By histouch.
And he resolved not to meet with her again. The curse would take her, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. But, the least he could do for her would be to relieve her of his company, the man who had struck her down. His thoughts went to their extraordinary meeting. A lone female walking through Epping Forest, carrying a bag of coins. A substantial bag of silver and gold. Towhom? Forwhat?
It was a mystery and only Emily could provide the answers. She did not want to see him though. Nor speak to him it seemed. When his passion had gotten the better of him, she had fought like a demon and ran from him. That was a clear message, one he could not ignore.
Rising stiffly from his chair, he stretched and walked to the fireplace, where a tray-bearing teapot and cup were kept warm. Crammond had found him during the night and ensured refreshment was available when he awoke.
Lazily, he picked up the teacup and went to the nearest window, looking out over the neglected grounds of Theydon Mount. From this particular window, there was a view over the overgrown gardens and the forest which crept nearer every year. It contributed to the legend of the Phantom of Theydon Mount, the ghostly inhabitant of the castle hidden in the middle of the forest. It was not a legend he cared for but it kept people away and that was for the good.
A sharp rapping on the door disturbed his dark train of thought.
“Come in!” he snapped.
The door was opened to reveal Crammond. Consternation upset his normally somber features.
“I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Your Grace, but I have just received word from Molly that your house guest appears to be gravely ill.”
“So soon,” Julian muttered bitterly.
Perhaps it was for the best though. The curse should do its work quickly to spare Emily her fear and suffering.
“I fear so, Your Grace.”
“I will… I will dress immediately and go to her side. It is the least I owe her,” Julian breathed, putting down the teacup.
“I must also remind Your Grace of your appointment this morning with his lordship…”
Julian raised an impatient hand, momentarily annoyed at the butler’s cold efficiency. To be able to put aside the imminent death of an innocent in order to discuss business affairs was distasteful.
“I amvery muchaware that I am scheduled to meet with the viscount this morning. But I’m afraid he will have to wait. I’m sure he will understand.”
“Should I have a message relayed to him to postpone this morning’s meeting?” Crammond added smoothly, showing no sign of offense at his master’s short temper.
“Yes, do so. Have it sent to his London residence at the Albany, though I don’t suppose he will be there.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Julian hurried back to his rooms and dressed himself hastily. He smoothed his hair back and tied it. Out of respect for the fate that he had brought upon Emily, he wore black. A plain black shirt with a matching cravat, held by a plain pin. His waistcoatwas of unadorned onyx, as were his breeches, stockings, and shoes. It was an appearance that would mark him out with his peers, among whom the fashion was for outlandish colors and finery. Julian had always favored dark, plain attire to suit his outlook.
However, this was not a suit handpicked to conform to his tastes—it was a suit of mourning. The leather gloves were the final piece of the ensemble. Bitterly, he made his way to the rooms he had assigned to Emily as his guest.
Confronted by her door, he hesitated, hand hovering as it was lifted to knock. At least one other person had died as a direct result of his touch... that had been his brother, and Julian had not seen that death happen firsthand. Only its aftermath. He had never seen the curse at work, and now found himself bracing for the gruesome reality of it. What would he see?
He recalled vividly the look of pained fear on Samuel’s face.
His death had not been easy.
Shaking his head and cursing himself for being a coward, he rapped sharply, then opened the door.
There was an anteroom before the bedroom. The fireplace in the anteroom was cold and the room was empty. The bedroom door was ajar. As he crossed the room, Molly appeared. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks tear-stained. Julian steeled himself for the sight that would await him in the room beyond.
“It… it must have come on her during the night, Your Grace,” Molly murmured brokenly, “I brought her morning tea as she had requested last night and found her…”
Julian glowered, not angry at the maid but at himself, upon whose shoulders all guilt must rest. Molly shrank away from his glare but he could spare little attention for her.
Inhaling sharply, he raised his head, then stepped through the doorway into the bedroom.
Emily lay in her bed. Her face was flushed and a cloth was draped across her forehead. A basin of water sat on the bedside table beside her. She seemed to be fast asleep, but her breathing rattled in her chest. Julian approached carefully, halting beside the bed, and looking down at the stricken young woman.
