"When did this happen?"
"In the garden, the day before yesterday,” she said haltingly, “I had stopped by the folly, the grotto with the statue of Poseidon, to read my book and she came to me."
"The day when you ran out of the garden as if you were being chased by the hounds of hell?” he asked, remembering the chill that had overtaken him when he'd seen the flash of a weapon.
Emme nodded. “Yes. I was walking back and I heard a noise, as if someone were walking in the woods just off the path. When I stopped they stopped. At the time, I assumed that could mean only that they were following me. When I heard them step onto the path behind me I felt certain of it, but I didn't look back."
If she'd looked back she would know who her pursuer was, he thought. But if she'd made eye contact with them, if she'd been able to readily identify them, they would not have hesitated to kill her in cold blood, if they were indeed responsible for the other murders.
"And you ran,” he said.
"I did. I kept walking until I rounded a bend and was out of their sight. Once hidden from view, I ran."
Whatever he thought of her abilities, in that instant, he could not fault her instincts. “You are not to leave the house alone."
"Lord Ellersleigh and I discussed this already. He told me what you saw."
Rhys bit back a curse. “I didn't wish to frighten you."
Emme laughed, but the sound was humorless. “I was already frightened. I prefer to know what it is I need to fear."
They phaeton rolled into the village and Rhys helped her down from the carriage. He ignored the curious looks of the villagers. Bringing her there, taking her for a drive, it all smacked of courtship, and it was only natural that people would make that assumption. With the phaeton safely tucked away at the livery, they strolled down the main thoroughfare of the village, lined with small shops. They stopped at the milliner's shop so that she could purchase more ribbons for her bonnets. He left her there while he went to the wine merchant, with strict instructions to remain there until he had concluded his business and returned for her. Afterward, they ambled aimlessly through the small village, stopping for pastries before heading toward the chapel.
It was a small church with elaborate stained glass windows and lovingly carved pews. Each stone on the floor was a work of art, fashioned with intricate inlays and carvings.
He showed her the tombs of his various ancestors, including the first Duke of Briarleigh and his duchess.
"They were said to be deeply in love,” he told her. “She was the betrothed of his most bitter enemy and he stole her from him, marrying her himself and taking her dowry. Years later his enemy sought his revenge by abducting her,” he paused for dramatic effect, before continuing, “it is said that my ancestor killed dozens of his enemy's knights single handedly, until finally, the remaining retainers of this enemy lord were so fearful of his rage, they betrayed their liege and returned her to her husband."
Emme wasn't so sentimental. While her parents had loved one another deeply, with her mother's remarriage, she understood all too well what a woman could sacrifice for her husband. “Or perhaps she was simply his possession?"
"What a shockingly unromantic point of view.” He chuckled. “You are jaded for one so young. But it is a fair assessment. Some men certainly do see their wives in such a light. However, in this case, I fear you are incorrect. One of my industrious ancestors in the 14th century copied their now crumbling letters to one another from his time in the Crusades, and they wrote to one another of their love, their desire. I shall find the book for you later. With your love of romantic literature, I imagine you will find it to be quite moving."
Henry VIII's letters to Anne Boleyn had been filled with lush, romantic prose and that certainly hadn't ended well. Rather than say something so ungracious, she said, “I'm sure it's lovely."
Her doubt was written across her too-expressive face. He chuckled and continued the tour, pointing out various artifacts and points of interest in the church. They ended by having tea with the vicar, where Emme was naturally charming and at ease.
Afterward, they returned to the phaeton and he handed her up. He steeled himself for the torture of having her so near for the next half hour. Climbing up beside her, he took the reins and set the horses at an easy pace that would extend the length of their short journey. It was a sweet torment, he thought, as he inhaled the soft scent of lilies.
Emme braced herself for the intimacy of having him so near, of feeling the heat that emanated from his body, but it didn't seem to matter. She had never been so acutely aware of any gentleman, nor had she ever felt the insistent tug of attraction as she did with him.