The Second Seduction

  “Hold my horse.” Lucien thrust the reins at a startled

  man and elbowed his way through the cheering crowd that

  surrounded the coach.

  “’ere, stop pushing. I got money on this ‘ere fi ght.” A

  man glared at Lucien but hastily turned away when he saw

  his scarred visage.

  Th

  e advantage given by his height allowed Lucien to see

  the two urchins more clearly than most. It should have been

  an uneven match with one much bigger than the other, but

  the smaller child appeared determined. Fists swung wildly.

  Feet kicked out. Elbows dug. Fingers gouged. Th

  e crowd

  cheered each landed blow, shouting encouragement.

  “Get him, Jamie, boy! I have my money on you!” a

  woman shrieked.

  “What’s the fi ght about?” Lucien demanded of the man

  nearest him.

  “Th

  ey be fi ghting over taking the carriage to King’s

  Head. Nob said he’d give the boy a gold coin.”

  “One man?” Lucien said, his tone sharp. Th

  at didn’t

  make sense unless someone had stolen the carriage.

  “Aye. Big, he was.”

  A sharp screech from the larger urchin claimed the

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  man’s attention. Lucien wanted to shake him and demand

  answers. He grabbed the man by the shoulder. “What did

  he look like?”

  “Big, I said. A nob dressed in fancy clothes.”

  Lucien turned away in frustration to question a woman

  holding a small girl by the hand. Th

  e child took one look at

  his face and burst into noisy tears. Hell’s teeth! Lucien aimed

  for a reassuring smile, but the girl wailed even louder and

  buried her face in her mother’s woolen skirts.

  “Did you see the man who drove the carriage?” Lucien

  asked. He attempted to keep his building frustration from his

  voice, despite wanting to shout at stupid people who judged

  by appearances. Dammit, he was more than a scar. He was

  a man. Lucien battled for calm, inhaling deeply. “Please,

  ma’am. Did you see the man?”

  Th

  e woman gave an abrupt shake of her head and stepped

  away, her face frozen in an expression of distaste.

  In that moment, Lucien realized that people at Castle St.

  Clare didn’t react to his scar any longer. Th

  ey treated him as

  the heir despite his surly moods and ruined face. He tucked

  the thought away for later and resumed his questioning.

  Instinct told him something was very wrong. He must fi nd

  Rosalind.

  “He was big,” a bulky man said.

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  “Flashed ‘is blunt around,” another commented.

  “What color was his hair?” Lucien asked, striving for

  patience.

  “Black.”

  Hawk? Fear shot through Lucien.

  “Nah! ‘e wore a wig.”

  Lucien dragged in a slow breath.

  Rosalind.

  None of this was helping. “Which way is the King’s Head?”

  “It’s the other side of the village. On the road to Rye,” the

  man said. “Follow main road and take the second fork.”

  Before he could thank the man, he turned away. Lucien

  pushed his way back through the mass of bodies to collect

  his horse, using elbows, his greater bulk, and his scar when

  necessary. Rosalind wouldn’t approve. Th

  e notion brought a

  brief smile. “Th

  anks,” he said, fl ipping a coin at the man.

  Th

  e crowds thinned once Lucien moved away from the

  carriage, but the cheers and screeches of encouragement con-

  tinued unabated. He swung up on Oberon and pressed his

  mount into a trot.

  “Hastings!”

  Lucien’s head snapped about at the sound of his name.

  Justin ambled toward him, threading through the crowd,

  a wide grin on his face.“What are you doing in Whittlebury?”

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  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  Lucien was positive Lady Augusta had said an outing near

  Castle St. Clare. Lucien glanced past Justin, but none of the

  faces were familiar. Was the rest of the party in Whittlebury

  too? Th

  e trepidation inside eased a notch. “I came to check

  on supplies for the roof repairs. I thought you went on the

  excursion with Lady Helena and her mother,” Lucien said.

  “Not me,” Justin replied. “Lady Jessica is far too man-

  aging. Th

  ey say to look at the mother. If that’s what Lady

  Helena’s going to end up like, I’m staying far away.” His

  eyes narrowed as he spotted something behind Lucien. “I

  say, is that the St. Clare carriage? What is it doing here?

  Was it stolen?”

  Lucien dismounted again. “Th

  at’s what I intend to fi nd

  out. I’m on my way to the King’s Head. Th

  e man who left the

  carriage there paid an urchin to deliver it to the King’s Head.

  Care to join me?”

  “Why not? I have plenty of time before my evening

  engagement. I’m fair parched. Could do with an ale. Th

  e

  King’s Head’s ale will no doubt taste much like the brew at

  the Swan.”

  Justin fell into step with him. “Still riding that brute of

  a horse,” he said, his eyes sliding over Oberon with careful

  appraisal. “Are you sure you won’t sell him to me?”

  Every time Justin saw him, he asked if Oberon was for

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  sale. Th

  e discussion was an old, comfortable one, and Lucien

  felt the beginnings of a smile surface. “If my horse is a brute,

  why do you want him?”

  “He has good lines,” Justin said. “Should produce a good

  crop of foals.”

  Lucien nodded, knowing it was nothing less than the truth.

  Justin slowed. “You could at least let me ride him and put

  him through his paces. Next time I’m at Castle St. Clare.” He

  turned into a narrow lane. “Th

  is is a shortcut. Comes out

  behind the King’s Head.” Justin stalked ahead, disappearing

  down the opening without looking back.

  A frown replaced Lucien’s good humor. Th

  e lane seemed

  dark. No telling who lurked down there. Th

  ey weren’t in that

  much of a hurry. Lucien hesitated, then shrugged and fol-

  lowed, leading Oberon behind. Th

  ere were two of them and

  no doubt, Justin was armed.

  Holding his nose, he stepped over the swollen remains of

  a dead cat, his black boots sinking into soft mud. Th

  e stench

  made his eyes water. Oberon balked, planting his hooves

  fi rmly and refusing to move past the smelly corpse.

  Lucien stepped up to his mount’s side and stroked his

  quivering neck. “No time for nerves, boy. I need to fi nd

  Rosalind. She was in that carriage today. Something is wrong.

  I feel it in my gut.”

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  His soothing voice
calmed the horse. Lucien grasped the

  reins fi rmly and stepped over the cat again. Oberon danced,

  rolling his eyes, but Lucien continued to speak in a low voice,

  and his mount fi nally consented to step over the ripe carcass.

  Lucien turned his attention back to the dimly lit lane

  ahead. Th

  e devil take it. It was so dark Justin was no longer

  in sight. He slowed, his gaze sweeping the area in front.

  Oberon seemed to sense his apprehension. He snorted and

  pranced in nervous dancing steps that made the reins jerk in

  Lucien’s hands.

  “Steady, boy.” Lucien stepped forward, his ears strain-

  ing for the slightest sound. Instinct screamed to take caution

  because danger lurked ahead.

  “Justin?” His voice was soft, not much louder than a

  whisper. Surely, Justin wouldn’t walk off and leave him, not

  if they intended to drink together.

  Th

  e darkness of the alley lifted as they neared the end.

  Lucien squinted, scanning for danger. Nothing appeared un-

  toward. Behind him, Oberon seemed calmer and the tension

  seeped from Lucien’s shoulders. His mount had saved him

  more than once. When the bandits had attacked their party

  in France, it had been Oberon’s warning that had alerted him

  and saved him from certain death. But, not soon enough to

  save Francesca too. Sorrow pierced his heart when he thought

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  of his fi rst wife. She hadn’t deserved to die so young, and for

  that Hawk would pay.

  Lucien increased his pace, his thoughts switching to

  Rosalind. He refused to lose her too, not when he’d just

  found her.

  He hurried down the remaining few feet of the alley.

  Several kegs were stacked at the door of the building oppo-

  site. No doubt Justin was already inside, ordering a tankard

  for each of them. Lucien stepped from the alley. A blur of

  movement to his right made his head jerk in that direction.

  A dark fi gure swung at him with a club. His hand rose

  to block the blow. Too slow. Pain exploded in his head and he

  slumped to the ground.

  Rosalind paced the boundaries of her prison. Luxurious as

  far as prisons went with the elegant four-poster bed and the

  highly polished walnut dresser, but she was confi ned against

  her will.

  She tried the door. It was still locked. She marched to

  the single window that overlooked the street below. It was a

  quiet back street used mainly by those who lived in the area.

  A stout, locked bolt barred her exit by way of the window.

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  She considered breaking the glass and shouting for help but

  discarded the idea. Justin had warned her against the action.

  He’d said no one would help her. He had told them she was

  sick. Queer in the head. Th

  ey’d likely run if she shouted at

  them. And, he’d had the audacity to grin when he said it.

  None of them would believe she was being held against her

  will. Rosalind grimaced down at her skirt, ripped during a

  tussle for freedom. Th

  e hem bore a coating of dried mud.

  Her hair had toppled down during her attempt to escape and

  without a comb or mirror, it was impossible to restore to its

  former neatness. Oh, yes. She looked like a mad woman.

  Th

  e scrape of a key in the lock alerted her to a new ar-

  rival. Rosalind turned to the door, her heart pounding. Every

  muscle tensed as she prepared to seize any chance that came

  her way.

  Th

  e door opened. Justin stepped inside. Confi dence and

  good cheer radiated from him. His grin stretched from one

  side of his face to the other, giving rise to a sinking feeling in

  her stomach.

  Bad news, she thought. For her.

  Justin turned the key and slipped it inside his jacket. He

  faced her, his gaze wandering the length of her body before

  returning in a leisurely manner to her face. “Comfortable, my

  dear? Anything I can get you?”

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  Rosalind suppressed a shudder. Th

  e man looked at her as

  though she were a luscious piece of fruit tart. It made her very

  uncomfortable. “I would like to return to the castle.”

  “Ah, but you don’t like living there. I’ve heard you tell

  that red-haired maid of yours.”

  “It was you,” Rosalind blurted. “You spied on me.”

  Justin shrugged, clearly experiencing not a shred of guilt.

  “Watched over you, my dear. Th

  ere’s a diff erence.”

  Rosalind’s gaze narrowed at his smug tone. “Did you

  murder Mary?” She closed the distance between them with

  two steps, her hands fi sted at her sides. If he said yes, she’d

  scratch his eyes out. Th

  e idea of her friend suff ering at the

  hands of this mad man infuriated her. “What did you do

  to Mary??”

  His brows rose and he moved back. “Such an outpouring

  of emotion is unbecoming, my dear. Do control yourself.”

  “I am not ‘your dear’. Did you murder Mary?” Rosa-

  lind grabbed two handfuls of his embroidered waistcoat and

  yanked hard. Anger pounded through her veins and for the

  fi rst time in her life, she was tempted to injure rather than

  heal. “I knew she hadn’t run off with a lover. She wouldn’t

  leave without telling me. Did you kill her? Did you?”

  Justin wrenched away, took several steps back, and

  paused to smooth his crumpled silk waistcoat. “It was her

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  THE SECOND SEDUCTION

  own fault. She shouldn’t have tried to escape.”

  “Why?” Fury vibrated through her body.

  Justin held out his right hand to examine his fi ngernails.

  “I believe she objected to joining a harem . . .”

  “You intended to sell her? To that sultan friend of yours

  in Constantinople?” Shock tore at her insides before rage

  whipped her upright. Mary in a harem. No wonder she’d tried

  to escape. She glanced at him and froze, suddenly uneasy with

  his intense scrutiny. “What do you intend doing with me?”

  she asked in a faint voice. Surely, he didn’t intend to marry her

  as he’d indicated earlier? She was married to Lucien.

  “You in Abdul Musa’s harem?” He laughed with genuine

  amusement. “No, my dear. I don’t intend to present you to

  my old friend. I have other plans for you.” His gaze lingered

  on her lips, then traveled down across her breasts in a leisurely

  manner. Th

  e expression on his face did little to halt her esca-

  lating panic.

  “I would like to know.” A ripple of revulsion swept down

  her body, and she fought the urge to hide behind the intricate

  Chinese screen in the corner of the room. Her chin shot up.

  “Tell me. Please.”

  He smiled. “I told you. We’re going to marry as soon as

  I’m sure you’re not bearing Hastings’ whelp. And in time,

  you’ll present me with an he
ir. Sooner rather than later, I

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  hope.” His eyes glowed with a fanatical light. “Bedding you

  will be no hardship. Finally, I’ll get to touch your luscious

  breasts instead of merely looking. I’ll taste you. Oh, Rosa-

  lind, my dear. We’ll be good together.”

  He’d watched her, seen her unclothed. She felt dirty and

  used, quite unlike the way Lucien made her feel. “I’m married

  to Lucien. I love him.” Th

  e words burst from her without

  thought, yet the minute they were uttered she knew them

  as truth. She loved her husband. Now, if only she had the

  chance to tell him.

  Justin stiff ened as though she’d struck him. Rage twisted

  his features into an ugly mask, and she immediately regretted

  her outburst. She edged away unobtrusively. “None of this

  would have been necessary if you’d heeded the warnings I

  gave you of specters. You should have listened to your maid

  and left Castle St. Clare when you had the chance. She knew

  things weren’t right, that ghosts haunted your room. She saw

  me, you know, but instead of telling you, she confronted me.

  Ah, yes. I knew you’d be the key to my revenge.”

  Oh, Mary, Rosalind thought, aching for her friend. “You?

  You crept into my room from the passage behind the wall.”

  “You were so brave,” he whispered, moving nearer to

  her. A fl ush suff used his face. His eyes glittered in a frighten-

  ing manner. “No panic or hysterics when your hair brush

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  disappeared and reappeared. Strange noises didn’t spook you,

  and even when I crept into your room and shoved you from

  your bed, you didn’t dose yourself with laudanum or descend

  into madness. You made me proud — a woman worthy of

  the St. Clare family, a woman worthy of being my mate. It

  didn’t take me long to change my mind about you. I decided

  I would keep you. You would be my wife. Th

  at other stupid

  bitch kept trying to kill you. She’s lucky my plans escalated,

  or I would have taken care of her myself.”

  Rosalind stared, shocked into silence by his revelations.

  She squeezed back against the wall when he advanced on her,

  his face red, his eyes glittering with passion and a hint of

  madness. Th

  e man belonged in Bedlam.

  “I’m afraid you sealed your fate when you entered Hast-

  ings’s bed. Once I’m sure I won’t be saddled with his child,

  you will marry me. I’m the oldest. You were meant to marry

  me, not my brother.”