The Haunting of a Duke by Chasity Bowlin Page A

further along the bank until he reached a rockier portion of the lakebed that would allow him to haul them both out. Her skirts tangled about them both in the water, impeding their progress toward safety.
    He swam as close to shore as possible, before lifting her into his arms. He struggled to keep his balance. She was not overly heavy, but her sodden gown and petticoats were cumbersome. When he reached the shore, he placed her gently on the ground. She coughed again but didn't stir. It was then that he saw the crimson rivulet seeping along her hairline.
    He brushed the dark ropes of her hair back and surveyed the cut. It didn't appear to be overly deep, but he had little experience in such things. “Damn!” he said, and rose quickly.
    He lifted her up and carried her limp form toward the house. He went through the woods, knowing them as well as he knew the manicured paths, taking the shortest route to the house possible. As he staggered from the trees, one of the grooms saw him and rushed forward.
    Rather than shed his burden, Rhys said to the groom, “Fetch Lord Ellersleigh at once!"
    He strode across the lawn, and his ever efficient butler was standing at the entrance, the door held wide. Rhys swept past him and up the stairs to Emmaline's chamber. Maids were scurrying behind him in a tizzy.
    "Och!” The squeak of the lady's maid as he burst into the chamber caught his attention and Rhys turned to face her after placing Emme on the bed.
    "Get that wet gown off her immediately, and put the most modest gown on her that you can find. Lord Ellersleigh is the closest thing to a physician we have at the moment."
    Gussy nodded, and grabbed a night rail as he made for the door.
    He didn't go far. He simply stood outside the door and waited. He heard a commotion on the stairs, and Michael appeared shortly after.
    "What the devil is going on, Rhys?"
    "Miss Walters appears to have had an accident. She must have fallen and struck her head before tumbling into the lake.” A look passed between them, one that communicated all their suspicions without having to give them voice.
    "In my room, there is a black satchel near the door. Go and fetch it,” Michael said to one of the maids. They all immediately scurried to do his bidding. At any other time, Rhys would have been amused by Michael's ability to incite hysteria amongst his female servants, but his concern for Emmaline was too great.
    Michael rapped on the door and the maid opened it. Her face was pale and worry marred her otherwise pleasant features.
    "She never stirred when I changed her gown, milord."
    Michael approached the bed. He examined the wound. It was not deep, and would require no stitches, but by their very nature, head wounds were tricky. He had seen far too many good men damaged irreparably by far less.
    With curiosity, he examined her palms. He noted the scrapes there, but also noted that they were nearly healed. There were no abrasions on her elbows or knees. If she had fallen, she had done so in such a way that only her head struck the ground. That seemed improbable but he elected not to say anything for the moment.
    A young maid entered with his bag. He retrieved a small ampoule of smelling salts, promptly breaking the seal and wafting the bottle under Miss Walter's nose. She blinked rapidly and opened her eyes, but it was several seconds before she focused on him.
    "Miss Walters?” Michael queried. When she met his gaze, he held up three fingers, “How many fingers do you see?"
    Emme's head ached horribly. She ignored the stabbing pain behind her eyes, and focused on his hand. “Six,” she said irritably.
    "If you are capable of sarcasm, Miss Walters, I am going to assume that your injury is not life-threatening,” he said, relief softening the sting of his reply.
    "My head aches, but I assure you, I am quite well, otherwise."
    Michael leaned forward and looked into her eyes for a moment more. “Be that as it may, our host will surely rest easier if you