The Second Seduction

  accursed gift. She didn’t want tales of witchcraft to fi nd her

  here at Castle St. Clare. For once, she wanted normality, to

  feel the same as others. Mary knew of her gift, but she was the

  only one. It must remain that way. If Hastings discovered she

  had the sight, he might call off the marriage. Panic made her

  voice sharp. “It’s nothing. A touch of indigestion.”

  Hastings snatched up her hand, and in her mind, Ro-

  salind saw a couple dancing beneath the stars, a full moon

  hanging low in the sky. She bit back a soft moan of distress.

  Th

  e couple was in love. It was there for Rosalind to see in the

  way the man held the woman, the soft smile on his face when

  he gazed at her.

  Questions trembled at the tip of her tongue, but one look at

  his face made her choke them back. Dark and unapproachable.

  23

  SHELLEY MUNRO

  Brooding. His expression did nothing to encourage chitchat.

  Th

  e wedding was scheduled for tomorrow. Rosalind

  couldn’t call it off . She wouldn’t. She refused. Rosalind

  glanced at her betrothed’s face then down at the ground.

  Tears stung her eyes and she bit her bottom lip.

  How could she marry this man knowing his thoughts

  were for another? How could she not?

  “Good morning, Miss Rosalind.” Mary’s voice sounded

  seconds before she whipped back the damask curtains that

  screened the bed.

  Morning. Already? Rosalind groaned softly, not ready

  to rise from the comfort of the feather mattress. Not even

  for the enticing scent of hot chocolate that wafted from the

  pot Mary had placed on the walnut dresser. She yanked the

  covers up over her head and squeezed her eyes shut. It was

  dark under the covers, but not distracting enough to keep the

  shadows in her mind at bay.

  Today was the day.

  Her wedding day.

  Confusion had tied her stomach in knots, keeping her

  awake, twisting and turning late into the night. Th

  e fault of

  24

  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  new surroundings, she tried to tell herself. Yet, that wasn’t the

  whole truth. For, despite the wail of the wind and the rap of

  a loose shutter throughout the night, the specter that preyed

  on her mind was that of the dark-haired man to whom she

  was betrothed.

  Th

  e enigma, the man called George St. Clare, or Lucien,

  the name he answered to.

  “It’s time for you to prepare. Th

  e wedding, miss.”

  “I’m tired,” Rosalind muttered, struggling to sit.

  “Oh, miss! I’m not surprised. Did you hear all the

  strange noises last night? Ghosts, I reckon. Th

  e other maids

  said they’re searching for the long lost St. Clare treasure. Th

  e

  ghosts haunt the castle to scare everyone away.” Her voice

  held distinct relish. A tiny shudder of delighted horror rip-

  pled down her body. “Or it could be smugglers. I hear they

  employ many of the village men.” Mary cocked her head

  and pursed her lips in a considering manner. “Th

  e noises

  sounded like chains rattling and moans. Lots of moans.” She

  shuddered again, her gaze darting to all four corners of the

  chamber before returning to Rosalind. “No, miss. I’m sure

  it was ghosts.”

  “It was the wind. Th

  ere are no ghosts in this castle.”

  Rosalind swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slith-

  ered down until her feet touched the ground. Mary had a

  25

  SHELLEY MUNRO

  terrible penchant for gossip. Treasure! Rosalind didn’t believe

  the stories of ghosts and treasure for a moment. “I suppose I’d

  better get ready.”

  “I can’t fi nd your hair brush,” Mary said. “Have you

  seen it?”

  “It will be here somewhere,” Rosalind said, smothering a

  yawn. Her wedding day. Fear danced down her backbone as

  she slid her arms into the robe Mary held. She’d be glad when

  the ceremony was over and she was safely married.

  “Are you still worrying about the marriage bed?”

  Rosalind grimaced. “I am now. Th

  ank you for remind-

  ing me.” As if she didn’t have enough to worry about. Her

  betrothed hated her and now it seemed he was a smuggler.

  Add the mysteries of the marriage bed her aunt had de-

  scribed in most confusing terms, then yes, she had plenty

  to worry on.

  For years, she had looked forward to this day. Yet, now

  her wedding day was upon her, she felt like a lamb being

  driven toward Smithfi eld’s — a lamb for the slaughter.

  Th

  e dainty Englishwoman looked as if she might faint. She

  appeared so fragile that if a gust of wind picked up Lucien

  26

  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  thought she’d take fl ight. Th

  ere wasn’t much to her that he

  could see, apart from her eyes. Her big blue eyes reminded

  him of the lakes near his home in Italy.

  Lucien frowned and concentrated on the drone of the

  vicar. How much more would he deem fi t to say? He wished

  the whole procedure was over so his life would return to

  normal, as normal as it could be without Francesca. No more

  dinner parties. No more dinner guests. He needed peace and

  privacy to investigate. His hands fi sted at his sides, his body

  tensed. Th

  e Englishman who had sent men to murder them

  during their journey from Italy to St. Clare had a name and

  he wanted it.

  He wanted to know why.

  An edgy agitation assailed him when he thought of his

  wife. His tight jaw relaxed as he recalled her laugh, her love

  of life. Th

  e way Francesca loved him, and the way she showed

  her love. His loins tightened, and he stirred restlessly, remem-

  bering too late that she was gone.

  Murdered.

  And he was no closer to fi nding the person responsible

  for the despicable deed.

  Th

  e vicar cleared his throat, and Lucien snapped to atten-

  tion. When the vicar repeated the words, Lucien swallowed

  before uttering a reply. Dammit! How could he pledge to

  27

  SHELLEY MUNRO

  this woman when he hated the very idea? Frustration warred

  with necessity. How could he not? As long as everyone as-

  sumed he was Viscount Hastings, he was trapped into this

  wedding. For, without his cover here at Castle St. Clare, he

  had no hope of fi nding the elusive Hawk, his main suspect

  in Francesca’s murder.

  A loud cough echoed in the chapel. Th

  e vicar’s eyes

  beseeched Lucien to act. Behind Lucien, feet shuffl

  ed, skirts

  rustled. He closed his eyes briefl y and snapped out the words

  in a clear, fi rm voice.

  Minutes later, it was over.

  Lucien was married to the colorless woman at his side.

  Rosalind huddled under the covers, the fl owered damask

&n
bsp; hangings drawn about the bed creating a private haven. Her

  brow furrowed while she considered the length of time that

  had elapsed since she’d retired. It seemed ages since Mary had

  helped her change from her bridal fi nery into her nightgown.

  When would her husband appear?

  A series of assorted creaks and thumps sounded in the

  passage outside her room. Settling noises, she assured herself.

  Th

  e foreign sounds were nothing unusual at all.

  28

  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  Th

  e scurry of tiny feet across the fl oor near her head

  made Rosalind bolt upright in bed. Not mice? She detested

  the furry rodents.

  A door squeaked, and Rosalind stiff ened. He had arrived

  at last. She strained to hear footsteps, her heart thumping

  with both anticipation and fear of the unknown. She heard

  a soft sound that might have been a footstep, then nothing.

  Possibly the fi ne Persian carpet muted further sounds. Her

  heart thumped so noisily she thought Hastings would hear. A

  deep, hurried breath did little to ease her anxiety.

  Finally, tired of the strain, she called out, “Hello?” Th

  e

  distinct wobble in her voice made her frown. She sounded

  frightened and that wouldn’t do at all. Experience with her

  gift had taught her that no matter what the situation, a brave

  façade worked wonders.

  “Is someone there?”

  Th

  ere was no reply, but every one of her senses shouted of

  a presence in her chamber. Rosalind chewed on her bottom

  lip and wondered how to proceed. Instinct told her if Hast-

  ings was in her chamber, he would answer her greeting and

  not skulk like . . . like a mouse.

  Rosalind slid toward the join in the damask hangings.

  With one hand, she inched the curtains apart and peered

  intently into the darkness.

  29

  SHELLEY MUNRO

  To her intense frustration, the shutters were fi rmly closed

  over the windows, leaving her room black as chimney soot.

  Yet she knew someone was inside the room with her. Listen-

  ing intently for the slightest sound, she slid one leg over the

  edge of the bed. Th

  e salty tang of the sea was normal if the

  windows were open, but not the sweet whiff of tobacco.

  Rosalind half stood before a sound behind made fear

  surge. She whirled about, her leg tangling with the bedcov-

  ers when she turned. A sharp nudge in the middle of her

  back propelled her forward again. Empty air met her frantic

  hands. Her head clipped the corner of the four-poster bed,

  then collided with the unforgiving fl oor. Pinpricks of pain

  stabbed at her temples.

  In the distance, a clock chimed the hour. Th

  e fl oorboards

  creaked behind her.

  Footsteps.

  Rosalind struggled to lift her head, to focus. Dizziness

  made the room whirl. She whimpered softly, then surren-

  dered to the dark.

  “Miss! Miss Rosalind!”

  Th

  e high, sharp tones pierced Rosalind’s stupor. Vigorous

  30

  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  shaking did the rest, bringing her to full wakefulness.

  “Stop shaking me,” she muttered “before you do some

  damage.”

  “What happened, Miss Rosalind?”

  Rosalind paused to think, but there was a yawning hole in

  her memory. She had no idea how she came to be on the fl oor.

  “Did you have a nightmare?”

  “I don’t think so,” Rosalind said. She struggled to a sit-

  ting position, and Mary hastened to help. White-hot pain

  sliced through her head. A grimace twisted her lips. She

  remembered the wedding and the celebration afterward. Ro-

  salind felt heat collect in her cheeks. She remembered waiting

  for Hastings. Th

  en . . .

  Th

  en nothing.

  She clambered to her feet and wobbled slightly before

  Mary grabbed her and pushed her down on the bed.

  “My head hurts,” she muttered, trying not to dwell on

  her husband’s failure to appear. Her mind refused to coop-

  erate and she frowned. She hadn’t done anything wrong,

  had she?

  “Let me see.” Mary’s hands moved over her head. When

  she touched the side of her head, above her ear, Rosalind

  winced. “You have a lump on your head, Miss Rosalind.

  Would you like a headache powder? Th

  ere’s no need for you

  31

  SHELLEY MUNRO

  to go down to breakfast. Not this morning.”

  Th

  e knowing look on Mary’s face made Rosalind squirm.

  Did she suspect that Hastings had not consummated the

  marriage? All the more reason to go down, Rosalind thought.

  And pretend this marriage was normal.

  Th

  e hour appeared advanced. She would explore the

  gardens, the castle, and acquaint herself with her new home.

  She experienced a gamut of perplexing emotions as her mind

  returned to her absent husband. Maybe she’d summon the

  courage to corner Hastings and demand answers.

  “I feel better now, Mary. I would enjoy a walk after

  breakfast.”

  “Too much fresh air is not good for a body,” Mary stated,

  folding her arms across her ample bosom.

  “Rubbish. I enjoy walking. I’ve wanted to explore the

  beach ever since I arrived.”

  “Stay away from the sea water,” her maid admonished.

  “You will take a chill, especially after falling from bed and

  hitting your head.”

  Rosalind’s eyes narrowed. “I did not fall out of bed. You

  make me sound like a child.” A whisper of a memory fl itted

  through her mind, and Rosalind seized it. One hand crept to

  test a painful spot in the middle of her back. Yes! Someone

  had pushed her. She was sure of it.

  32

  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  “How did you come to be on the fl oor, if you didn’t fall

  from your bed?”

  “Can you help me dress now, please, Mary?” She doubted

  Mary would believe her.

  “Only if you eat fi rst. I will bring some hot chocolate and

  spice cakes before I help you dress.” Mary tugged back the

  bed covers and patted the bed. “Back into bed with you.”

  Rosalind’s mouth fi rmed, but she climbed back into bed

  as instructed. Th

  e minute Mary left, she clambered back out

  and ignored the throb in her head to dress. After a brisk wash,

  she chose a dark blue open robe with a matching petticoat,

  pulled on shoes, and tugged a cloak from her wooden chest.

  Half way to the door she realized she’d neglected to tidy

  her hair. Rosalind spun back to her dresser and grabbed up

  her hairbrush.

  “Ouch,” she muttered, then stilled. Her hairbrush. She’d

  picked it up off the dresser, but it hadn’t been there when she

  went to bed.

  Th

  e back of her neck prickled. She whirled about, her

  gaze piercing every corner. Th

  e sh
utters were open now. Light

  streamed into the room, highlighting the feminine fripperies,

  the jewel-colored tapestries of Diana the huntress, and the

  Persian carpet. Rosalind exhaled sharply. It was the knock

  on her head, defi nitely the knock on her head; that, and

  33

  SHELLEY MUNRO

  an overactive imagination. Th

  ere was no one present in the

  chamber except her.

  She grabbed her gloves and hurried from her room, head-

  ing down a lengthy corridor and turning right at the end.

  Rosalind navigated her way by counting doorways. As she

  hurried toward the breakfast room, her shoes clattered on

  the wooden fl oors, echoing nosily. Portraits of long-forgot-

  ten ancestors frowned down from the walls. Rosalind shot an

  uneasy glance over her shoulder.

  No, she was alone. Yet . . .

  Ridiculous, she thought, and slowed, determined to

  prove there was nothing to be frightened of. Th

  ere were no

  ghosts or specters with clanking chains and eerie wails, and

  although she’d heard mice, she’d yet to see one.

  She studied the old, tarnished suit of armor that stood

  against the wall, and scanned the portrait of the woman who

  looked uncannily like Lady Augusta.

  A cough rattled noisily in a throat behind her, and Rosa-

  lind almost parted company with her shoes. She spun about,

  her hand trembling at her breast, icy fear galloping through

  her veins until she focused and recognized the earl.

  “Rosalind, child. What are you doing skulking about in

  the passage?”

  “Ah . . .” Did he know about her failure with her husband?

  34

  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  Rosalind felt the blush heating her cheeks and, unable to

  bear pity or sympathy, hurried into speech. “Good morning.

  I wanted to explore.”

  “Plenty of time for that later,” the earl said, off ering his

  arm. “I expect you would like breakfast.”

  “Yes,” Rosalind murmured, although she wasn’t sure

  food would sit easily in her stomach.

  “In you go,” the earl said, propelling her toward the break-

  fast room. “I need to speak with my secretary for a moment.”

  At the doorway, her steps faltered. Th

  e only other oc-

  cupant was Hastings. She hesitated, her bravado from earlier

  vanishing as she studied the man she’d married the day

  before. He was huge. He towered over the earl and made her

  feel small and insignifi cant.

  She couldn’t stay out here all day. He was her husband.

  Determined to show poise, Rosalind forced herself to step