The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set

by Chasity Bowlin

  Could he really wonder, as she did? Could this glorious man believe that she would ever want anyone else?

  “I have made my vows, as well, and they will be kept. And I cannot imagine that there will ever come a time when your kisses do not stir my blood. In fact, it takes little more than a glance from you and I am behaving shamelessly.”

  She felt the smile that curved his lips against her cheek. She turned her head slightly, pressing her lips against his. She traced the contours of his masculine lips with her tongue, nipping at his slightly fuller bottom lip with her teeth, until he groaned and pulled her roughly against him. The square neckline of her gown proved little impediment, and her breasts were suddenly bared to the cool air of the carriage, and then to the heat of his callused palms. Her head tipped back, her neck arching with pleasure as he cupped the tender globes, stroking her pebbled nipples until she was gasping. He followed the column of her neck with his tongue, until his lips reached the impudent peaks. He laved and stroked with his tongue, before suckling the furled bud greedily into his mouth. She moaned and the sound was filled with such pleasure and such longing, that it made his hands tremble as he stroked her back and thighs.

  But the carriage was slowing. He cursed, and quickly straightened the bodice of her dress, concealing the lush bounty. Realizing that they were approaching the theater, Emme fought to regain some semblance of composure. It was difficult to appear poised, when all she wanted was to rip their clothes off and press her naked body wantonly to his. In a carriage, no less, she thought.

  They exited the carriage, and entered the theater. Emme could feel people watching them. It wasn’t censure, but such avid curiosity that she wanted to hide. Beside her, Rhys took in her kiss-swollen lips and the flush of her cheeks. She had never looked more beautiful. They strode past the crowd just as the gong sounded, indicating that the first act was getting ready to begin.

  Lord Ellersleigh was seated in the box already. He eyed them dubiously, no doubt well aware of their recent carnal encounter. As it was written all over Emme’s face with every blush, he would be hard pressed not to note it. “Perhaps I should find another box for the evening? But if I leave you alone, I can only begin to imagine the scandalous activity that would take place—“

  “Do hush, Michael,” Emme said, her face flaming, but her voice was stern.

  He chuckled and held his hands up in mock surrender. The play commenced and they turned their attention to the stage, aware that every pair of eyes in the house was on them, but not all were simply curious. One glared with hatred, with vitriol and with rage.

  After the theater, Lord Ellersleigh accompanied them home for a late supper.

  In the carriage, Rhys spoke of their plans. “We will attend a few key events this week, and then return to Briarwood. Emme has little taste for the social whirl and neither do I.”

  Michael nodded gravely. “And there are other matters to be addressed.”

  “There was another accident on the road here. The carriage wheels had been sabotaged in much the same way that the phaeton had. Whoever is doing this knows Briarwood Hall very well and is familiar enough to our staff that his presence goes unnoted.”

  Michael considered that. Rhys had already apprised him of the revelation that Melisande had gifted to Emme; that both she and Elise had perished at the same hand. “It would make sense. We’ve moved within the same circle for decades. The same families are always in attendance at Briarwood.”

  “Have there been other incidents in the area? Other murders?” Emme asked.

  Rhys shook his head, “Not that I am aware of. I haven’t heard of anything, but then I would be the last person anyone would come to in such an event.”

  Michael shrugged. “There have been disappearances, but always easily accounted for—maids running off and such. Mrs. Haverston commented on it at the party.”

  Rhys considered it for a moment. “It is worth looking into. Maids do run off but perhaps there is something more sinister afoot.”

  Emme shivered. “Elise was not murdered in the same way that Melisande was I can’t help but wonder why? The viciousness of the attack on Melisande speaks of rage. and perhaps insanity, but with Elise, it was very cold, and the murderer went so far as to make it look like a suicide. That was very cunning and calculated.”

  Michael considered and then weighed in. “Perhaps the motivation for killing them was different.”

  Rhys looked away, staring out the coach window before speaking, “It seems even murkier now than it did before. Melisande was a child. How could she have driven someone to that kind of rage, when Elise, who was the most maddening creature on earth, did not?”

  Michael braced his hands on his knees. “Then perhaps the rage was not directed at Melisande. She might have only been a pawn, her death intended to inflict pain upon others. Perhaps the viciousness of it was directed more at those left behind.”

  The carriage rumbled to a stop and Emme was glad. She would far rather converse with the dead than attempt to understand the mind of a vicious murderer. The latter was far more chilling. The door was opened by a footman and Michael and Rhys exited first. Rhys had taken her hand to help her down, but her feet had no more than touched the paving stones of the street when a loud crack echoed through the darkness.

  It was instinct more than anything else that prompted Rhys to react. He shielded Emme with his body. There was a searing pain across his right shoulder, and he knew that the bullet had grazed him. He ignored the pain and reacted quickly, pulling Emme away from the carriage and propelling her toward the door. Michael raced off on foot, in pursuit of the shooter.

  Inside the house, Emme collapsed against the door, trembling and weak. The dark fabric of Rhys coat hid the spreading bloodstains. After a quick rap, Michael strode through the door.

  “He got away. A hireling from the looks of him, dressed in rough clothing and none too clean.”

  Rhys cursed. “This has gone too far.”

  Michael sighed, “I believe that ball took quite a bit of your hide when it went past.”

  Emme paled. “You were shot?”

  “It’s nothing,” Rhys protested.

  Emme squared her shoulders and began issuing orders to the servants. With hot water and bandages ordered, she followed Rhys and Michael up the stairs to their chambers. Rhys’ valet was there, and Emme thought the man would weep as he had to cut the coat and waistcoat from her husband. There was a shallow gouge that arced across Rhys’ shoulder. It did not appear to be a severe wound but it was bleeding terribly. Rhys was stripped to his breeches and seated on the bed, where Michael began to poke and prod at the wound, eliciting more than a few curses and threats.

  Satisfied that his friend would not die from the wound, Michael cleaned the blood away with brisk economical movements.

  He turned to Emme. “Bring me the Scotch,” he said, gesturing to decanter on the table.

  Emme did as he asked. She watched as Rhys took a healthy swallow from the decanter, and then braced himself for what was to come. Michael poured the whiskey over the wound, and Rhys’ breath hissed out between his teeth. When it was done, Michael applied a few stitches to the wound and then bandaged it. It took only a few moments, but she felt as if it had taken years off of her life. Wearily, she collapsed onto the large chair before the fireplace.

  “This has to stop,” she said. “Broken carriage wheels, gunshots, being followed—no, being hunted! We cannot live this way.”

  Michael recognized the rising hysteria. He gave a brief salute to Rhys and quickly made his escape. With Michael gone from the room, Rhys beckoned her.

  When she stood beside the bed, within reach, he took her hands in his and said, “We will stop it. But for now, come to bed. Let’s forget about the outside world at least until tomorrow morning.”

  Emme wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around her. With his assistance, she shrugged out of her gown and stays, stripping off her stockings with no thought as to how seductive her
movements were. Wearing only her chemise she slipped between the covers and took solace in the warmth of his body against hers.

  Chapter 17

  The following afternoon Michael walked through the woods toward the spot where he and Melisande had liked to play, to the place where she had given him his first kiss. It had been chaste but to him it had been the most thrilling moment of his young life. It was also the spot where he’d held her and watched her die and where Alistair had paid for his crimes against her. The body had been removed, and Michael was certain that was Spencer’s doing. Spencer was nothing if not efficient and proper.

  He walked past the blood-soaked ground and towards a gnarled oak tree. He brushed aside the moss and leaves until he found what he was looking for. He’d carved her name in that tree when he had been eleven years old. He traced the clumsy script with his fingers. He was not a religious man, but in that instance, he’d always wanted a biblical retribution—an eye for an eye. In the end, he was glad that Eleanor hadn’t died at his hands or at Rhys’. He still couldn’t quite grasp the events that had unfolded in the tower the evening before, but he didn’t need to. Justice had been served and that was all that mattered.

  He thought of her, the small girl with the bright green eyes. He’d buried her memory so deeply within himself for so long that it was difficult to recall the small details. She’d been gone for many more years than she’d lived. Her face might have faded a bit in his mind’s eye but the feelings had not. He remembered the love he’d held for her when he’d been an innocent lad himself. He remembered the horror and the grief when he’d discovered her broken body. He remembered the guilt, the awful, cancerous guilt that had eaten at him for years because he had failed her. His throat burned and his eyes welled. He blinked furiously. He would not give in to tears. They served no purpose.

  “You never cried. No matter how badly you were hurt, or how horribly they teased you about me. You never cried.”

  The voice was so soft he thought at first he was imagining it. He turned slowly and met the familiar green gaze. All the details were there, he realized, the tiny freckle at the corner of her eye, the sweep of her lashes, and the curve of her cheek. She had always been the most beautiful child. The light struck her pale cheek and it shimmered.

  “Melisande,” he whispered.

  She smiled at him. “Please don’t be sad anymore I don’t want you to be sad for me. Find yourself a wife, Michael and be happy.”

  “I’m already married,” he said, smiling. “I married you on your twelfth birthday, lest you forget.”

  She laughed, the childish giggle ringing through the forest. That laugh, in a place of such horror, did more to heal him than anything he’d experienced since her death. She walked toward him, and he crouched down so that they were eye-to-eye. She touched his cheek or would have if she’d been able to. He felt only the faintest whisper of wind and a slight chill.

  “That was only for play. I loved you dearly, and you loved me but with a child’s heart. I will never be anything but a child but now you are a man and it is time to put away childish things. You’ve freed me, Michael; free yourself now. Live and be happy.”

  She vanished before him. There was no preamble or warning. She didn’t fade away as he might have expected a spirit to. She was simply gone and he knew that it wasn’t simply that she was gone from his sight. She was well and truly freed. He fell to his knees, oblivious to the silent tears that fell as he finally mourned his childhood love and the dreams that had been lost.

  Epilogue

  The winter had been long and harsh and the days were still cold but a hint of spring was in the air. There were tiny buds on the trees and the promise of sunshine. Sitting in the garden, Emme stroked her ever-expanding belly while Larissa sat beside her, embroidering more clothes for her niece or nephew. Emme still had no idea if the child would be a boy or girl. Larissa knew but was keeping mum on the subject.

  Dropping the embroidery onto her lap, Larissa stretched and smiled. “I think I will go to London.”

  Mr. Stidham had disappeared, possibly to America or some other distant shore. Their mother was now living in a small house that Rhys had obtained for her. There was no danger for Larissa in returning. Her debut had been postponed for long enough.

  Emme was stunned. “Now?”

  “No. I won’t leave you until after the baby is born. I wouldn’t miss that for anything. But after, I think I will go to London. I spoke with Rhys about it last week. He said that he would make all the arrangements. I had mentioned finding a position as a governess or a companion but he said that Stidham had been forced to release our marriage portions. According to your dear husband, I should be able to live comfortably without working. He’s a terrible liar but a very generous man.”

  Emme smiled. It was so like him.

  “I wish you wouldn’t leave us, but then I know that you miss London. The countryside was never really for you.”

  “I have to stop hiding from life. I have to face the tatters of my reputation and attempt to rebuild something for myself. Having the complete support of my brother-in-law, the Duke, should be helpful.”

  Emme smiled as Larissa rose and placed the cloth back into the sewing basket. “He is everything I ever wanted and the life I have now is more than I have ever dreamed of. I want that for you. After everything that has happened, do you think you could love a man, trust him to love you?”

  Larissa considered it for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s funny that I can see other people’s futures but never my own. And I see your dashing husband in your immediate future.”

  “You’re having a vision about Rhys?”

  Larissa laughed. “No, I literally see him, crossing the lawn. And I am returning to the house so I won’t have to watch you fawning over each other.”

  Emme turned her head in the direction Larissa had indicated. As always, the sight of her husband stole her breath away and left her pulse racing. He was truly magnificent. When he reached her, he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, placing his warm hands on her swollen belly.

  “It is too cold out here for you,” he said.

  “I’m pregnant, Rhys. There could be two feet of snow and it wouldn’t be too cold for me. With the fire going in the hearth, it’s all I can do not to walk around naked in the house.”

  He laughed. “Winstone would be scandalized. Maybe we’ll restrict your naked rolls to our chamber, hmm?”

  “Larissa told me that she’s leaving after the baby comes.”

  He nodded. “She needs to find her place. But she will always be welcome here and she knows that.”

  Emme sighed. “I had hoped that she and Michael might develop closer feelings for one another, but he treats her like a sister.”

  Rhys shook his head. He’d known all about her hopes on that front.

  “And she treats him like a brother. Like Larissa, Michael needs to find his place, as well. No more matchmaking.”

  Emme shrugged noncommittally. “I simply want all of the people I love to be has happy as I am.”

  He picked her up, scooping her into his arms.

  With a wicked grin, he said, “Concentrate on making me happy, at least for the next hour or so.”

  She laughed, the sound carrying across the lawn. “I adore you. I love you so much.”

  He kissed her, and when he drew back his eyes were filled with tenderness. “I love you. You are my life, my world. We will have a wonderful life here along with the half dozen children we will have.”

  “Half a dozen?” she all but screeched, panic in her voice.

  He chuckled. “Larissa isn’t the only one who can make predictions.”

  He silenced her further protests with kisses, and carried her to their room.

  Epilogue

  The winter had been long and harsh and the days were still cold but a hint of spring was in the air. There were tiny buds on the trees and the promise of sunshine. Sitting in the garden, Emme stroked her ever-expanding bel
ly while Larissa sat beside her, embroidering more clothes for her niece or nephew. Emme still had no idea if the child would be a boy or girl. Larissa knew but was keeping mum on the subject.

  Dropping the embroidery onto her lap, Larissa stretched and smiled. “I think I will go to London.”

  Mr. Stidham had disappeared, possibly to America or some other distant shore. Their mother was now living in a small house that Rhys had obtained for her. There was no danger for Larissa in returning. Her debut had been postponed for long enough.

  Emme was stunned. “Now?”

  “No. I won’t leave you until after the baby is born. I wouldn’t miss that for anything. But after, I think I will go to London. I spoke with Rhys about it last week. He said that he would make all the arrangements. I had mentioned finding a position as a governess or a companion but he said that Stidham had been forced to release our marriage portions. According to your dear husband, I should be able to live comfortably without working. He’s a terrible liar but a very generous man.”

  Emme smiled. It was so like him.

  “I wish you wouldn’t leave us, but then I know that you miss London. The countryside was never really for you.”

  “I have to stop hiding from life. I have to face the tatters of my reputation and attempt to rebuild something for myself. Having the complete support of my brother-in-law, the Duke, should be helpful.”

  Emme smiled as Larissa rose and placed the cloth back into the sewing basket. “He is everything I ever wanted and the life I have now is more than I have ever dreamed of. I want that for you. After everything that has happened, do you think you could love a man, trust him to love you?”

  Larissa considered it for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s funny that I can see other people’s futures but never my own. And I see your dashing husband in your immediate future.”