The Haunting of a Duke(33)

It was true. Melisande's murder had nearly destroyed his mother, and the years since had not been without turmoil. He was only too well aware of his mother's delicate emotional state. “You need not fear, Aunt, as I have no intention of being anything less than discreet. As much as Mother deserves solicitude in this matter, Melisande deserves justice for what was done to her. If Miss Walters can provide that, then no price is too high."

Lady Eleanor paced the room, all but wringing her hands. “Surely you haven't been taken in by her!"

"I have not been taken in by anyone. But I am willing to entertain the notion that Miss Walters possesses skills that are beyond the norm. I have finished with this conversation. There will not be any further discussion about Miss Walters’ purpose here, or her treatment by you,” he said with force and finality.

Eleanor nodded her agreement, but he did not trust her. As he left the room, his thoughts focused on his sister. His memories of her were becoming unclear, faded with time. When he thought of her, he invariably thought only of her loss and not of her short life. It was because she had been so young, he thought. Her life had ended so abruptly and so prematurely that she'd never really lived at all.

It seemed strange to think that if his sister had lived, she would now be a grown woman, married no doubt, and with children of her own. He recalled seeing her with her dolls and how she'd cared for them so tenderly.

If Miss Walters could tell him who had ended her life, had deprived her of the future that had been her right, there was nothing he would not give her. Nothing would stand in his way.

He turned toward the stairs and headed toward the breakfast room. He knew that Miss Walters was an early riser. He found himself anxious to see her, and purposely chose not to examine that feeling too closely. He had ceased trying to deny his attraction, but at the moment, that was unimportant. There were other matters that required tending to, and he meant to address them.

Entering the breakfast room, he spied her alone at the table. She appeared lost in thought.

"Good morning, Miss Walters,” he said, “I was hoping to find you here. Would you like to accompany me to the village today? I will be taking the phaeton, and thought you might like to see the sights, such as they are."

While he could never have issued such an invitation to another young woman, Miss Walters’ status as a spinster and her advanced age meant the rules didn't have to be followed in the strictest sense. As it was an open carriage, and it was a brief outing, he did not foresee any difficulties.

Emme glanced up from her plate, and felt the now familiar stuttering of her heart. He was dressed in doeskin breeches, riding boots, and a coat of blue superfine. His shirt points were modest, his cravat simple and exquisite, and his waistcoat a simple brown and blue brocade. He didn't carry a quizzing glass and there was only a simple watch fob on his waistcoat. The lack of excessive ornamentation only heightened his appeal, which was already considerable.

"I would enjoy that tremendously, Your Grace.” The answer was out of her mouth before she could even remind herself that she needed to be cautious with him and to discourage her growing ten'dre for him.

He nodded, while filling his plate at the sideboard. She was dressed in a simple muslin gown that was vaguely blue. The color undoubtedly had some ridiculous name, but he didn't know what it was. He only knew that the pale blue enhanced her grey eyes, until they appeared almost silver.

Her glorious hair, which he ached to bury his hands in, was pulled back in a sleek chignon, its mass testing the fortitude of numerous pins. He had not found a woman so desirable, so tempting, since before his marriage. Certainly, he hadn't been so tempted by any woman since his wife's death. Elise had managed to put him off women for some time, and when physical desires could no longer be denied, he had chosen to indulge with a discreet mistress. A former opera dancer, Madeline had been lovely, uncomplicated, and content to part ways with the gift of a ruby necklace. He had been without a mistress for months now. That accounted for his physical arousal, but he could not lay his curiosity for Emmaline firmly at that particular doorstep. He could desire a woman physically and not long for her company.

"I understand you are quite the historian, Miss Walters. There is a Gothic chapel in the village that dates from the 12th century that I believe you will find quite entertaining."

"That sounds lovely. I've always found Gothic architecture fascinating, but even more so when not on the grand scale of cathedrals. It is more charming than intimidating in such applications."

She was blathering, and she knew it, but it seemed impossible to stop. She clamped her teeth together in an effort to stifle her loose tongue.