"Do you really want to make more of an enemy of me than you have already? It isn't the money, you see, it's the principal. That is hers, and she will have it or I will pay double that and more to drag you through the courts."
Stidham flushed. He looked to be on the verge of apoplexy.
Rhys continued hopefully, “Additionally, you will not interfere if her mother should decide to visit. At our home, of course. I will not allow her to cross this doorstep and suffer your presence ever again."
"Yes, Your Grace,” he spat contemptuously. “You have made your wishes perfectly clear."
"Excellent. I shall make my addresses to your lovely family and then we will consider this visit concluded."
Rhys left the study and made his way toward the drawing room. Emme and her younger sister were seated on a small settee and their mother was prone on a fainting couch, with a hand to her forehead, apparently having a fit of the vapors.
"Well, this appears to be an eventful visit,” he said.
Emme looked at him, “Did you—is he—what happened?"
"He's hale and hearty, love,” he said breezily. He turned his attention to the other young woman in the room. She looked very much like Emme, though her hair was a few shades lighter. She had the promise of great beauty.
"You must be Miss Larissa. It's a pleasure to meet you, in spite of the tumultuous nature of our call."
Larissa bit her lips and he realized that she was struggling not to laugh, “Indeed, Your Grace. You have managed to make quite the impression."
"Thank you. I trust you will come to call on us at Brooke Street soon. I have already made arrangements for an extended visit when we return to Briarwood Park, and of course, Mrs. Stidham, as well."
Mrs. Stidham had roused herself sufficiently from her bout with the vapors. “My husband would never permit it, Your Grace!” she wailed.
Fearing another fit coming on, Rhys hastened to reassure her. “Hardly, Madam. Your husband and I have an understanding. He will not prevent you from calling on your daughter. Should you fail to call on us in a timely manner, I will not hesitate to return here and demand an accounting. “
Larissa hugged Emme tightly. “Oh, Em! I think I like having him in the family very much!"
Mrs. Stidham stood. “I should never have married him. He did not appear so cold and unfeeling prior to our wedding."
"I do understand, Mrs. Stidham. Should you be desirous of his absence, you are always welcome to visit at any of our homes or I would be happy to assist you in attaining one of your own, should you wish his absence to be of a more lengthy nature."
"You are most generous, Your Grace."
Rhys dismissed the notion out of hand. “It is nothing. Now, if you will excuse us, we have a number of pressing appointments today."
They left shortly after, but rather than returning to Brooke Street, they went to Bond Street.
"What are we doing here?"
Rhys smiled, “You need to supplement your wardrobe, Emme. We will undoubtedly be invited to many events this season."
She sighed and her head dropped forward. “I hate being an object of curiosity."
"Then we will get you a wardrobe so incredible the only thing people will feel when they look at you is envy."
Hours later, after having been measured, put into a half-dozen readymade dresses that would be altered to fit her, draped with yardage in every color and texture imaginable, they went home. Arrangements had been made instead for the milliner and cobbler to come on the following day. It was a far cry from what she had been accustomed to. She couldn't actually recall the last time she'd had new things. Her wardrobe was sadly deficient, as she knew. Mr. Stidham had not approved of spending exorbitant, or even menial, amounts of money of what he considered to be wasteful excess.
Every gown she possessed had come from a time before her mother's marriage. Each gown had been made over, retrimmed and artfully altered by Gussy to hide its age and wear. Given the amount of clothing they had ordered, she could wear different gowns every day for a month.
"How long will we stay in London? For the entire season?"
She sounded as if she were going before a firing squad, he thought. He didn't really have any desire to stay in town for longer than was absolutely necessary, either.
"We will not stay for very long. I am not that active in the House of Lords. If I have to come back to town for a short time, I will, but I think after a few weeks of the social whirl, we can safely retire to Briarwood Park."
"Thank goodness. I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but I never really enjoyed all the parties and balls. I only went because they kept me away from home, away from my stepfather."
He understood all too well what it was like to avoid one's own home. While Elise had lived, they'd avoided one another as much as possible. “Well, he won't be bothering you anymore and I have no desire to stay in London either. The House of Lords will simply have to do without me. We will go back to Briarwood Park soon, where I can make love to you morning, noon and night—in the bath, on the bed, on the billiard table."
She laughed, “The billiard table, really?"
"The possibilities are endless."
She believed him.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Ten
The invitations had descended upon them with ferocity. Rather than attending a ball or other entertainment on their first evening out, Rhys had elected to attend the theater. Edmond Keen was performing Hamlet, and it was sure to be well attended. Rhys had gone downstairs to have a brandy while Emme endured her toilette at Gussy's hands.
Her hair had been dressed very elaborately, piled atop her head and fastened with so many pins that Emme didn't think she would ever be able to remove them all. Delicate curls framed her face and brushed against her neck. The modiste had sent over a dress of deep, peacock blue satin. The decolletage was more daring than anything that Emme had ever worn, and was embroidered with silver scrollwork. The tiny puffed sleeves left her shoulders almost completely bare, and her stays were laced so tightly her already generous bosom threatened to spill over top of the deep, square neckline. A silver satin sash was fitted just beneath her breasts and diamonds that Rhys had presented her earlier winked at her ears.
When Emme joined Rhys in the drawing room, in spite of her misgivings about the gown, she was thrilled by his response. His dark eyes went hot when he looked at her. They raked her from head to toe and she felt the weight of that smoldering gaze. “Had I known,” he said, “that Mademoiselle Beauchamps intended to display your charms so generously, we might have gone elsewhere."
"You don't care for my gown?” she asked, accepting the glass of sherry he had poured for her.
He liked the gown well enough, and so would every other man present. The idea of other men ogling her and of her being displayed so lushly for their perusal did not sit well with him. “On the contrary, I admire it greatly. However, I fear that it may inspire me to take up my dueling pistols again when others do so."
"And if yours is the only admiration of consequence to me?"
He kissed her. It was a slow kiss, a seduction of the senses as he teased and nipped at her lips, never deepening the kiss. She could taste the brandy on his lips, but thought he was infinitely more intoxicating than the liquor.
"If we continue this,” he said, murmuring against her lips, “we won't be making it to the theater."
"Then by all means,” she said, “continue."
He chuckled, “You'll not get out of it that easy. We have to face them sometime."
He was right. She couldn't hide forever.
"Then let us go before my courage fails me entirely."
Smiling down at her, he replied, “I didn't think your courage ever failed. You are remarkable."
She blushed at such high praise. It was so far beyond what she was accustomed to. Since her mother's marriage five years earlier, she'd become more accustomed to criticism and ridicule. She disentangled herself fro
m his embrace. It unnerved her that he could have such an effect on her, but more specifically, that she might become dependent on his positive regard. She didn't want to need him or his approval.
Rhys felt her withdraw and knew that it was more than physical. It piqued his curiosity, but he chose not to press her. If there was one thing that he was learning about his new wife, it was that she was all but incapable of hiding her feelings. He would learn in due time what had prompted her to distance herself from him. In the interim, they had reputations to protect and a murderer to find.
"We should go,” he said, “as it is, we'll be late enough to make a grand entrance without having to talk to anyone, but not so late that our entrance will be missed entirely."
"You have the art of it perfected, I see,” she said.
"I learned it from Ellersleigh, the master. He will be joining us at the theater, by the way. Assuming he hasn't drunk himself into a stupor somewhere, that is."
"Or become distracted by an available female?"
Rhys didn't point it out, but for Michael, there were few females who weren't available. “Just so,” he said, and ushered her outside and into the waiting carriage. He handed her up and then joined her inside the carriage.
"I've accepted an invitation to the Somerfield Ball, which is tomorrow night. It is a prestigious event and our attendance should please Lady Eleanor, if pleasing her is possible. By the end of the week I hope to be headed back to Briarwood Hall."
Emme couldn't see his expression in the dark interior of the cottage. “Why so anxious? Not that I mind, of course, I'd much rather be at Briarwood Hall. I had thought you wished to stay in London for some time."
Rhys paused before answering. His reasons were twofold. The first of which was that he wanted to be back at home where he could get to know his wife and enjoy her company with fewer prying eyes, the second had to do with finding the culprit. There had been no further accidents since coming to London, not that he wanted more accidents to occur. Still, it felt wrong somehow. It was as if they'd been diverted from their true course.
"I've been shortsighted. Reading Elise's journal is difficult but it must be done. If you are correct, and one of Elise's lovers murdered her and Melisande, then our focus should be on finding the fiend, and not placating my aunt's unreasonable desire for social standing."
Emme was relieved. “I am not much for society, Rhys. I'd be perfectly content to remain in the country all of the time."
"I can't guarantee that we will never come to London, but the trips will be as infrequent as possible."
"Would you come without me?” she asked.
"If needs must,” he said, “but I would prefer to have you with me."
The question burned on the tip of her tongue. Unable to stop herself, she said, “We've never discussed it, but I'm aware that maintaining a mistress is common practice—"
"It is common practice, but it is not one I intend to indulge. I desire no other woman. I have, in fact, never desired a woman with the intensity with which I crave you. I fear that you have become an obsession."
The words thrilled her, but her fear would not be so easily dismissed. “And when you've grown used to me? When I'm heavy with child?"
The very idea of her heavy with his child spoke to a part of him that was so primal he couldn't name it. Rather than answer her, he pulled her to him and kissed her. It was not a gentle kiss, or even a passionate one. It was a claiming. He took her lips with the intensity that burned within him and branded her. In that kiss, he showed her, absolutely, that she was his.
When the kiss broke, he leaned his forehead against hers, and breathlessly, he said, “I cannot promise that I will always be an easy man to live with, or even to tolerate, but I can promise you that I have made a vow to you before God, and I will keep that vow. What happens when you tire of me, when my kisses no longer stir your blood, will you be as faithful?"
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 o
n 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.
The Haunting of a Duke Page 16