The Haunting of a Duke(31)

"Good morning, Lord Ellersleigh. I had not realized you were such an early riser."

Michael reminded himself that she was an innocent young lady and comments about how early he could rise would hardly endear him to her and would undoubtedly result in Rhys punching him in the mouth. “I am quite fond of mornings,” he said instead and suffered her dubious stare.

"I do like to get an early start on the day,” Emme continued. “It is much more efficient to do so. Should I submit my schedule to you or to His Grace, Lord Brammel?"

"Your schedule?” Michael queried innocently.

He had told Rhys that the girl would catch on but Rhys had simply shrugged and told Michael to charm her out of any pique. It was a conundrum, of course. Rhys would tell him to charm her. Michael would charm her and then Rhys would be angry because he had been able to charm her. It was a miserable position to find one's self in.

"Surely you didn't believe that it would escape my notice that either you or His Grace have all but been my shadows. It cannot be coincidence, as I sincerely doubt that either of you had any real interest in listening to Miss Stone and Miss Allenby and their atrocious reading of selections from Shakespeare."

There had been no interest whatsoever, Michael recalled grimly. It had been an hour of hell. “Very well, you are correct. Lord Brammel and I decided it would be for the best if we were to keep an eye on you."

Emme's lip curled, “Keep an eye on me, indeed!” She wheeled on him then, her face a mask of enraged feminine loveliness. “Does he think I mean to take the silver? Perhaps, I should allow him to search my rooms daily to ensure that I do not take anything that does not belong to me!"

Her voice had risen perceptively. Her tone was strident and angry color bloomed in her cheeks. At another time, he would have enjoyed it and might have piqued her anger just to watch her glorious bosom rise and fall with her rapid breathing as she gave him a well-deserved set down.

But he was tired, and had a hangover to end all hangovers. His head was aching, his stomach rebelling, and even Miss Walter's glorious breasts could not combat the effects of his own lack of self-control.

Rarely at a loss for words, he had no idea how to respond. He decided the truth would be the most efficient means of restoring the peace and harmony that his aching head craved. “You mistake my meaning, Miss Walters. Lord Brammel's concern isn't that you are stealing the silver!"

Emme rolled her eyes heavenward, “Of course not! He thinks I am stark raving mad, or a criminal mastermind here to swindle his mother! An unlikely event, even if it were my intent, as Lady Phyllis is quite shrewd and Lady Eleanor has set herself to guarding her as a dragon would guard treasure. It would be nigh on impossible."

"I agree with your perceptions of both Lady Phyllis and of Lady Eleanor. She is indeed quite shrewd, but you must allow me to explain, that Lord Brammel's concern, and my own, is for your safety! When you stumbled from the garden path onto the lawn the day before yesterday, you appeared frightened. And Rhys saw something that indicated that your fear was well-founded."

Emme paused, her teacup halfway to her lips. “What did he see?"

"A flash, possibly light reflecting on the barrel of a gun or a blade."

Emme shuddered delicately, those words sending a chill up her spine. There was only one reason why anyone would wish to harm her and that was to protect a secret they thought she possessed or soon would. There were questions she had to ask, paths that Melisande had shown her that she would have to follow.

"Additionally,” Michael continued, “I have doubts about that nasty spill you took into the lake. I don't think you fell and struck your head. I think someone hit you and then pushed you into the water."

She felt ill. Was that why she couldn't remember falling? Because someone had struck her forcibly, she wondered? Questions rattled through her mind at a dizzying pace, but one demanded an answer more than others. She sat down heavily, her knees buckling. “How did Melisande die, Lord Ellersleigh? You cannot say horribly. I have to know and for whatever reason, she cannot tell me. Now it seems more lives are at stake."

She saw his jaw clench and thought he would refuse. But after a pregnant pause he began to speak. His voice was pitched low and in spite of everything he did to disguise it, there was a tremor in his voice that made her hurt for him, and for the little boy he had been.

"I have never talked about this, not even with Rhys. It was brutal, what he did to her.” He paused, as if collecting himself, or perhaps steeling himself to revisit the horror he had witnessed. “She was in the woods, in a small clearing. When I found her, she was still breathing, though only just—forgive me, Miss Walters, but I must speak bluntly as there is no gentle way to say this—her clothing was bloody and torn, there were numerous wounds to her head, and beside her was a large rock, coated with her blood. Whoever did it had attempted to simply bash her skull in, but that was not all. There was also a ribbon tied around her neck. It was one that had been in her hair earlier that morning. I recognized it because I had given it to her. In secret, of course, with the small allowance I was given, I had purchased it for her."