."

He considered that for a moment. “Indeed. Then let's stroll about the room and see how she fares? I would wager that Alistair is looking daggers at us as well?"

Emme didn't respond to that. She had felt the weight of Alistair Brammel's lascivious stares the moment he entered the room. She accepted Rhys’ arm and allowed him to lead her in a turn about the room while one of the younger ladies butchered one of Beethoven's sonatas.

He was right about Alistair, of course, but she wouldn't feed his conceit by saying so.

"Is this an idle stroll, Your Grace? From the glower you are wearing I suspect you have something you wish to say to me?"

Rhys couldn't help but admire her direct approach. “I would like to know what your role is to be in the night's entertainment."

"I am not sure I understand what you mean,” she replied, puzzled.

"To be blunt Miss Walters, I would like to know how, or if, you have conspired with the charlatan whose services my mother has retained."

Emme fought back her immediate and indignant response, along with the desire to slap him. In the end, she said simply, “Your Grace, I have not conspired with any charlatans, nor would I ever."

"And yet you are here because you can allegedly commune with the spirit world?"

Emme sighed. “I will not be interrogated, Your Grace. If you wish me to leave, then by all means cast me out, but I will not be treated like a common criminal."

Rhys held up his hands in mock supplication. “Very well Miss Walters, for the moment, I will concede that there is no evidence to support. But I still require answers from you."

"Answers?” she queried, and while her tone was flippant, her expression was anything but.

"Am I correct Miss Walters, in stating that you are here because my mother wishes you to commune with the spirit of my late wife and prove my innocence?"

"Your mother has mentioned it to me, Your Grace, and has asked that I look into the matter."

"And have you agreed to provide this assistance, Miss Walters?"

Emme paused for a moment before replying. “I have not. But should I observe something that might be useful to her in her quest for knowledge then I will be honor-bound to pass that information along. However, I have not said that I would seek such knowledge."

Rhys eyed her shrewdly. Her evasive answers were becoming tiresome. He decided a bit of provocation was in order. “If you were to seek such knowledge Miss Walters, how would you go about it? Does it involve graveyard dust and eye of newt?"

Anger sizzled beneath her skin, but she held it in check. “I am not a witch, Your Grace. I do not engage in such practices. While they may be humorous accusations to you, such careless words have preceded many a tragedy in my family."

He realized that he had truly offended her, but since he had managed to break through her icy facade, he found it difficult to appear contrite. She was quite sensitive about her rumored abilities it seemed. “My apologies, Miss Walters. If you would be more forthcoming about your methods, I would not have to fear inadvertently insulting you again with my plebian questions."

Emme didn't answer. She met his gaze levelly, and stated, “If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I think my aunt is beckoning me."

She turned on her heel, and though she did not precisely march across the room, the stiff column of her spine and her long strides declared her anger readily enough.

Rhys watched her walk away. She was remarkable, he thought. Without thinking, he started after her, determined, in that moment, to have her.

Michael intervened as Rhys moved to follow her.

"What the hell are you thinking?"

With a shake of his head he said, “I'm not certain that I am. Haven't you told me that for years? To stop thinking and to feel instead?"