The Haunting of a Duke(88)

Taking a pair of shears, Michael unceremoniously cut away Rhys’ jacket, waistcoat and shirt. The poor valet was near to tears. It was the second set of clothes to be sacrificed to a gunshot wound.

"Better to mourn a jacket than to mourn a master, Tinsley,” Michael said dryly, which immediately shushed the man.

The wound was ugly. It cut a deep furrow into the skin of his chest and shoulder. Carefully, Michael cleaned the wound, removing dirt and bits of fabric. Rhys was stoic throughout.

When Michael reached for the decanter of whiskey, he poured a healthy measure into a glass and handed it to Rhys, before pouring an equally healthy measure onto the wound. The fire the bullet had created was nothing compared to the agony of the whiskey pouring over the wound.

His breath hissed out through his teeth as Rhys said, “God above, you're a cruel bastard!"

Michael merely shrugged. “I treated every wound the two of you received while fighting Napoleon's troops on the peninsula. You both came home with all of your limbs and not rotting in a box. It might hurt like the devil, but it is effective."

Rhys drained what was left in the glass and said nothing further as Michael dressed the wound.

"Rhys?"

The voice was barely audible coming from the large bed. Michael nodded at Spencer and they made a hasty retreat as Rhys went to his wife. He lay down on the bed beside her.

"You've been hurt,” she said, dismayed.

He noted the darkening bruises on her slender throat. “So have you."

Emme's throat ached. In fact, her entire body ached. Being dragged about by the hair had left her with bumps and bruises all over. But bumps and bruises were a far cry from the bullet wound he had received. “He's dead. I remember you telling me that before I lost consciousness. And that Eleanor murdered Melisande, but so much of it is a blur. It was all I could do to keep breathing."

Rhys rolled onto his back, ignoring the pain. He'd never felt such fear in his life. He'd faced down Napoleon's greatest soldiers. He'd endured some of the worst battles of the war, often charging right into the thick of it, but nothing had prepared him for what he had endured that day. “Alistair claimed that he was in fact my father's eldest son; that my father and Eleanor had been carrying on an affair while Uncle Reginald was dying. It may have been true. He hated Jeremy and he hated me for taking the title he felt should have been his."

Spencer and Michael stepped out of the room and into the small sitting room, granting them a measure of privacy. They decided amongst themselves to have Spencer gather the others, leaving Michael close by to attend the injured.

"I went to the south wing because of Melisande. I saw her, but then Alistair came, and I thought that would be the end of it. No one knew where I was, or how to find me."

"What he did to Melisande—it was to punish Jeremy for stealing a tavern wench from him. When the deed was done, he panicked, ran to Eleanor, and she killed Melisande to hide the truth of her son's monstrous nature. Her motives for murdering Elise are yet unclear."

It was horrific. “What will you do? She must be completely insane, Rhys."

He sighed. “Michael and Spencer will fetch her and Mother. We found evidence in the tunnels. You were correct about that. The dress she wore was hidden there, still stained with Melisande's blood."

There was a commotion outside the door, and then Lady Phyllis entered. Eleanor was at her heels as usual. Michael and Spencer followed with Larissa, who appeared pale and wan.

Ever the gentleman, Spencer led her to the settee where Larissa sank gratefully onto the thick cushions.

Phyllis was breathless when she spoke. “Rhys, my darling boy! Whatever has happened? Michael wouldn't tell me anything other than that you were injured!"

Rhys looked at Eleanor and then at his mother. “I think it best if you both sit for this; the explanation will be quite difficult, I fear."

When the ladies were seated, Michael and Spencer remained at the door. It might have appeared polite, as there were limited seats in the room, but in truth they were standing sentry.

"Emme was abducted this afternoon. She was taken at gunpoint from the south wing."

Eleanor's already wan face paled considerably. “The south wing?"

"Yes,” Rhys replied coolly. “Your son, Alistair, abducted her. We followed and confronted him in the woods, in a place that has already seen too much tragedy. He claimed to be the eldest son of my father, stating that you, Lady Eleanor, had been involved in an affair with him while Uncle Reginald lay dying."

Phyllis gasped but Rhys continued. “He admitted to raping Melisande as a means of avenging himself against Jeremy and myself, whom he saw as usurpers, but he denied killing her."