Emme shook her head. “You should not discuss this so freely with me. It is as if you are breaking a confidence."
She could not imagine that Rhys would be receptive to her having such intimate knowledge of his family. It seemed wrong to her, invasive.
Michael smiled sadly, but voiced his disagreement. “Not at all. I am telling you my history, as much as his, because I was here for all of it, Miss Walters. You, by virtue of speaking to the dead involved in this history, are right in the thick of it."
She couldn't fault his logic. It was also nice to be taken on faith, and not have either her sanity or her character questioned at every turn.
Curiosity rose in her, and though it was a ghastly thing to ask, she had to know. “How did she die?"
Michael had been as forthcoming as he intended to. There were some things that he could not bring himself to discuss, regardless of the reasons. Though he was looking at her, Michael's eyes appeared to be focused on the far distant past.
"Horribly, Miss Walters. She died horribly. It isn't fit for your ears, and I haven't the stomach to revisit it."
Emme watched as he rose and walked away. In spite of the warmth of the day, she felt a chill. It swept through her, leaving her shaken. She needed to get away. The urge within her to escape the sadness that she had felt emanating from him was compelling.
Rising, she tucked her book into her reticule and took one of the graveled paths toward the water, away from the crowd of guests. People sometimes were too much for her. It was easier without the prying eyes and the need to pretend to be normal. She strolled along the lake's edge, enjoying the views, but her mind was not truly attending them. She was thinking about what would happen when she uncovered the truth. It would change everything for them, and sometimes, no matter how honorable the person, they still blamed the messenger. Lost in thought, she didn't hear the footsteps behind her as she stepped closer to the water's edge.
The only warning was the hiss of air. She started to turn, to see who was behind her, but the rock smashed against her forehead, and the blow sent her toppling into the icy water.
Rhys had spent the last quarter of an hour glaring at Michael as he flirted shamelessly with Miss Walters. That had not been his intent at all when he had sent Michael after her. As he approached Ellersleigh he reminded himself to remain calm and to not allow the irrational feelings that had plagued him to result in idiotic behavior. Of course, his silent reprimands did nothing to quell his urge to plant Ellersleigh a facer. Michael, who was staring off into the distance when Rhys reached him, immediately demanding, “Where is Miss Walters?"
Michael looked at him askance, his eyes dancing with bedevilment. “She's awaiting me in my bedchamber. We didn't want to cause too much of a stir by leaving the picnic together. While discretion isn't necessarily my most admirable skill, I shall endeavor to try."
Rhys’ jaw locked with anger. He knew that Michael was being an ass, simply because he could. But the image burned in his mind nonetheless.
"Michael, I am warning you not to test me on this. I saw you speaking with her earlier, but haven't seen her since. You were going to keep an eye on her and gather as much intelligence as possible. Or were you so foxed you forgot?"
Michael sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward as if praying for patience. “No, I did not forget. We had concluded our conversation, and frankly, I needed a moment to collect myself after. She walked away in the direction of the lake."
Rhys left him there, heading immediately for the water. It had been more than ten minutes since he'd seen her. He didn't understand the urgency that assailed him; he only knew that he had to find her. He followed the path around the lake's edge and into the trees. There was a faint rustling noise in the trees to his left and he paused to listen, but the noise stopped. He dismissed it, assuming it was an animal, but that pause in stride, that stillness, allowed another sound to carry. It was a splash and a faint call for help. Rhys began to run. When he broke through the trees, his gut clenched. He could see the pale fabric of her dress, sinking beneath the lake's glassy surface. He didn't stop to think, but stripped off his coat and waded in. The mud sucked at his feet and legs, making his progress treacherous, but that part of the lake had always been prone to marsh-like conditions.
When the water became deep enough, he dove under the surface, scanning quickly for her. The pale muslin gown was like a beacon and he swam for it. He reached her and dragged her back up to the surface. After breaking the surface, she gave a slight cough, and he said a fervent prayer of thanks. Rather than attempt to navigate the muddy bank, he held her and swam slightly further along the bank until he reached a rockier portion of the lakebed that would allow him to haul them both out. Her skirts tangled about them both in the water, impeding their progress toward safety.