Somehow she knew that alerting the unknown person that she was aware of his or her presence was the last thing she should do. After several seconds there was another rustle, and the distinct crunch of gravel as someone stepped out onto the path. There was a curve in the path ahead, and once she rounded the curve, Emme began to run. It was unladylike, and her hostess would undoubtedly be scandalized, but she didn’t care. If the person wasn’t following her, they would simply continue on at their sedate pace and never know she had run away like a fool. But if they were following her, by the time they rounded the bend and realized she’d quickened her pace, she would be back in sight of the house.
Emme was close to the break in the trees that would lead her back out onto the lawn when she heard thrashing behind her. It was closer than she would have liked. Though her sides were aching and her feet were on fire from running in her dainty slippers, she managed a small burst of speed that had her stumbling out onto the lawn.
The thrashing behind her stopped abruptly, and she looked up to see Lord Ellersleigh and Rhys standing on the terrace eyeing her curiously. She took a deep breath, straightened her skirts and made her way toward the house via the library, on the opposite end of the terrace from where the two men stood. She nodded at them politely as she passed by, though her heart still thundered in her chest and her knees were trembling violently.
Michael looked at Rhys curiously. “That was interesting.”
Rhys didn’t comment. His gaze was fixed on a point in the thick shrubbery near the path where Miss Walters had emerged. He had spent enough time on a battlefield to know the glint of sunlight on the barrel of a gun or on a blade. Someone else had been in the garden, and he or she had been armed.
“I think,” Rhys said, turning to face Michael, “That there is no longer any question that Miss Walters is in grave danger.”
“From someone other than your aunt?” Michael had wasted no time in informing Rhys of Lady Eleanor’s thinly veiled interrogation.
The woman was not someone to be trifled with. She could ruin Miss Walter’s without even putting forth considerable effort, and she was ruthless enough to do it without compunction.
Rhys eyed him askance,.“Aunt Eleanor is a bit put out with her, but she’s hardly dangerous.”
Michael shook his head. “Your aunt will not physically assassinate Miss Walters, but she will assassinate her socially, unless you intercede on her behalf.”
Rhys nodded. “I will do what I can, but the other matter I find more pressing. Something frightened her in the garden, and in spite of her assertions that she speaks with the dead, or perhaps because of them, I do not think she is a woman given to being easily frightened. Whoever was following her today was doing so with the intent to harm, otherwise there would have been no need for weapons.”
“I agree,” Michael said. “The question is how do we proceed?”
“She is not to be alone,” Rhys said.
Michael concurred, “Miss Walters has not yet discovered anything about Elise, but she has seen Melisande. Perhaps Melisande’s killer fears he will finally be found out.”
Rhys’ jaw firmed, and he fought down the stabbing guilt that always assailed him. He had not been able to offer justice to Melisande, and if Miss Walters could name his sister’s killer, regardless of her means, his gratitude would be endless.
Though the ultimate conclusion had been that her murder had been committed by a stranger, by a vagrant passing through, he had never believed it.
“Perhaps, Michael. Do you really believe that she is speaking with Melisande? That my sister is still here in some capacity?”
Michael paused, and sighed heavily before answering. “I do believe her, but I can’t tell you why. I’m not a man given to fancy, as you well know, but there is something about Miss Walters that I simply trust. Whatever anyone else thinks of her motives, I think they are pure.”
Rhys considered that as he let himself back into the house to seek out the lovely medium and place himself in the role of guard dog. He could not accept with the ease that Lord Ellersleigh had that she could converse with the spirit world. He preferred to believe only in things that were tangible, that he could see and touch and feel. Anything else, especially something as nebulous as the spirit world, was simply too far outside his realm of experience. But she believed it, he thought, and apparently a killer believed it as well.
Hidden behind a copse of trees, he cursed her. His blood had run cold when he’d listened to her conversing with a spirit. It wasn’t possible, of course. He refused to believe that. He had watched her die. He’d felt the life seep from her body and had seen it fade from her eyes. He was the bringer of death. He chose when life ended. No one defied his will.
If those he had taken remained behind, watching, observing—No, he shook his head. He wouldn’t allow her, with her airs and her deceit to make him question what he knew. She would pay for that, as well, he decided. He added it to her list of sins and determined that he would make her pay far more dearly than any of the others had.
Chapter 6
Emme had not had a moment’s peace. It had been just over a day since the incident in the garden, but since that frightful event, she had literally been tripping over Lord Ellersleigh and Rhys. His Grace, Emme mentally corrected herself for the hundredth time. She didn’t understand how it had come to be that, in her mind, at least, she had made so familiar with his name. There was no connection between them and there simply never could be. She didn’t want a connection with him either, she told herself. He was stodgy and bossy, he thought she was a feather brain, believed her to be a liar or a lunatic and had as much as told her so.
It didn’t matter that he was ridiculously handsome, or that her heart pounded when he was near. It didn’t matter that she could pinpoint to the second when he entered a room that she was in, or that her eyes could find him unerringly even in a crowd. It was infatuation because he was so handsome, and it would end as soon as she left Briarwood Hall. It had to.
Entering the breakfast room, Emme noted immediately that Lord Ellersleigh was there. As she filled her plate from the sideboard, she noted that he was drinking copious amounts of coffee rather than tea and looked more than a bit bleary-eyed. According to the gossip Gussy had brought her that morning, several of the gentlemen had engaged in card play the previous evening that had not been part of the scheduled entertainment and that had sent one man hastening to depart. Lord Alistair Brammel had wagered quite recklessly. He had lost a goodly sum of money and was known to be in dun territory.
“Good morning, Lord Ellersleigh. I had not realized you were such an early riser.”
Michael reminded himself that she was an innocent young lady and comments about how early he could rise would hardly endear him to her and would undoubtedly result in Rhys punching him in the mouth.
“I am quite fond of mornings,” he said instead and suffered her dubious stare.
“I do like to get an early start on the day,” Emme continued. “It is much more efficient to do so. Should I submit my schedule to you or to His Grace, Lord Brammel?”
“Your schedule?” Michael queried innocently.
He had told Rhys that the girl would catch on, but Rhys had simply shrugged and told Michael to charm her out of any pique. It was a conundrum, of course. Rhys would tell him to charm her. Michael would charm her and then Rhys would be angry because he had been able to charm her. It was a miserable position to find one’s self in.
“Surely you didn’t believe that it would escape my notice that either you or His Grace have all but been my shadows. It cannot be coincidence, as I sincerely doubt that either of you had any real interest in listening to Miss Stone and Miss Allenby and their atrocious reading of selections from Shakespeare.”
There had been no interest whatsoever, Michael recalled grimly. It had been an hour of hell.
“Very well, you are correct. Lord Brammel and I decided it would be for the best if we were to keep an eye on you.”
Emme’s lip curled, “Keep an eye on me, indeed!” She wheeled on him then, her face a mask of enraged feminine loveliness. “Does he think I mean to take the silver? Perhaps, I should allow him to search my rooms daily to ensure that I do not take anything that does not belong to me!”
Her voice had risen perceptively. Her tone was strident and angry color bloomed in her cheeks. At another time, he would have enjoyed it and might have piqued her anger just to watch her glorious bosom rise and fall with her rapid breathing as she gave him a well-deserved set down.
But he was tired, and had a hangover to end all hangovers. His head was aching, his stomach rebelling, and even Miss Walter’s glorious breasts could not combat the effects of his own lack of self control.
Rarely at a loss for words, he had no idea how to respond. He decided the truth would be the most efficient means of restoring the peace and harmony that his aching head craved.
“You mistake my meaning, Miss Walters. Lord Brammel’s concern isn’t that you are stealing the silver!”
Emme rolled her eyes heavenward, “Of course not! He thinks I am stark raving mad, or a criminal mastermind here to swindle his mother! An unlikely event, even if it were my intent, as Lady Phyllis is quite shrewd and Lady Eleanor has set herself to guarding her as a dragon would guard treasure. It would be nigh on impossible.”
“I agree with your perceptions of both Lady Phyllis and of Lady Eleanor. She is indeed quite shrewd, but you must allow me to explain, that Lord Brammel’s concern, and my own, is for your safety! When you stumbled from the garden path onto the lawn the day before yesterday, you appeared frightened. And Rhys saw something that indicated that your fear was well-founded.”
Emme paused, her teacup halfway to her lips. “What did he see?”
“A flash, possibly light reflecting on the barrel of a gun or a blade.”
Emme shuddered delicately, those words sending a chill up her spine. There was only one reason why anyone would wish to harm her and that was to protect a secret they thought she possessed or soon would. There were questions she had to ask, paths that Melisande had shown her that she would have to follow.
“Additionally,” Michael continued, “I have doubts about that nasty spill you took into the lake. I don’t think you fell and struck your head. I think someone hit you and then pushed you into the water.”
She felt ill. Was that why she couldn’t remember falling? Because someone had struck her forcibly, she wondered? Questions rattled through her mind at a dizzying pace, but one demanded an answer more than others. She sat down heavily, her knees buckling.
“How did Melisande die, Lord Ellersleigh? You cannot say horribly. I have to know and for whatever reason, she cannot tell me. Now it seems more lives are at stake.”
She saw his jaw clench and thought he would refuse. But after a pregnant pause he began to speak. His voice was pitched low and in spite of everything he did to disguise it, there was a tremor in his voice that made her hurt for him, and for the little boy he had been.
“I have never talked about this, not even with Rhys. It was brutal, what he did to her.” He paused, as if collecting himself, or perhaps steeling himself to revisit the horror he had witnessed. “She was in the woods, in a small clearing. When I found her, she was still breathing, though only just—forgive me, Miss Walters, but I must speak bluntly as there is no gentle way to say this—her clothing was bloody and torn, there were numerous wounds to her head, and beside her was a large rock, coated with her blood. Whoever did it had attempted to simply bash her skull in, but that was not all. There was also a ribbon tied around her neck. It was one that had been in her hair earlier that morning. I recognized it because I had given it to her. In secret, of course, with the small allowance I was given, I had purchased it for her.”
Neither spoke for several minutes. The words hung in the air, heavy and thick with emotion.
Finally he said, “I had wanted to stay with her, you know? I had wanted to spend the day traipsing through the woods with her, holding her basket while she collected flowers and pretty rocks and doing all the nonsense things girls like to do. But I didn’t. When Jeremy and Rhys suggested going to the village for sweets, I agreed to go with them because I was too embarrassed to admit I would have preferred to remain behind and moon over her.”
He stopped speaking for a moment, as if reflecting on the past and the choices that he felt had contributed to her death.
“They had been teasing me unmercifully about her. It wasn’t mean-spirited, you understand, but just the way boys are. Had I not been so prideful, I would have been with her, and her senseless death would not have occurred.”
Emme’s heart broke for him, for the guilt that he carried needlessly. His devil-may-care façade was withering before her eyes. It was a mask to hide his pain and guilt. Melisande wanted her to help him, to heal him.
“Or you could have died with her. You were twelve years old, Lord Ellersleigh.” Emme could tell that he wasn’t hearing her, he was putting up the walls to keep her out and to keep all the pain bottled up inside.
He understood the wisdom of her words, but looking at the child he had been through a man’s eyes was difficult. His guilt was with him, a part of him, and a few pretty words would not rend that bond so easily.
“Excuse me, Miss Walters. I am returning to my bed. It is far too early for a man of my delicate sensibilities and love of brandy to be out and about. I trust with the information I imparted to you, you will not leave the house unescorted?”
Emme nodded. “Of course, Lord Ellersleigh,” she agreed readily. As he walked toward the door, she called out. “And I am sorry to have pressed you so, Lord Ellersleigh. I know it must have been terribly difficult for you.”
He waved off her apology. “Perhaps it’s for the best to get it out in the open? It has festered long enough, I think.”
He walked away and Emme stared down at her plate with no interest in food whatsoever. Very little could put off her appetite, but what Lord Ellersleigh had disclosed had succeeded. She sipped her tea and contemplated how to amuse herself during the day without leaving the house.
In his aunt’s sitting room, Rhys glared coolly at his aunt. “You will be the soul of hospitality to Miss Walters, Aunt Eleanor. She is an invited guest in this house, and as for my ‘undue’ attention to her, it is frankly none of your concern.”
Eleanor’s mouth firmed, and the grim expression revealed all the faint signs of her age that she worked so hard to conceal.
“She is unacceptable, Rhys. Surely, you can see that? Inviting her as a guest is hardly the same as this vulgar interest you are displaying.”
“There is nothing vulgar about my interest in her,” he said. He knew, of course, that his definition differed greatly from his aunt’s.
“Miss Walters, in spite of her eccentricities, has displayed nothing untoward since she has arrived here. The same cannot be said of you. I will not repeat this, aunt, so listen well. There will be no veiled threats, no blackmail, no social slights or any other vile plots you may have devised.”
“Rhys, you make me sound like some sort of villain,” she protested hotly.
Rhys considered his next statement carefully. His aunt had never failed to put the family’s name and reputation above all else, at any cost. He had little doubt that she would do whatever was necessary to prevent Miss Walters from ‘damaging’ the family name in any way.
“Not a villain, but I would be foolish not to recognize your formidable nature. Miss Walters is not a subject I intend to discuss with you again. You will treat her with the same solicitude and concern you show to any other guests.”
He rose, and added, “The house party ends on Saturday, and with Madame Zuniga’s murderer apprehended, I imagine many will leave early to impart that glorious bit of scandal, but I intend to ask Miss Walters to remain for another week, to find the answers Mother is seeking. And to answer older questions.”
“Older questions?” Eleano
r asked, her face paling.
Rhys had debated with himself whether or not to disclose the information about that Michael had shared with him, but in the end had decided to be forthcoming.
“Miss Walters has apparently been communicating with Melisande.”
“Melisande is gone,” Eleanor said abruptly.
Rhys gave her an assessing stare. “You were willing to indulge Mother’s belief that Elise’s spirit is here, but not Melisande’s?”
“I have never believed Elise was here, or that even if she were, that woman could communicate with her! I chose to humor your mother, however. As for Melisande, any mention of her to your mother, or the notion for your dear mother that the child is not at peace, would destroy her!”
It was true. Melisande’s murder had nearly destroyed his mother, and the years since had not been without turmoil. He was only too well aware of his mother’s delicate emotional state.
“You need not fear, Aunt, as I have no intention of being anything less than discreet. As much as Mother deserves solicitude in this matter, Melisande deserves justice for what was done to her. If Miss Walters can provide that, then no price is too high.”
Lady Eleanor paced the room, all but wringing her hands.
“Surely you haven’t been taken in by her!”
“I have not been taken in by anyone. But I am willing to entertain the notion that Miss Walters possesses skills that are beyond the norm. I have finished with this conversation. There will not be any further discussion about Miss Walters’ purpose here, or her treatment by you,” he said with force and finality.
Eleanor nodded her agreement, but he did not trust her. As he left the room, his thoughts focused on his sister. His memories of her were becoming unclear, faded with time. When he thought of her, he invariably thought only of her loss and not of her short life. It was because she had been so young, he thought. Her life had ended so abruptly and so prematurely that she’d never really lived at all.
The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set Page 9