The Haunting of a Duke(48)

Rhys smiled. “Ever prepared, Michael."

"You're looking content, my friend."

"Tread easy, Michael. I'd hate to have to call you out.” In spite of the threat, his voice was infused with calm and good humor.

Michael chuckled. “Good Lord, yes. It'd be a shame if I had to make her a widow already. Speaking of content, she looks equally satisfied with life, if a bit fatigued."

Rhys said without umbrage, “You really are an ass, Ellersleigh."

"Perhaps I am merely jealous of your connubial bliss? It was blissful, wasn't it? Surely you can spare that much for your old friend, who is now deprived of all female company save for your sainted mother and your aunt. One I love like a mother myself and the other, well, perhaps if she were the last woman on earth, but even then, I'd need a drink. Several drinks, actually."

"It was paradise. Now, shut up."

Michael smiled, happy that his friend was, if not happy, at least on the path. Rhys deserved it after the hell of Elise. “Well, so you can punch me in the face and get it over with, I should tell you that I am the one who alerted your dear mother that you had followed Miss—excuse me, Her Grace, into the tower."

Rhys felt a flickering of anger, but only a flickering, and then asked, “Why the hell did you do that?"

Michael's reply was deceptively casual. “Because she's perfect for you and you couldn't keep your eyes, your hands or your mind off her. You'd already dutifully married once and it was disastrous. I thought this time you should have what you wanted instead."

Rhys stared at his friend for a long moment. He should have been angry, but he couldn't muster the ire that he should have felt. “I won't thank you for it yet, but I won't beat the hell out of you either. I'll reserve the right to do either at a later date depending on whether or not the connubial bliss, as you put it, sustains itself."

"Fair enough,” Michael answered with a shrug, and added another healthy dollop of brandy to his tea.

It was his mother who interrupted them. “The both of you are being impossibly rude! Rhys, you are neglecting your bride, and Michael, you rotten boy, you are plotting something."

Michael held a hand to his heart, as if mortally wounded. “Never, Lady Phyllis! I worship at your feet. You are a goddess amongst women."

Eleanor remained quiet, her cold glare never leaving the new duchess. Rhys noted the dark looks and sinister glares that his aunt continued to direct at Emme. If she was attempting to disguise her hatred of Emme, she was doing a poor job of it. A confrontation was brewing on that front, but he elected to let it simmer for a bit longer. He would have that conversation with Eleanor in private. There was no need for Emme to be exposed to more unpleasantness.

The remainder of the day continued in a similar fashion. He and Michael went for a ride, and he examined some of the outbuildings and tenants’ cottages that were in need of repair. It was during their ride that he introduced the topic of Elise's journal.

Pulling the small book from his pocket, he passed it to Michael. “I can't make heads or tails out of it. Every detail of her debauchery is outlined in glaring detail, however, her partners in her peccadilloes are identified only by their initials."

Michael took the book and flipped it open to a random page. His only outward response was to raise his eyebrows. When he spoke, his voice was laced with a mixture of amusement and disgust. “I had no idea your late wife's interests were so varied. However did she find the time?"

Rhys didn't take the bait. Instead he focused on the more important issue. “I need your help, Michael. I need you to help me identify the people in that book. I haven't moved in those sorts of circles in a very long time. If I were suddenly to reappear at the halls or at one of Belmont's parties, it would arouse suspicion."

"But with my dark reputation and even blacker soul, my appearance will go unremarked?"

"Something to that effect,” Rhys agreed, “You know who her compatriots were—the like-minded ladies that she swapped tales with. Will you help?"

It wasn't really a question.

"Well, you certainly don't need my assistance here. I will leave in the morning."

When Emme joined her new husband, his mother and the extended family before the evening meal, they were gathered in the small drawing room. She had napped in the afternoon. No one had commented on her absence or the possible cause for her exhaustion, for which she was thankful. She would have been utterly mortified. She chose to ignore Michael's knowing glance and wink.

Rhys and Eleanor were squared off. As she entered, Emme couldn't help but be aware of the tension between the two of them. That they were discussing her was of little doubt, as they both abruptly stopped speaking when she entered the room. Rhys stood, ever the gentleman, and waited for her to be seated. Eleanor regarded her coolly. Rhys was the first to break the uncomfortable silence that descended upon them.