The Haunting of a Duke(66)

Emme considered that for a moment. Pommeroy was a letch and a roux, and he certainly seemed to be obsessed with ladies.

"Was Lord Pommeroy one of Elise's lovers?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to. Lord Pommeroy had a neighboring estate; they socialized with one another and had for decades. He was, in a loose sense of the word, a friend of both Jeremy's and Rhys'. Elise would have sought him out as a means of punishing them both for any perceived slights or wrong doing on their part.

Rhys paced for a moment and then strode to the window where he looked out onto the lawn. His gaze traveled to the lake. Pommeroy knew the estate, had been present during the various accidents that had befallen Emme, and lived close enough to come and go from the estate on a daily basis with no one the wiser. “I believe that he was one of Elise's lovers, yes, but is he capable of murder?"

Emme walked toward him, and placed her hands against his back, stroking in a soothing motion. “I have learned that we are all capable of horrible things with proper motivation."

Rhys woke early the following morning. He dressed in rough clothing and went into the southern wing of the house. It had been closed off following Elise's death. She had used that wing as her own private sanctuary. She'd entertained her lovers there, as it faced the forest paths that led in from the road. It had been a convenient way for her lovers to travel to and from the house without being seen. The discretion had been for their benefit rather than for Elise's. She'd flaunted her lovers, boasted of them.

Dust and cobwebs hung thick and heavy throughout. As he entered, Rhys noted the heavy footprints in the dust there. They were large and could only belong to a man. From the number of prints, he could only surmise that the man had paced alarmingly or had made numerous passes through the dust-shrouded corridor.

Rhys moved further along the corridor and into the large drawing room. Elise had entertained there, inviting her more adventurous lovers to sample forbidden desires. He'd once received a bill from a brothel where she had hired women to come in for the evening and help her “entertain.” He'd paid it and in doing so had instructed the madam that she was never again to fulfill his wife's requests.

The bitter argument that had ensued between them had rung throughout the house. In recollecting it, it was little wonder that most people believed he had killed her. On that night he had threatened to.

With a sigh, he began to examine the room for some clue, for anything that might identify the lovers mentioned in the diary. He noted that the liquor was still present. Brandy and port told him nothing, as he couldn't think of a single gentleman who didn't have an abiding appreciation for both.

He searched the shelves and drawers. He found nothing except crude drawings of a very explicit nature. Whoever her lovers had been, their artistic skills had been quite limited. Replacing the drawings, he moved toward the window and opened the curtains, allowing more of the early morning light to filter in.

While standing there, looking out over the lawn, an awareness settled over him, the strange sensation of no longer being alone. His skin prickled and the hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. She was there, her face reflecting back at him in the glass of the window.

His breath fogged in front of him as an undeniable chill swept through the room. Slowly, he turned, alternately hoping that the room would be empty behind him, and that it would not be.

He hadn't seen her face in more than two decades, but she stood there, his sister, exactly as he remembered her. Her dark hair was curled in ringlets and tied back with a pretty bow. She looked real and solid, as if he could touch her, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to. The light didn't reflect off of her, but shimmered around her instead, giving the illusion of a veil between them.

"How can I see you?” he asked, unmindful of the fact that his voice was barely a whisper in the room.

She smiled back at him. “You can see me Rhys, because you finally believe that I am here."

The breath he'd been holding escaped him in a rush. “Tell me who did this to you Melisande. If you tell me, I can make them pay for what they have done."

She smiled at him sadly, and moved forward into the room. The light rippled about her distorting things, shimmering. “I can't tell you."

"You won't tell me,” he said.

She shook her head and the sadness in her eyes was overwhelming. “I don't know the answer Rhys. I don't remember everything that happened to me that day. Elise knows, but she won't tell."

"Then how are we supposed to find out?"

"I don't have the answers, but I know they are here."

"How?” he demanded. “How do you know?"

She shrugged. “The same way that I know you are alive and I am dead. The same way I knew that you would be able to see me now. Some things just are."