The Haunting of a Duke(42)

"Yes, of course. I'm quite recovered now. I will return to my room, if you'll excuse me, Your Grace?"

He walked toward her, and gently cupped her face. “Rhys. My name is Rhys,” he corrected her. “And I think now would be the appropriate time to begin using it."

Her breath caught. “Very well, Rhys."

His name on her lips took his breath. He leaned forward, placing a kiss at the corner of her lips.

It was disconcerting for her that with a single touch he could send her senses reeling. She could feel her blood pulsing beneath her skin. She leaned into him, her palms resting against his chest, feeling the heart beating beneath her hand.

There was no longer any reason not to indulge. His arms closed about her and he deepened the kiss. Her incendiary response pushed him over the edge. He slid his fingers into her hair, and tilted her head back, deepening the kiss. The feel of her pressed against him, of her warmth, and the sweet taste of her lips called to some primal part of him that he did not recognize. With his heart thundering in his chest, his body reacted to her tentative response swiftly and predictably."What you do to me,” he said, breathing the words against her lips.

He broke the kiss, but did not move away from her. Instead, he cradled her head to his chest, and held her there. Emme could hear his heart pounding furiously, and knew that it mirrored her own.

"I have behaved properly my entire life and I seem to lose all sense with you,” she said.

He smiled against the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. “For which I am eternally grateful. If one is to take a wife, it is nice to know that she welcomes your touch."

Emme pulled back from him. “Did Elise not welcome your touch?"

He shrugged. Discussing Elise was the last thing he wanted to do. “Elise welcomed everyone's touch but mine. She was troubled, I suppose. Truth was a fluid thing for her; it changed like the weather, as did her moods and her desires."

It was unfathomable to Emme, when her skin craved contact with his and even the merest glance could make her blood race. “Have you read the journal yet?"

"Only a few pages,” he admitted.

She shouldn't press, but something, some hidden knowledge prompted her to speak. Emme stepped back. “She wanted us to find it for a reason."

Rhys felt a flash of irritation, “With all due respect, Elise is dead. And if she has any wants or desires, I find myself reluctant to fall all over myself to grant her wishes."

Emme pulled away from him and his dark mood. She strode to the door, her steps weary. “Be that as it may, the dead will not be ignored.” She knew that he was not ready to face what was in that book, regardless of what he had said. Unfortunately, time was a luxury they did not possess. “The book holds Elise's secrets, but those secrets hold the key to Melisande's murderer."

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Chapter Eight

As weddings went, it was austere. They were married in the same church in the village that they had visited on their previous outing. The vicar was cool and favored them with disapproving stares throughout the brief ceremony. The ceremony was witnessed by Lord Ellersleigh, Lady Phyllis and her aunt, Lady Isabella. Lady Eleanor declined to come, pleading a headache. Emme's stepfather and mother declined to attend. After the ceremony, taken directly from the Book of Common Prayer, they returned to Briarwood for a small supper.

It was hardly a momentous celebration, but Lady Phyllis persevered in her attempts to make it a jovial evening. Following the excellent dinner, the chef having outdone himself, the ladies pled exhaustion and retired early. Michael had simply vanished, and Emme and Rhys were alone in the drawing room.

"Why don't you retire? I'll join you shortly,” he suggested.

Emme could feel his gaze upon her. She nodded and then left the room without speaking. Her mouth had gone dry and she doubted she could have produced a comprehensible response, at any rate.

She knew, of course, what was to happen. Her aunt had taken it upon herself to explain the entire process the evening before. It had been a decidedly awkward and embarrassing conversation. Lady Isabella, in spite of her many lovers, did not have a high opinion of the marriage bed or what transpired in it. She essentially told Emme to simply think pleasant thoughts and lie still. What Isabella had described had been so very different from the brief encounter she had shared with Rhys in the tower that she couldn't imagine her aunt's advice had any validity.

Gussy, who had been present for the educational monologue, held her tongue until Isabella had departed. The minute the door closed behind her, Gussy had let out a snort that effectively represented her opinion on the matter. “Don't listen to a word she says, my girl,” Gussy had said. “If your future husband didn't know how to make a woman lose all sense, then he wouldn't be your future husband, would he?"