Carefully, Rhys searched until he found it, the peephole that she’d spoken of. He peered through it and anger flared deeply inside him. He could see the doorway clearly and recalled only too well what had happened there the previous day. There was also a reasonably unobstructed view of the bed. The cold fury swelled.
“Don’t speak of this to Emme. There is no need for her to know that this bastard spied upon us.”
Michael nodded, vaguely sickened himself. He turned to pick up the candle and as he did, his boot sent something skittering across the stone floor. It pinged against the wooden frame of the door, and he bent to retrieve it. Holding it next to the candle flame, he examined the button. It was ornate, obviously expensive and had been lost in haste.
Michael held out the button. “These would have been ordered through an exclusive tailor. Perhaps by finding the tailor, we might be able to identify our killer.”
Rhys nodded. “He is growing careless. On the one hand that means he is more likely to be caught. But it could also mean that he is more dangerous than ever before. There is too much at stake, Michael.”
“Have one of the footmen take it by messenger to town, to Lord Hycliff. He can be trusted, and if anyone will know how to find its origins, it will be Hycliff.”
Rhys knew Hycliff socially and the man was a fop. Nearly half a head taller than him, the man’s clothing was blindingly garish, his shirt points dangerously high, and his cravat was rumored to take hours to tie.
“Hycliff is one of your trusted compatriots?”
Michael shrugged. “Not everything is as it seems, Briarleigh. Hycliff is perfect for this.”
“Very well. I will trust your judgment on the matter. There is too much at stake, Michael. I won’t lose her now.”
“I do not make many promises, but I know that I owe you my life. She will be protected, and that is a vow that will not be broken.”
Hours later, Emme awoke in Rhys’ bed. He was beside her, fully clothed, staring down at her while he absently twirled a lock of her hair between his sun-browned fingers.
“I suppose this means I went for a stroll?”
He smiled. “Poor Ellersleigh. You terrified him. He looked up from his brandy and you were strolling in the garden in your chemise.”
Emme covered her flaming face with her hands, “Dear heavens! I will never be able to look at him again.”
Rhys chuckled. The sound was somewhat forced, but Emme didn’t seem to notice it. “Well, I doubt that he will ever be able to stop looking at you. I know I certainly can’t.”
“It’s mortifying. An inveterate rogue and my husband chasing me through the garden in my nightclothes. It’s like some ridiculous farce for Drury Lane.”
“There was nothing humorous about it. And your state of undress was the least shocking thing about the entire episode,” he replied gravely. Without another word, he pulled her close, holding her tightly.
“What happened in the garden?”
Rhys hung his head, resting his forehead against hers. “Elise is toying with us. She uses these episodes of yours, where she can control your body, to torture me. She made threats again that she might be able to take control of your body permanently. She claims she could restore her life by taking over yours. Is that possible?”
Emme was frightened, more frightened than she could ever recall being. Was it possible? Could Elise’s spirit take her over entirely? The very thought made her blood run cold.
“I don’t know. It would be the first that I’ve ever heard of such a thing. But then I’ve never encountered a spirit as venomous. I wish I could say no, but I simply don’t have the answer.”
As Rhys watched, she unconsciously pressed her hand to her abdomen, directly over her womb. He placed his hand atop hers, warming it, stilling the soothing motions she had been making with her hand.
She sighed. “Michael told you, didn’t he?”
He smiled then. “You were unconscious in his arms when I walked into the room. If he hadn’t told me I might have shot him... I was planning on it in fact.”
“You have no reason to be jealous. When I first came here, I wondered that as handsome as Michael is, he didn’t make me breathless. That was only you. Even when I wanted to loathe you for being high-handed and presumptuous, you still made my stomach flutter and my blood heat.”
He kissed her cheek, then her neck. “You thought Michael was pretty, and I gave you indigestion. I shall endeavor to remember that when my ego is flagging.”
He didn’t want to think about Elise anymore, or Melisande, or the fiend who was dogging their every step. He wanted to lose himself in her, to let the fire that raged in his blood consume them both.
She smiled, self deprecating and lovely. “I had no idea then what desire was. But I understand it now, and can recognize that it is what I felt for you from the beginning.”
He rolled to his back and pulled her with him. He parted her thighs so that she straddled his hips. He could feel the heat of her through his clothes.
“Walking you to your room that night, maintaining even a semblance of propriety was next to impossible. I don’t know if you realized it at the time, but standing as you were in front of those windows, with the moonlight streaming in, your night rail was rendered almost completely transparent.”
“You’re wicked!”
“If I were wicked,” he said, “I would have had my way with you that night. Lord knows I wanted to. You smelled of lilies and that glorious hair of yours... Do you know what I did that night?” he asked her, rising on his elbows, to kiss the slender column of her throat and the delicate arc of her collarbone.
He felt the shiver that rippled through her and smiled against her skin.
She shook her head. “Hired a Bow Street Runner to dog my every step?”
“No,” he said, his teeth scraping lightly against her tender flesh, “I asked Michael to dog your every step. After speaking to him, I came back to this room and I laid here, wide awake, picturing you. Have you ever pleasured yourself, Emme? Ever touched yourself where you’ve been told you ought not?”
She was blushing. He was such a wicked man. “No, I have not.”
He continued the torment with his skilled mouth. He explored her silken flesh, finding the spots that made her shiver, and the ones that made her moan.
“That is a shame. I would like to see that. I cannot imagine anything more erotic than watching you touch yourself... Watching you bring yourself to release... That is what I did when I came back to this room that night. I lay here in this bed, tormented by the scent of you, by the images of your glorious body in that diaphanous gown.”
She didn’t know what to say. Her entire body was suffused with heat, partially from embarrassment and partially from a keen desire. His words and the searing heat of his lips on her flesh were more than she could bear. Her back arched, her head falling back, as she gave herself up to his questing touch.
He trailed his hand over her stomach, “I am thinking now of what you will look like when my child is growing large in your belly. You will look ripe and lovely, a vision of feminine glory. Your breasts will grow larger and more sensitive, and when your belly is too large, we will have to find very creative ways to make love, but find them we will, because I cannot imagine not making love to you. Every time I look at you, I want you more.”
She shivered, trembling at his touch. But she raised her head and met his gaze. Her face was flushed with the heat of passion; her softly parted lips were plump and swollen from his kisses. She was the most tempting thing he’d ever seen.
When she spoke, her voice was soft and husky—carnal. “Then take me,” she said.
He flipped her onto her back and grasped the neckline of her chemise. Rather than strip it from her, he rent the fabric, baring her to his voracious gaze. He opened his breeches, buttons skittering in his haste. She reached down and took his shaft in hand, her slim fingers gliding over the velvet-covered steel of his manhood. He gritted his teeth, his
breath hissing out between them. He gripped her wrist, tugging her hand away, and drove into her, again and again. She gasped and moaned beneath him, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. Her body contracted, clenching him tightly, pulsing around him as she took her pleasure. In that moment, he was lost.
Chapter 14
Alistair arrived shortly before dinner, his timing inconvenient for everyone else. His lack of consideration surprised no one, but his presence did appear to lighten Eleanor’s mood considerably so Rhys was happy enough to tolerate him. They dined somewhat informally that evening, as Lord Ellersleigh and Lord Pommeroy were their only guests and both were such frequent visitors as to be considered practically members of the family. It didn’t escape him that both were suspects, that either of them could have been responsible for the deaths of both Melisande and Elise.
Conversation during dinner was civil, if not warm. Except for Eleanor’s fawning over her son, that is. Never close, in adulthood Rhys had come to despise Alistair for his recklessness and irresponsibility. His cousin gambled with an appetite that could only result in ruin. He whored in the same fashion. Rhys knew of several brothels where his cousin had been banned, in some cases for nonpayment, and in other for his less than gentle treatment of the women serving him. In light of these recent discoveries, Rhys had decided it was best to have his potential enemy where he could keep an eye on him.
When the dessert course had been finished, Phyllis, Eleanor and Emme rose to retreat to the drawing room. He, Michael, and Alistair retreated to the library for a glass of port before joining them, while Pommeroy retired to his room and a less than discreet maid. As he watched Emme walk from the room, he felt his protective instincts rearing their ugly head. He would not allow her to be harmed, no matter the cost.
As they crossed the hall to the library, Michael leveled him with a stare that said, patently, he was being an idiot. He knew that. He had managed the entirety of dinner without actually speaking to Alistair. At some point or other, he would have to.
He turned his attention to his cousin and said, “Alistair, how are things at Arden Hall?”
Alistair’s lip curled as he responded. “They are impoverished, Your Grace. As it was you who cut me off, I am sure you are well aware of it.”
He hadn’t cut him off. He’s simply rerouted the payment of Alistair’s inheritance to his creditors rather than directly into his greedy hands.
Rhys casually poured a glass of port for all of them, and seated himself behind his desk before answering. “You are not cut off, cousin, as you know. Once your creditors are paid, the full amount of your jointure will be reinstated to you and then you may choose any path to hell that is of your liking.”
“My creditors grow impatient. They were willing to wait when it appeared I would be your heir, but as you are recently wed, and according to gossip, fornicating like a rabbit, they are less inclined to wait for their money.”
Rhys’ jaw tightened, but it was Michael who spoke, effectively defusing the situation. “I believe you misspoke, Lord Arden. It cannot be fornication for they are married. Fornication only applies to sexual congress without benefit of marriage. It would be copulation. Or perhaps I have it wrong. We could call on the vicar tomorrow for clarification.”
Alistair turned a cold stare on Michael but said with a civility that was somewhat surprising considering that Michael had just made a fool of him, “I concede to your greater knowledge of both fornication and copulation, Lord Ellersleigh. I doubt there could be a more expert opinion in all of Britain.”
Alistair excused himself and left the room. Lord Pommeroy quickly followed suit. He and Alistair had been thick as thieves for years.
“That was enlightening,” Michael said. “He’ll certainly cooperate and answer any questions you might have about your late wife now.”
Rhys glared at him. “I didn’t do anything. I simply asked after his estate. Most gentlemen find that to be a compliment.”
Michael shook his head. “How did you survive the army? Good God, man. Next time, just ask him straight out. Leave off with the social niceties. You were never particularly adept at them anyway.”
Nonplussed, Rhys sipped his brandy and considered his cousin’s illustrious history of misadventure. Alistair was a year older than Jeremy had been and it was no secret that he had always felt it grossly unfair that he had been denied the opportunity to be the Duke of Briarleigh.
Could Alistair have murdered Melisande? He had been a boy at the time, a lad just turned sixteen. He supposed it was possible, but it seemed unlikely. What motive could there have been for it?
He considered carefully, before broaching a subject that was tender for the both.
“When you discovered Melisande, she was still alive, wasn’t she?”
Michael’s expression became shuttered, and his voice was curiously flat when he responded. “Her heart still beat, and she spoke a few words, but she was so grievously wounded. There was nothing I could do for her.”
“You were just a boy, of course, you couldn’t save her. Is that why you defied convention and became a physician? You couldn’t save her, so you committed yourself to saving others?”
“I never gave it a thought.”
Rhys chose not to prod him on that note, and asked instead, “What did she say to you?”
It was time for the truth to come out, Michael realized. He had protected his friend for as long as he could, and it was time to open the festering wound and let the poison out.
“There are many things about that day that I did not tell you... but it’s time, I fear, for the ugliness and brutality to be revealed.”
Rhys didn’t respond. He simply waited. It would be a difficult story to tell and a difficult one to hear. His body tensed, almost as if for a blow.
Without preamble, he leaned forward and refilled their glasses. He had never pressed Michael before, for the simple fact was, he hadn’t truly wanted to know. He could no longer afford to ignore past tragedies if future tragedies were to be averted.
The silence stretched on for several moments, before he began to speak. Michael, normally so glib and loquacious, was somber and subdued. His grief was still tightly reined.
“You know of course that she had suffered terrible wounds to her head and those wounds truly were what ended her life. What I never told you was that those wounds were not the only injury she suffered. When I found her, her clothing was… she was exposed, and whoever had done this had used her brutally.”
“She was raped.”
The very idea of it left him reeling. His mother and the servants had known. They had prepared her body for her burial; they would have seen evidence of her injuries. Michael had lived with it for all of those years, had borne that horror alone.
Michael continued, “Yes and there was a ribbon about her neck, and bruises. Whoever had done this had tried to strangle her before simply bashing in her skull.”
His gut clenched, and his blood went cold. The knowledge seeped into him and left him shaken. She had been a child. He certainly understood that there were men and women for whom that was arousing. It sickened him in general, but learning that his sister had suffered, had lost her life at the hands of such a monster was unbearable. The grief that he had buried so deep inside intensified, flaring and igniting a fury like nothing he had ever known.
Michael met his gaze. His jaw was tightly clenched and his voice was pitched low, filled with grief and anger, but buried within his words was also his guilt.
“When I found her, she begged me to cover her, not to let anyone else see. She was ashamed, and it was never my intent to conceal things that would hurt you, only to honor her request.”
“Ellersleigh, I will say this once and only once. No one in this family has ever blamed you or held you responsible in anyway. If nothing else, it has always been a relief to me that she did not die alone. She loved no one else in this world the way that she loved you. I actually pitied you for havin
g been the one to discover her, for I know how you loved her and as for keeping those secrets, they were kept for the best of reasons, which was to protect us.”
Michael’s head dropped forward, and Rhys did not acknowledge the tears that burned in his friend’s eyes. Just as he ignored those that burned his own. Melisande did not need their tears. She needed their focus and skill.
Emme awoke the following morning. Rhys was beside her. He hadn’t made love to her during the night, an unusual occurrence. He had come into their chamber in the wee hours of the morning and had climbed naked into the bed. She could feel the comforting weight of his arm around her and feel his hair roughened leg against hers. She looked at him over her shoulder. His face was relaxed in sleep, making him appear younger. His dark lashes fanned against his tanned cheek, and would have been the envy of any woman she knew. Dark stubble shadowed his cheeks and chin, and his hair fell across his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance. There was nothing about him that she would alter.
As if feeling her eyes on him, his own eyes opened and he smiled at her. He tugged her closer.
“Good morning. Don’t get up yet. I enjoy holding you.”
She sighed and snuggled closer. “Only for a few minutes. We have much to do today.”
He kissed her shoulder. “I know and it will get it done, but for now, the bed is warm and so are you.”
Emme allowed herself to enjoy his embrace but his hands began to roam. “I don’t think holding me is all you have in mind.”
He grinned. “When you are this close to me, I find that my good intentions carry little weight.”
He cupped her breast, measuring the weight in his hand, and teasing the nipple into a turgid peak. She placed her hand over his, stilling the movement. He sighed.
“What pressing engagements do we have this morning?” he asked.
“You are going to tell me what Michael is doing here and do not attempt to convince me that he is simply here to enjoy a holiday.”
The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set Page 21