Emme examined the small stickpin. It looked strangely familiar. The filigreed tip with the small diamond was a unique design. “I've seen this before, but I can't think where. Did it look familiar to you?"
"To be perfectly honest, no. I've never paid much attention to other men's jewelry."
"I will think of it, eventually,” she said and carried it over to the desk to examine it beneath a magnifying glass. She noted the engraving upon the shaft. “To A., with love, E. The E is obviously for Elise, but who is A?"
He shook his head. “I don't know, but there are several possibilities."
"Alistair?"
"He is one of them. Lord Pommeroy's given name is Ambrose, so we cannot eliminate him either. And that is assuming that this stick pin does belong to our killer and that the person looking for it isn't just attempting to avoid scandal or trying to recover a favorite possession."
"This is so frustrating! I don't understand why Elise won't just simply tell us what she discovered!"
Rhys’ blood went cold. For his part, he didn't care if Elise ever imparted information to them again, given the method in which she did it. Thankfully, there had been no further episodes of ghostly nocturnal visitors. “I hope she doesn't."
His tone alerted her. She had never heard fear from her husband before, but she recognized it in his voice. “What happened the last time? What aren't you telling me?"
He didn't want to alarm her, he didn't want to tell her of the threats Elise had made, but he needed to. She needed to be aware and if there was some way to stop those episodes they needed to explore it to its fullest. “When I found you in the tower you were standing before the open windows and when you looked back at me, somehow, you were Elise in that moment. She looked back at me from your face and told me that she could make you jump."
Emme leaned forward and placed her hands on either side of his face, “There is no power on this earth or beyond it that would make me leave you. Elise’ threats are idle. We will find the killer and then she will be gone."
"How do you know that? Perhaps it isn't justice that keeps her here—perhaps it is her desire to torment me even beyond her death?"
"I don't know that. But I am going to give her the benefit of a doubt, and if she remains after, there are steps that can be taken."
"Then let us take them now."
"We need her Rhys. It isn't just about Elise's murderer. It's about Melisande's murderer and whatever danger we may face, she deserves justice. All of you do. It was her life that was taken, but it was your life and your mother's life that was irrevocably altered, as well. She was stolen from you and that cannot go unpunished any longer."
He knew the truth of her words, but they did little to dispel the growing unease that gripped him. He felt as he had in the war, on the eve of battle. The faint prickling of danger that made him hyperaware of everything and everyone around him had saved his life in battle more than once. His only injury in the war had come when he ignored those instincts in order to save Ellersleigh from what would have been a fatal wound.
"We have very real dangers present, both worldly and otherworldly. For your own protection, you will not leave the house alone and you will not be sleeping alone either."
"Is that why you've been coming to my bed every night?"
"No. That is why I've been waking in your bed every morning. My coming to your bed is for purely selfish reasons,” he said, settling his hands at her waist and pulling her closer.
"Not purely selfish,” she said. “For I benefit from it, as well."
He chuckled. “Perhaps we should move to my bed permanently? It is significantly larger and I rather like the idea of you there."
"Then I should come to you tonight?"
"I think you should come to me now."
He pulled her to her feet and once again they were traversing the secret passage that he had led her through that first night. This time, his touch no longer unnerved her. The scent of him was familiar and comforting, and she knew precisely what awaited her at the end of the short journey. There were stolen kisses in that darkened stairwell, touches that left her gasping and aching. Somewhere along the way, the pins were pulled from her hair and lost in the darkness.
When they entered his chambers, he skillfully unbuttoned her dress while his wicked mouth played over hers, coaxing and seducing. His tongue swirled against hers in an artful dance that mimicked what was yet to come. But she was not a passive recipient. She pushed his coat from his shoulders, and his waistcoat. His cravat followed, and then her hands were beneath his shirt, smoothing over the satiny skin of his back and mapping the contours of his ridged abdomen. Her fingers slid through the crisp hair of his chest and found the flat disks of his nipples. Then her garments fell away, her dress pooled to the floor, her petticoat and stays following, until she stood there only in her chemise and stockings.