The Second Seduction

  “What do you think you were doing?” Hastings snapped.

  Rosalind bit back the words that trembled at her lips,

  her anger burning away the threatening tears. Surely that was

  obvious? She wanted to go for a walk on the beach, longed to

  taste the salt in the water and feel the sand running through

  her fi ngers. She intended to savor the new experience. “I . . .”

  “You need a damn keeper.” Th

  e bite in his voice made the

  tears burn again. “Let me see.” He strode toward her, brushed

  aside her cloak and slid his hands under her woolen skirts

  before she could blink. Th

  e feel of his bare hands caressing

  her calves made her freeze in shock. But the snort of the horse

  snapped Rosalind to her senses.

  “I . . . Don’t do that!”

  “You’re bleeding.” His tone brooked no argument.

  “Good morning, sir,” a masculine voice said.

  Th

  e black horse shied for a second time. To her horror,

  Rosalind let out a muffl

  ed squeak. Hastings swept her up,

  hugging her close to his side, cursed, and whirled about to

  calm his mount.

  “Sorry I frightened your horse, sir.” Th

  e man shifted a

  bag from one shoulder to the other and edged past Oberon.

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  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  Rosalind felt a stirring of sympathy for the man’s pre-

  dicament.

  “You came from the cove?” Hastings demanded.

  “Yes, sir. Collecting seaweed. Grows good vegetables.

  Sell it, I do.” He swiped a hand over his forehead and glanced

  back down at the sea, a strange look of almost desperation on

  his face, as if he were afraid.

  Rosalind followed his gaze to see what he was looking at.

  She saw nothing but the wide expanse of sand and sea. But

  the man seemed nervous. He shifted his sack from shoulder

  to shoulder, looking ill at ease.

  Th

  e horse stirred restlessly, pawed at the ground and

  snorted, rolling his eyes. Rosalind decided that he was the

  cause of the man’s unease. She didn’t feel safe standing this

  close to the massive beast either.

  Th

  e man wiped his face again, leaving a grubby mark.

  He hoisted his sack to his other shoulder and scurried off

  with a muffl

  ed farewell.

  Lucien scowled after the rapidly departing man and

  turned to face Rosalind. “I’ll take a look at your knee.”

  Rosalind swallowed and backed up. Th

  e feel of his work-

  roughened hands sliding over her limbs lived with her still.

  Th

  e remembered sensation crouched at the forefront of her

  mind, and just thinking of it made her hot and shivery all

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  over. Work-roughened? Her brows drew together in a frown.

  He’d stated he had estate business this afternoon. Perhaps he

  helped. A vision formed in her mind, and it had nothing to do

  with her sight and everything to do with her imagination. A

  strong, robust man, naked to the waist, chopping wood . . .

  Somehow, she didn’t think Hastings would look skinny

  and frail under that shirt. She didn’t think he’d look like the

  stable lad she’d surprised having a wash at the well.

  Heat fl ooded her face. Aghast at the direction of her

  thoughts, she backed up further still. Several times when

  she’d touched a man or woman by mistake, she’d seen

  risqué pictures in their minds. Now, it was happening to

  her, and she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with all the

  confl icting emotions.

  “Careful! You’ll slide over the edge.” Hastings reached over

  and with one, eff ortless move heaved her to safety. “If you’re

  sure you are uninjured, we should carry on.” He jerked his

  head in the direction of the sun. “Th

  e noon hour approaches.”

  Rosalind took one look at his determined face and

  nodded hastily. “I’m fi ne,” she said, even though it was a lie.

  Her heart beat in a frenzied tattoo, and she couldn’t get the

  wretched picture of him out of her mind. Th

  e half-naked

  him . . . with the sheen of sweat coating his muscles.

  Before he could remonstrate further, Rosalind plunged

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  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  down the path at a breakneck speed, trying to outdistance

  her turbulent thoughts. Aunt Elizabeth would be mortifi ed if

  she could read her thoughts or see her unladylike fl ight. Not

  that Rosalind was that happy about the situation herself. It

  was diffi

  cult enough facing her husband without her mind

  conjuring visions of him naked.

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  IV

  Lucien shook his head, befuddled by the woman’s behav-

  ior. She’d looked at him like . . . like . . . He shuddered

  inwardly, feeling the lick of answering heat before he thrust

  it aside.

  He studied her rapidly departing fi gure and scowled. “A

  trick of the light,” he muttered. Th

  at was the way Francesca

  used to look at him. As though she wanted to eat him for her

  next meal.

  Th

  is feeling, this jump of heat and awareness, was his

  body’s reaction to her proximity. Any woman would have

  caused the same sensation. After all, he hadn’t had a woman

  since Francesca. He hadn’t wanted to.

  Acknowledging that touching the woman had been a

  mistake, Lucien glowered in her direction. A big mistake, but

  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  she had hurt herself so he excused his slip from grace.

  Lucien tugged Oberon down the last steep portion of the

  path before it fl attened out to sandy beach. His attention was

  drawn to the woman, her child-like glee as she tugged off her

  gloves and bent to pick up handfuls of sand. Th

  e sand slid

  through her fi ngers, small, shiny fragments catching the sun

  as they fell. Lucien heard a soft laugh of pure joy. How long

  had it been since he had laughed in that carefree way? He

  knew the answer without even thinking.

  Ten months to the day.

  He hadn’t laughed since Francesca’s murder and hadn’t

  wanted to. Anguish clogged his throat as he recalled his love.

  His resolve hardened. Enough. Time to focus on the task at

  hand. Find Francesca’s murderer, bring him to justice, and

  then he’d make the trip back to Naples.

  Once revenge was his, he’d return home.

  Th

  e woman darted forward and scooped up a glistening

  white shell. A few seconds later, she changed direction and

  pounced on another shell. Lucien watched while she splashed

  into the sea, heedless of the water wetting her boots, to wash

  her treasures. She held them up to the light, studied them

  carefully and slid them into the depths of her voluminous

  cloak. Th

  en she darted off again. Lucien sighed and followed,

  leading Oberon behind him.

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  Wi
thout warning, he sensed he was being watched. He

  glanced at the woman but her attention was on a pile of fl ot-

  sam washed up by the tide. His eyes narrowed as he casually

  searched the top of the cliff where the path ran. Nothing. Yet,

  his gut screamed at him to tread cautiously. He scanned the

  expanse of sand in front of them but could discern nothing

  out of place. Still, the hairs at the back of his neck prickled.

  He slowed, having learned to trust his instincts.

  Up ahead on the expanse of sand exposed by the retreat-

  ing tide, he saw footprints. More footprints than one man

  would have made while collecting seaweed.

  Oberon snorted, sensing his watchful concern. Lucien

  frowned while splitting his attention between the woman

  and the rest of the cove. Th

  e nagging feeling that wouldn’t

  go away suddenly bloomed into a concrete thought. He’d

  watched smugglers landing their prize last night at high tide.

  At the time, the sea had covered most of the sand, yet this

  morning several sets of footprints were clearly discernible. It

  looked as though they led to the network of caves he’d dis-

  covered at the far end of the cove. Which meant this cove was

  defi nitely not a safe place for the woman to walk alone. Even

  one of the burly footmen Lady Augusta employed would be

  little deterrent against a smuggler’s gang intent on mischief.

  Although he hadn’t heard rumors this group was prone to

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  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  violence, other smuggling gangs further down the coast in

  East Sussex were.

  Th

  e woman meandered up the beach, and Lucien made

  a clicking sound to Oberon to hurry him up. It was best if he

  kept a close eye on her. Hopefully, she would soon tire of wet

  boots and sand clinging to her fair skin.

  Th

  e length of the cove later, she still bounded forward,

  pouncing on each new pile of washed-up debris with a child-

  ish delight. A grudging smile tugged at his lips, only dying

  when he had to follow her back to the other end of the cove.

  Shaking his head with rising impatience, he strode forward.

  “It’s time to go.”

  At the same time, the woman spun about. Th

  e look on

  her face was grim, her mouth pursed tight in annoyance.

  “Look what I’ve found.” She thrust a scruff y black thing at

  him. “Look!”

  Before he was able to off er an opinion or even discover

  what had raised her ire, she clutched the mass of black to her

  chest. “Look at what?”

  Her mouth smoothed out, like a fl ower blossoming and

  turned up into a ravishing smile of delight. Lucien blinked at

  the suddenness of her mood change.

  “It’s alive,” she announced. “I’m taking it home with me.”

  Her blue eyes deepened in color about the same time her

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  dainty chin tilted upward in the small act of stubbornness he

  was coming to recognize. Some sort of creature, he deduced,

  but he had no idea of its identity since she clutched it protec-

  tively to her bosom.

  “What is alive?” Annoyance simmered through him.

  Did she think he was some sort of unthinking monster? Th

  en

  he answered the question himself. Of course she did.

  Only monsters looked like such as he.

  “It’s a cat,” she said. “A kitten. We should return to the

  castle. I need my herbal remedies.”

  Th

  at chin of hers still pointed upward in determined

  defi ance, imperious despite her small stature. Lucien sighed,

  more than ready to leave the cove, and not about to off er up

  an argument to the contrary. He bent from the waist in a stiff

  bow. “After you, my lady.”

  Th

  e look of surprise that fl ashed across her face almost

  made him smile. Perhaps he was learning how to manage the

  woman. A rusty sounding chuckle escaped at the thought.

  Lucien sobered immediately, arching one brow in silent en-

  quiry when she remained rooted to the spot, gaping at him.

  “Did you want to walk in front of Oberon up the path?”

  Lucien asked. He’d noticed her reticence when it came to his

  mount. Despite her obvious liking for the kitten, she wasn’t

  a lover of horsefl esh.

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  “Th

  ank you.” Th

  e words were stiff and a little ungracious

  as she swept past with her nose in the air.

  Lucien grinned, the action feeling foreign and awkward.

  Th

  e woman looked as prickly as the hedgehog he’d surprised

  during his midnight rambling last night. And he’d discovered

  a truth. To make sure she kept her distance, all he needed was

  Oberon at his side.

  Th

  e walk back to Castle St. Clare took half the time the

  outward journey had. Th

  e woman marched briskly down the

  path in front of him, clutching the kitten protectively and not

  attempting a word of chatter. She crooned to the creature, but

  apart from that, the journey was undertaken in silence.

  In the outer courtyard, they parted ways. Lucien led

  Oberon to the stables, and the woman disappeared inside

  the castle.

  Lucien paused to look back. She hadn’t cast him a second

  look. Not one. Oberon nudged him in the middle of his back

  and with an impatient snort, sent him lurching forward.

  “All right.” Lucien pushed the woman to the back of his

  mind, and smoothed a hand over his mount’s withers. Th

  e

  woman was of no importance anyway.

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  SHELLEY MUNRO

  Tickell, the St. Clare butler, opened the heavy oak door a

  second before Rosalind grasped the head of the brass lion

  knocker. She smiled her thanks and rushed past, eager to get

  to her chamber.

  “Where have you been?”

  Th

  e stern screech echoed through the Great Hall and

  stopped Rosalind dead. A log resettled in the grate, sending a

  shower of sparks sailing upward into the chimney. Rosalind

  used the brief distraction to take a deep breath before turn-

  ing slowly to face Lady Augusta. One look at Lady Augusta’s

  pinched face told her she was in for a tongue-lashing, no

  matter what excuse she gave.

  Forcing her mouth to curve into a polite smile, she said,

  “I’ve been for a walk, my lady.”

  Lady Augusta stared down her long nose, her gaze im-

  perious. “A walk? I expected you here,” the elderly woman

  snapped, slicing and swishing her fan through the air in a

  way that made Rosalind’s knuckles tingle. “A household this

  size does not run by itself.”

  Nothing like starting off wrong-footed. She hadn’t real-

  ized Lady Augusta wanted to oversee her in the household

  duties. Th

  at wasn’t the impression the elderly woman had

  given yesterday. Rosalind sighed inwardly and wondered how

  to proceed.
She’d have to apologize. Th

  e kitten stirred in her

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  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  hands and let out a weak mew. “I’m sorry . . .”

  “What have you there?” Lady Augusta thrust her face

  closer and let out a hiss. “A cat! It looks diseased. Remove it

  at once. I won’t have it in my castle. Filthy beast.”

  Heat swept through Rosalind’s cheeks. A nervous quiver

  raced through her body, but instinct told her if she let Lady

  Augusta win this round, she was doomed. Determined to

  hold fast, she straightened and prepared for battle. Th

  e kitten

  depended on her.

  Th

  e wooden door at their backs burst open. A fl urry of

  breeze stirred the tapestries on the far wall before Tickell

  closed the door after Hastings. Th

  e fi re hissed with new life,

  sending up a sullen plume of smoke.

  “Aunt.” He inclined his head in a respectful nod before

  turning to Rosalind. “My lady.”

  “Tell her to remove that vermin from my castle,” Lady

  Augusta demanded, her voice high and querulous. “ ’Tis un-

  lucky to have a black cat indoors. Witch’s beast!” she ended

  with another hiss.

  Rosalind backed up at the vehement tone but kept her gaze

  on Lady Augusta. Th

  e elderly woman quivered with anger, the

  ribbons on her bonnet rattling, echoing the sentiment.

  “Take the cat to your room and keep it there,” Hastings

  said without looking directly at her.

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  Lady Augusta swelled with indignation. “But . . .”

  “Go, Rosalind.”

  Rosalind hurried off before Lady Augusta changed

  Hastings’ mind. But she couldn’t resist a quick look over her

  shoulder before she left. Hastings was watching her. She felt

  a strange warmth inside as she ducked through the door and

  out of his sight.

  He’ d called her by her given name.

  Perhaps there was hope for the future after all.

  Rosalind strode down the same dimly lit passageway

  she’d walked this morning. A smile fl itted across her mouth

  as she skipped to the end of the corridor. Not only had Hastings

  called her by name, he’ d taken her side against Lady Augusta.

  She stroked a fi nger across the kitten’s head and felt her smile

  widen. Th

  at was defi nitely a hopeful sign.

  At a second fork in the corridor, she hesitated before

  turning left. More portraits of long forgotten ancestors fi lled

  the walls, interspaced with alcoves holding marble busts.