The Haunting of a Duke(27)

Card games had been planned for entertainment following the picnic, but many had over-imbibed at the wine-filled luncheon and had retired early. Emme had been pressed to participate in the afternoon's festivities. The note from Lady Eleanor had specifically requested her presence, if she felt well enough to attend. It had not been a request, no matter how politely worded.

Emme strolled into the card room, feeling marginally more confident in one of her best dresses—pale sea green embroidered with a Greek key pattern in white—she knew it flattered her. The bruising at her temple had been artfully camouflaged by Gussy's hairdressing skills. She needed the additional armor of feeling pretty and fashionable when facing down Lady Eleanor.

It was difficult to fathom what Lady Eleanor's agenda was, but Emme was fairly certain she wouldn't like it. Until that point, the woman had given every indication that Emme was beneath her notice. She hardly thought that her accident, minimized as it had been, would have changed the woman's views that dramatically. Taking a fortifying breath, she prepared herself for the coming confrontation.

Spying her aunt across the room, Emme dipped her head in greeting, ignoring the sharp stab of pain that was her reward. Lady Isabella hadn't even come to check on Emme during her recovery, not that she would have been a help. Now she was cocooned in a small alcove with a minor baron. Emme tried but could not recall his name. She knew he was unmarried, had no fortune, and could only be recommended by a pretty face. He was undoubtedly her aunt's latest lover. There was a never-ending stock. The doors opened and Emme looked up to see Lady Eleanor striding into the room, regal as a queen. It dawned on her, not for the first time, that Lady Eleanor appeared to be the matriarch of the family, though Lady Phyllis held the title and the social cachet that accompanied it. Emme steeled herself for the coming skirmish. It would be bloodless, but hardly painless.

Michael watched Lady Eleanor enter the room. She was smiling, which he took as a sign of trouble to come. The woman was vicious, even if Rhys chose not to see it. The cold, smug and superior tilt of her lips was spine-chilling and he didn't doubt that it would involve her verbally skewering Miss Walters. He should leave it alone, he thought. There was a bottle of brandy stashed in the billiard room that was just waiting for him, but he couldn't.

Rhys was taking care of estate business, and that meant he was Miss Walter's only line of defense. With that thought in mind, he made a subtle inquiry of the footman and discovered who Eleanor had selected to be her partner and opponents for the first rubber of Whist, and artfully inserted himself in Lord Carstairs’ stead. It had taken little enough effort. He'd simply had to impart where the bottle of brandy was hidden.

Michael took his seat just as Lord Pommeroy and Lady Eleanor arrived at the table. Pommeroy was half-foxed and began to leer at Lady Eleanor's modestly covered bosom. Michael sat back to watch the show and wait for the questions that would undoubtedly arise.

"I say, Lady Eleanor! What a marvelous gathering this is. It's such a rare pleasure for an old goat like me to spend so much time in the presence of such lovely ladies,” Lord Pommeroy said.

Michael watched Lady Eleanor's polite smile as she replied, “What a charmer you are, Lord Pommeroy. Before I forget, I would just like to thank you for partnering with Miss Walters. It's quite magnanimous of you, after all."

The smile was everything that was proper, but nothing could hide the anger that burned in her gaze.

"Not at all, my dearest Lady Eleanor. I know the gel isn't quite the thing, but she's a lovely young woman,” Pommeroy said, his gaze once again roaming over Lady Eleanor's chest.

"You're too kind, Pommeroy. Too kind,” she said, and then turned to face Michael with a hard expression. “Lord Ellersleigh, I had understood that Lord Carstairs would be partnering me."

Michael raised an eyebrow at her censorious tone. He knew that he was ruining her plans. Nonetheless, he grinned at her, the expression mocking. “You wound me, Lady Eleanor! I begged Lord Carstairs indulgence in allowing me to take his place at a table with two such lovely ladies."

"You do talk a pretty piece, Lord Ellersleigh. Naturally, I am thrilled at your company,” she lied smoothly.

Michael knew that she wouldn't shelve whatever plans she had for Miss Walters, she would simply alter them enough to avoid being overtly rude and angering Rhys.

As Emme approached the table with trepidation, she was aware of the tension that was so evident between Lord Ellersleigh and Lady Eleanor. Only Lord Pommeroy seemed oblivious and that was because he was utterly attuned to Lady Eleanor's bosom.

Well, she would find out soon enough, she thought. Lady Eleanor would not hesitate to let her opinions be known, and as for Lord Ellersleigh, his agenda was always something to be wondered at. Lord Pommeroy's gaze focused on her decolletage already, his agenda the same as always.