The Haunting of a Duke(18)

She had no proof, and the spirits of Briarwood Hall appeared to have their own agendas that did not include clearing his name. Nonetheless, Emme felt it in her bones, and knew it for truth.

Rhys felt her scrutiny. The weight of her gaze was heavy upon him. He turned his head slightly, fixing her with a curious stare, only to watch her lower her gaze demurely and turn her face away. He wondered if she blushed, if her alabaster cheeks pinkened with embarrassment. In the dim light he could not tell. It would be a charming picture, he thought, and that thought led to more charming pictures of her.

Her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, her cheeks flushed with passion rather than embarrassment. He pulled the reins back tightly on his wayward mind and instead focused his attention on Madame Zuniga, who would surely douse any man's desire.

The woman moaned a high keening sound that seemed more animal than human. “I feel the spirits moving around us. Secrets!” she hissed. “There are many secrets in this house!"

Emme felt a chill sweep through her. She didn't think Madame Zuniga communed with the dead, but that didn't mean the woman was totally lacking in ability. Psychic energy, at least according to her possibly deranged uncle, came in many forms.

"There are those here who are not what they seem. Vipers hiding, slithering beneath the surface!” Her voice projected like any great actress', filling the room while still seeming to be a whisper.

As if on cue, thunder crashed outside and lightning split the night sky. It wasn't a surprise. Dark, black clouds had rolled in during the afternoon, and rain had hovered since. A gust of wind sent the French doors crashing inward. The dim light of the candles vanished instantly, pitching the room into total darkness and chaos. Several of the ladies screamed. Gentlemen shouted. Footmen and other servants scurried to close the doors and relight the candles. Emme was rooted to her chair, and strangely comforted by the pressure of Rhys’ hand over hers.

Lightning crashed again and Lady Phyllis wailed and swooned in her chair. Emme was unable to speak, frozen in her chair. Madame Zuniga would never speak again. She lay slumped over, her head on the table, blood pooling beneath it.

With a startled cry, she jerked her hand from Rhys’ and backed away from the table. Rhys found Michael and gave a single curt nod. Michael knew what it meant. No one was to leave the house except for a servant that would be sent to fetch the magistrate. It was a dire circumstance, as the magistrate was one of Elise's former lovers. He despised Rhys beyond reason.

The killer watched the others scurrying about, the women shrieking in terror. One had actually swooned. He didn't smile. Outwardly, he appeared as concerned and horrified as the other guests. In reality, he reveled in their reaction. To incite fear on such a large scale lit a fire in his blood.

He hadn't intended to kill the medium, initially. He'd assumed she was just another of Lady Phyllis’ frauds. But the woman had begun to talk about secrets and an unwelcome sensation had taken root inside him. Fear was not something he was accustomed to. When the room had gone pitch black, he'd acted instinctively. It had been easy enough to take the heavy candelabra from the sideboard and bash the woman's skull in with it. It wasn't his preferred method, but he hadn't been able to risk that she might actually be able to commune with the other side. One mystic was too much of a risk, two would see him swinging from Tyburn Hill.

Another thought occurred to him then, and he smiled. If his methods had the added bonus of instilling fear in Miss Walters then it was worth the risk he'd taken. He liked the idea that she might be cowering in her room in fear of a similar fate.

Emme was sequestered in the music room with the other ladies while the gentlemen retreated to the billiard room. The local magistrate had utilized the library to question guests. Guests, Emme mused, that had become suspects. She held onto one thought. Rhys never let go of her hand until after Madame Zuniga had been struck. She was determined to see that this was one murder he would not be blamed for.

"Miss Walters,” the butler said, his already dour face pulled into a pinched frown, “the magistrate will see you now."

Emme rose and crossed the room, the heels of her slippers clicking on the parquet floor. She followed the butler to the library, and found the magistrate and Rhys glaring at one another across his desk.

"You wished to speak with me,” she said.

Rhys watched as the magistrate cleared his throat, sending his fleshy jowls wobbling. The man had never been athletic, but in the few years since Elise's death, his level of physical exertion appeared to have dropped off considerably.

"His Grace vows innocence of the crime of murder, Miss Walters. I understand you were seated by him during the seance?” The last word was uttered with contempt.