Gussy took in her already dressed mistress and clucked her tongue. “It appears the duke ordered one of the maids to bring you chocolate this morning. It's unlike a man to be so considerate, ‘less he's something to gain from it,” Gussy said knowingly. Gussy's heavy Scottish accent had taken some adjusting to.
"Yes, Gussy, in answer to your unasked question, I did have an episode last night. His Grace helped me find my way back to my room,” Emme said, keeping her tone light and breezy.
Not much escaped Gussy, but she could only hope that the maid would be distracted.
Gussy shook her head, her lips firmed into a hard line. “I should never have taken that draught! Did ye at least have on your wrapper?” Her mistress’ blush was answer enough. “Ye out wandering around, practically naked! Was he a gentleman, then?"
It was a difficult question to answer. In the strictest sense, he had been. But there had been something in his eyes when he had looked at her. The memory of it, and of her own shameful response, deepened the blush that stained her cheeks.
Trying to reassure her maid, she said, “He was a gentleman, Gussy. He didn't so much as attempt to steal a kiss."
Gussy nodded, her relief apparent. “It's a dangerous thing when they lead ye about in the dark and I don't mean the ghosts."
Emme's lips quirked, but she tried not to encourage Gussy by laughing. Changing the subject, she said, “I will have a cup of chocolate. I am quite fatigued today, and then we'll begin on this mess of my hair."
After more than a quarter hour spent untangling her hair, Emme descended the stairs to the breakfast room. In spite of her late night wanderings, she was still one of the earliest risers. Early mornings were a habit for her, as her stepfather disapproved of idleness. As she entered the breakfast room, her heart stuttered in her chest as she realized she would not be breaking her fast alone.
At the head of the table, the duke was perusing his morning paper. Upon her entrance he folded the sheet and set it aside.
"Good morning, Miss Walters,” he said, his greeting polite but carrying an undertone of inappropriate familiarity. “I find the morning's news to be tedious. Perhaps some enlightening conversation might be a better way to begin the day."
Rhys observed her as she said a quiet good morning and then walked to the sideboard. Noting the pallor of her skin and the deep shadows beneath her eyes, he recognized that she was obviously exhausted. It was petty, but he was gratified to know that he had not been alone in having a sleepless night. For him, it had been burgeoning lust that had kept him from slumber. Each time he had closed his eyes he'd pictured her generous curves silhouetted by the moonlight, and the wild tangle of her silken hair. As he sipped his coffee, he wondered what images had haunted the lovely Miss Walters as she had drifted off to sleep.
He continued to watch her—the economical movements, the deliberate pauses as she selected each item. She took her time filling her plate from the many dishes that lined the sideboards. It was a stalling tactic, of that he was certain. When she turned to face him, the remnants of a heated blush marked her cheeks. There was a spark of awareness between them. He doubted she recognized it, but he understood it for what it was. The attraction between them was as mutual as their distrust of one another.
"Indeed, Your Grace. What scintillating topic did you have in mind?” Her voice was cool and collected, belying the nerves that plagued her.
So many things, he thought, but most of them were not fit for her ears. “You, Miss Walters, only you, and perhaps your startling abilities."
Rhys watched the emotions play over her face. It was curious that a woman who made her living defrauding others would be so easy to read. From the telltale stiffness of her shoulders and the slight rise of her chin, he gauged that her cooperation was unlikely.
"I have no curious abilities, Your Grace,” Emme replied, and took a bite of her eggs.
It was a tactical maneuver, delaying required answers. She was aware of the things that were whispered about her, but outside of her family, she had never acknowledged her abilities. If it were up to her, she never would. Very little good had ever come of her “gift.". Trotting it out for public consumption made her acutely uncomfortable.
Leveling an assessing stare at her, Rhys marveled that there appeared to be no hint of artifice in her. Yet they both knew her denial for the untruth that it was.
"That is not what I have been told. By all accounts, you are a medium, Miss Walters. It is reported that you have the remarkable ability to speak with spirits."
His words had an instant and predictable effect. It was as if he'd doused a blaze. Her expression became shuttered, her eyes devoid of all expression but for her disdain of him and his rather impertinent questions. It didn't deter him.