The Importance of Being Emily Read Online Free PDF Page A

Black stepped away, but he seemed amused instead of upset, and I was grateful for it.
    “I understand. We should return, before they send anyone to find us.”
    “This doesn’t change matters between us,” I warned him. “A kiss hardly solves our problems.”
    “Perhaps not, but I do know one thing.” Mr. Black offered me his arm, and I tilted my head as I looked up at him.
    “What is that?”
    “I would like to kiss you again, Miss Wright, when the opportunity arises.” He smiled, and I blushed.
    “Emily,” I said, and his brow rose. “Please call me Emily. It pleased me when you did earlier.”
    “Very well. You must call me Michael then.”
    I nodded, blushing again as we walked away. The noise from the ballroom was still hushed when we returned to the house. There would be no more dancing this evening, only mourning. I hoped that the guests were safe in there and that a killer did not lurk among them. It was a large estate, and whoever he was, he could be hiding in any number of empty rooms or outlying buildings.
    We proceeded up the stairs, and as we turned down a hallway we spotted two men guarding a door. They appeared more bored than alert, which did not bode well for the safety of anyone.
    “Lord Willowbrook is expecting us,” Michael informed them.
    I stepped into the room and was instantly stifled by the negative energy, like a thick cloud of smoke that stole all the air and stung my eyes and nose. Blinking rapidly, I tried to shut it out as best I could as I looked around the room. It was a guest bedroom, decorated in an elaborate floral motif—perhaps that was the source of the energy, for the wallpaper was truly hideous.
    Mr. Gryphon paced back and forth beside the bed, wearing a path into the carpet that glowed with malice. Dr. Bennett and Lord Willowbrook stood next to the fireplace, and the lord’s arms were folded across his chest as he frowned down at a man bound to a chair.
    My brow rose at the sight of the ropes. “Is that really necessary?” I was certain that if Simon St. Jerome had a mind to leave the room, it would take much more than rope to stop him.
    “Yes. I can assure you that he is a murderer,” Mr. Gryphon growled. The venom in his voice startled me, and I tightened my grip on Michael’s arm.
    “That is what we are about to determine,” Lord Willowbrook pointed out.
    I peered at the chronicler, curious, for I had never met him before. Michael had made numerous mentions of his mentor, but he always seemed to be off speaking to someone else on mysterious business at the gatherings. Mr. St. Jerome was pale, his face framed with long auburn hair that was neatly tied back, and his light blue eyes regarded me with cool interest. He wore all black, from his cravat to his boots. Though he sat still and calm, blood trickled from the side of his mouth.
    “You struck him?” I asked, horrified.
    “Mr. Gryphon lost his temper,” Mr. St. Jerome explained.
    Frowning, I pulled my handkerchief from my purse and approached him. Mr. Gryphon moved to block me, and I nimbly dodged the hand he tried to place upon my arm.
    “He is dangerous,” he warned.
    “He is innocent,” I replied.
    “You can’t be certain of that.”
    “I am quite certain. He is not the man I saw in my vision. His hair is too red and not dark enough, and his clothing is different. And as I mentioned before, Miss Morgan called the man John, not Simon.” Stepping around him, I continued to the chronicler. “May I?” I nodded at the blood.
    “Please,” he said.
    The men watched me closely, as though they expected Mr. St. Jerome to snap his bonds and devour me like a sweet peach before anyone could intervene. Instead he continued to sit, serene and unaffected, as I dabbed at the sluggish trickle of blood. It looked wrong somehow, too dark, a reminder that he wasn’t quite normal. Unliving, as Michael would be in a few short months.
    For a moment I was gripped by the wild idea that I could lie, that I could