The Haunting of a Duke (22 page)

Their last night in town they attended a small gathering. It was a quiet evening, with a literary theme. It was a terrific bore for Rhys, but was the most enjoyable evening Emme had spent in society. The evening had been devoted to Shakespeare's sonnets and she'd found both the conversation and the company to be convivial.

They had left early, using their pending journey as a convenient excuse. The return to trip was less tumultuous than the trip to London had been. There were no accidents and the roads were marginally better. Making better time meant fewer nights at posting inns, which was a relief for Emme. It was also a relief to get back so that they could turn their attention to finding Melisande's killer. Emme felt compelled, as if something was pulling her back there, urging her to return the entire time they'd been away. She didn't say as much to Rhys, as she knew he would think her mad.

Rhys had begun deciphering Elise's journal, though it was difficult for him. She had spewed her rage and madness on the page about her parents, his parents, and his brother. Elise appeared to fancy the lot of them as her enemies. She had also written detailed accounts of her sexual exploits. He'd never imagined her innocent and he'd known that her desires were dark, twisted with her madness, but he'd had no idea how perverse she could truly be.

They were only a few short miles from Briarwood, when he closed the journal in disgust and laid it on the seat beside him. “I simply can't tolerate any more of it."

"Have you discovered anything?"

"I've discovered that my late wife was indiscriminate in choosing her bed partners. Age, sex, race, or social standing had little importance to her."

"Sex?"

He had forgotten for a moment how innocent she truly was. “Forgive me, I shouldn't speak of such things to you, but yes, there are people, male and female alike, who prefer the sexual attentions of their same sex."

"And did Elise prefer women?"

"No, but apparently they would do if she were bored."

"Oh,” Emme said. She simply couldn't fathom it. “I know I shouldn't ask, but how?"

Her innocent curiosity was killing him. “Well, as for men, neither of us is prepared for that conversation. But for women, they use their mouths to pleasure one another. You certainly liked it when I did that to you."

She blushed, but said honestly, “I like everything you do to me."

His breeches grew painfully tight, and every jolt of the carriage was an agony. “If we don't change the subject, I am going to take you in this carriage."

"Is that possible?” She gasped.

He grasped her hand and pulled her onto his lap, positioning her so that she straddled him. “You tell me if it's possible."

She pressed down, feeling the hard ridge of his arousal against her now fevered flesh. “I think I wish we were further from home."

He chuckled. “I imagine that if the coach continued rocking after it stopped in the drive, the servants would be forever scandalized."

"And Lady Eleanor!"

He shuddered. “Well, thank you for bringing her into the conversation. You've effectively wilted me."

She shifted experimentally. “You don't feel wilted."

"Forgive my hyperbole. Move to your right just a bit."

She did as he suggested, and then the ridge of his erection nestled against the most sensitive part of her. The pressure was a delicious sensual onslaught. When he flexed his hips, she gasped with pleasure.

"Oh, my goodness. Do that again!"

He did, several times, swallowing her gasps of pleasure in a dizzying kiss. He maintained the pressure, thrusting against her, until she shuddered against him, her body going limp.

After a moment, she lifted herself up, and looked pointedly at his erection, which was still nestled, between her parted thighs. “You haven't—” she stopped, uncertain of the words.

"We are far from finished. If you look out the window, we just turned into the drive."

He helped her onto the seat beside him and together they restored order, as much as possible, to her impossibly crumpled skirts. She smoothed her hair, but there was no disguising her kiss-swollen lips or the flush that marked her pale skin.

When the carriage rolled to a stop he disembarked quickly and handed her down. He ignored the servants, ignored his mother and Eleanor, and quickly ushered her up the stairs.

Emme was blushing furiously and laughing by the time they reached their chambers. Her laughter died the minute the door closed behind them. He pressed her back against the door and plundered her mouth.

She returned his ravenous kisses, all the while fumbling with the buttons of his breeches, until at last, his manhood sprang free, hot and hard in her hand. She gripped him, sliding her fingers over him as he'd shown her. He groaned, thrusting against her hand. It wasn't enough. He lifted her skirts, hooked his hands beneath her thighs and lifted her, entering her in one swift motion, pinning her against the door with his body.

Emme gasped at the exquisite fullness. The feel of his body had become familiar, but no less thrilling. He shifted his hands, until the firm globes of her buttocks were nestled in his palms. He kneaded the tender flesh as he thrust deeply inside the heated velvet of her body. He struggled for control, clinging desperately to it, to give her release before surrendering to his own.

He pressed his mouth into the valley between her breasts, kissing and nipping at the tender flesh through the thin muslin of her gown. He lifted her higher, driving deeper into her, and she shattered against him.

He felt the familiar tension in his balls, the tingling at the base of his spine, and then he thrust deeper still, emptying himself deep inside her.

He felt her thighs quivering about him, and slowly lowered her, so that her feet were once again on the floor. But her legs wouldn't hold her and they buckled. He caught her, holding her, touching his forehead to hers, as he fought to regain his breath.

"You've destroyed me,” he said. “You have me behaving like a randy lad."

"It's only fair,” she whispered, as her hands fluttered over him, stroking his roughened jaw, “you've turned me into a brazen hussy."

When his pulse slowed, and he could breathe without gasping, he withdrew from her and lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the bed, where he helped her remove her dress. He went to the washstand and returned with a moistened towel, and cleaned them both before shucking the rest of his clothing and climbing into the bed with her. Exhausted slumber claimed them both.

It was dark when they awoke. He donned his dressing gown and rang for a servant. He ordered food for them both and a bottle of wine, while Emme stayed safely hidden behind the bed curtains.

When the food arrived, he filled a plate for them with cold meats, fruit, and cheese, and filled their glasses with wine. He then tossed several pillows onto the rug before the fire, as Emme emerged from the bed, wrapped in the sheet. Her dark hair was a wild tangle down her back, and he could see faint traces of red on her neck and breasts from his whiskers. She walked toward him and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

He touched his fingertips to her abraded flesh, and said, “I'm a brute."

"I love the feel of your whiskers on my skin,” she said.

He considered his response carefully. It was an admission that he felt compelled to make, but that he was uncertain of. “This craving I have for you is like nothing I've ever experienced. I've always kept a tight rein on my passions, but with you."

She kissed him, marveling at her own boldness. “For which I am incredibly grateful. It would be rather inconvenient if my endless desire for you was one-sided."

They sprawled on the carpet, his head in her lap as she fed him bits of cheese and fruit. Along with the meal, the servants had delivered a letter. It had arrived by special messenger from London while they slept. He opened it and read the familiar scrawl.

"Is anything wrong?” she asked.

"Alistair has gotten himself into a fix financially, again. I'll take care of it tomorrow. I don't wish to discuss him."

Emme smiled and stroked his hair. “Then what shall we discuss?"

"Tell me about your sister. She seems like a lovely girl."

"Larissa and I have always been close. Our father was distracted, I suppose is the best way to describe him, and mother never really understood us. If we spoke of something that was outside the realm of normal experience, it always unnerved her."

"What is Larissa's gift? Is it like yours?"

"No, Larissa has visions of things that will happen. Sometimes they appear disjointed or out of context and it can make them difficult to interpret. When Papa died, she saw it happen, but the vision was so confusing she couldn't do anything to prevent it. She's always blamed herself."

"Guilt is a hard thing to live with, especially for one so young."

Emme smiled. “Larissa has always been very defiant, fierce and full of life. She's never worried overmuch about the proprieties."

He reclined again, his head nestled beneath her bountiful breasts. “Unlike my properly wanton wife?"

She laughed. “Yes, unlike your wanton wife."

They feasted and then returned to the bed. They made love slowly, languorously, with the initial urgency sated. They slept again, and as she slept, the spirits came. Emme rose from the bed, disentangling herself from Rhys’ arms. He stirred and rolled to his back, but did not wake. She left the room, naked, her steps slow and sure as she made her way down the hall toward the tower.

The draft woke him and the cold air chilled his naked skin. He noted the empty bed and rose immediately, donning his dressing gown and grabbing hers as he walked into the hallway. She was already out of sight, but the open door gave her direction away. Quickly, he traversed the steps into the tower room. She stood before the window again, naked in the moonlight, her eyes pale and sightless as she stared out into the cold night.

"I could make her jump,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. Her features were different somehow, there was a tension in her face, a tilt to her lips that was Elise. The hair on his body stood on end, and gooseflesh rippled over him.

"As someone made you jump?” he asked.

She laughed, a cold sound that rasped across his skin like a sharp blade. “I never jumped, Rhys. I took such pleasure in making you a cuckold that I would never have ended it."

"What happened to you then?"

He couldn't believe that he was actually conversing with her as if she were Elise, but more importantly, he couldn't fathom that some part of him believed that in some way, in that moment, she was Elise.

"I was betrayed by my lover and please don't be trite by asking which one, for I shan't tell you."

"Do you not want to see him brought to justice?"

She turned, her hands tracing a sensuous path over her breasts, her nipples peaked from the cold. “She's lovely, this new wife of yours."

Cold fury swept through him. “Stop toying with me, Elise. And stop toying with Emme."

She laughed and the sound was so familiar it made his blood run cold. “Very well, I'll behave. I can't tell you who he was, because if I did, then I would be giving you something you wanted—justice for your poor dead sister!"

"You would deprive yourself of justice for that reason?"

"Not deprive myself, so much as make you work for it,” she said, and leaned recklessly against the window. “You'll get what you want, Rhys, but even in death, I won't make it easy for you."

In that instant, she was gone. The tension left Emme's face and she collapsed. Rhys moved forward quickly and caught her before she struck her head, but the stone floor scraped her flesh nonetheless.

She opened her eyes again. “Should I even ask what I'm doing here?"

He shook his head. “It was Elise. I think she enjoys using you to toy with me."

It took several moments for Emme to fully comprehend what he'd said. Only after she'd fully returned to her senses she recognized that he'd spoken with a certainty that was far different from the skepticism which usually greeted any talk of her abilities. “No doubts, Rhys? No equivocations now? You believe?"

He chuckled, but it was a self-deprecating laugh and she could hear the tension in his voice, “I'm a convert, darling.” He helped her up and slipped her dressing gown onto her shoulders. “I think you're going to have to begin wearing night rails, much to my dismay."

They went back to their room, and as Emme climbed into the bed Rhys carefully locked the door and slid the key into the pocket of his dressing gown. The cold threats that Elise had issued were not far from his mind. He would do whatever was necessary to find the killer and when it was done he would see her spirit banished from the house. If he had to bring in the Archbishop of Canterbury himself, her spirit would depart and he and Emme would have peace.

He climbed into the bed and pulled her against him, pressing her body close to his. He had feelings for her that he dared not examine too closely. It was enough to acknowledge that they existed without putting a name to them. She was his, and he would protect her from all threats, worldly and otherworldly.

He didn't sleep, but kept watch on her as she rested, safe in his arms.

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Over breakfast the following morning Rhys considered how to proceed. Elise had written of her sexual exploits in great detail, save for the names of her many lovers. She'd used initials or nicknames. He'd finished reading the journal the previous night while Emme had slumbered beside him. He'd been hesitant to sleep, afraid that she would have another episode. Episode, he thought bitterly, as he sipped his coffee. It wasn't as if she had become ill or was having fits of some sort. When he'd confronted her in the tower, in that moment, she had not been Emmaline. Elise had been inside her, controlling her, using her. He couldn't risk Elise's spite. The panic he'd felt the night before was proof of that.

Lady Eleanor entered the room, looked at both of them, and then with a haughty lift of her chin showed both of them that she held firm in her disapproval. After filling her plate she seated herself at the table. She sipped her tea and then unleashed her venomous tongue. “I had understood that you would be remaining in London for several weeks in order to introduce your new bride to society."