The Unwilling Viscount and the Vixen

by Shelley Munro

  “I think that was the idea,” Rosalind said.

  “Don’t joke.” Lucien turned a glare on the hapless maid. “Why?”

  Beth tossed her head and tried to tug free of Rosalind. “Let me go. I have done nothing.”

  Rosalind’s mouth firmed. Lucien watched her tense then relax. She loosened her grip on the maid. “Go,” she said. “I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

  About to protest, Lucien snapped his mouth shut when he saw the warning Rosalind sent him.

  Freed, the maid shot past them. Her hurried footsteps resounded as she raced across the room. The door creaked and slammed, indicating her exit.

  Lucien stepped from the cramped dressing room into the more spacious chamber. “Was she acting on her own or is someone paying her to cause mischief?”

  “Lady Sophia paid her.” Rosalind settled onto a wooden chair with a relieved sigh. She rubbed at her knee through her skirts and winced. “I feel as if I’ve been used for target practice. My bruises have bruises. I’ll talk to Lady Sophia in the morning. She won’t get away with this.”

  Lucien frowned. “She didn’t admit that Lady Sophia paid her. Why are you so sure Lady Sophia did this?”

  Rosalind’s eyes flashed. “Because I read the maid’s thoughts. Lady Sophia is responsible.”

  “You read her mind?” Lucien seized Rosalind’s words and threw them back at her in clear disbelief.

  Rosalind’s glance contained a mixture of guilt and frustration, tinged with something that looked like hope.

  She read the maid’s mind? How was that possible? He laughed, and uneasiness rippled in the sound, along with shock and disbelief. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Rosalind said, holding his gaze. “I have…a gift. Sometimes I’m able to read minds. My grandmother had the same gift.”

  Lucien experienced an urgent need to move, so he walked to the door and returned. “How does this gift work?”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “I…it seems unusual.” He wasn’t sure he liked her eavesdropping on his thoughts. She’d said she could only read people sometimes. Hope surged and withered at her sympathy. “You can read my mind.”

  “Mostly.”

  Lucien stiffened. “So you know of my past.” Her knowledge of his inner thoughts seemed obtrusive.

  She met his gaze fearlessly. “Yes.”

  He compressed his mouth. “Good night, Rosalind.” He strode to the door connecting their chambers and jerked it open. It was only with the greatest willpower he didn’t slam the door shut. God forbid, he wanted to. He paced the length of his chamber, ignoring the luxurious surroundings and the softness of the Persian rug beneath his shoes.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  The door burst open before he could even react.

  “Don’t walk away like that.” Rosalind limped into his chamber, her blue eyes blazing fire.

  The door slammed behind her, and Lucien suppressed a flash of dark humor. He’d restrained his temper while she hadn’t even tried.

  “How would you feel if I knew your every thought and not one thing was private? You’d hate it,” Lucien answered his own question.

  Rosalind’s chin jerked upward. “I don’t know everything.”

  “That’s not what you said before.”

  “I said I knew your thoughts, but only if I’m touching you. I don’t know what is in your mind now.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Although I could take a guess. I hate this. All my life this gift has set me apart. I loathe differing from everyone else. Do you think I want people to call me a witch? That’s why I wear gloves most of the time.” She paused, her chest heaving with indignation. “The only reason I’m trying to read people now is so I can discover who killed Mary and who’s trying to hurt us.”

  Lucien stiffened. Us. “Don’t,” he snarled. “It’s too dangerous.” Taking responsibility for another death appalled him.

  She approached him and stopped an arm’s length away, so close he smelled flowers on her skin and hair. “Have the accidents got something to do with Francesca’s death?” She stepped even closer until a mere hand span separated them.

  Francesca’s name on Rosalind’s lips shocked him. Pain, sharp and jagged, wrenched his heart. It was apparent she was using her gift, trying to help him locate Francesca’s murderer, even though it put her in danger. The selfless act battered down the last flimsy defenses he’d erected between them.

  “Hell, Rosalind.” His voice broke on her name. He closed the remaining distance between them, wrapping his arms around her body and drawing her to his chest. His hand smoothed over her hair, and he noticed it trembled. He moved it again, petting, savoring the softness of her. It was a long time since someone had looked at him with such belief. He pressed a kiss to the fragrant brown hair at her temple. He didn’t know how he’d inspired such loyalty in not one, but two women. But he had, and it was a precious gift—a second chance at love—if he wanted to take it.

  “Lucien?” Her upturned face shone with trust, but underlying the conviction was clear determination.

  Lucien sighed. He just knew she would be difficult about staying out of his investigation. “Yes?”

  “I would like to have a child.”

  Her words were like a spear piercing his heart. Sudden and unexpected. Painful.

  “No.” He wrenched away from the temptation to seize her in his arms and offer comfort. Guilt and confusion made him unable to face her hurt expression.

  “Why not?”

  She’d had to ask. The raw emotion he’d held in check since Francesca’s death bubbled out before he could stop it. “Because I don’t want to go through the same thing all over again. I don’t want my wife and child to die and leave me alone.”

  16 - Seduction

  Harsh finality enveloped his voice and the uncertain grasp Rosalind held on her dreams slipped farther away. Her stomach roiled with fear, followed by anger. She’d fought for everything in life. Why should the fight for Lucien’s attention be any different?

  So, she’d resort to her original plan and seduce him. Not that she knew how to go about a seduction. However, she’d watched her cousin flirt with male visitors often enough. Men flocked to Miranda in the hope of her bestowing them with one of her pretty smiles or a gurgle of laughter. It would work. It has to work.

  She turned to face her brooding husband. Ignoring the nervous stutters inside her chest, she said, “I’m frightened to sleep on my own. Can I sleep in your chamber again tonight?”

  At first, she thought he’d balk at her suggestion. His muscular body stiffened beneath the black jacket. Hands fisted at his sides until he caught her watching him. He flung off his tenseness as easily as she discarded a shawl, except in his eyes. They still held pain and wariness. Rosalind edged closer and reached out to offer comfort.

  “Don’t touch me.” Lucien wrenched away before her hand contacted his skin.

  Pain sliced through her. Another rejection. Her throat closed up with a giant knot of emotion. She wanted to rail and scream at the unfairness of the situation. Why had it been her who received the gift and not Miranda? Gift! Huh! It was a curse that kept coming back to haunt her with the regularity of the monsters in Mary’s ghostly tales.

  She turned away to hurry for the door connecting their chambers before Lucien witnessed the tears leaking from her eyes. The only good thing about her gift was she knew for sure Lady Sophia was responsible for a lot of the occurrences since her arrival at Castle St. Clare. She’d paid maids and some of the other servants to make life difficult for her. Rosalind had her suspicions why but needed to confront the woman to confirm plain jealousy was responsible. Lady Sophia coveted Lucien’s title and would do anything to remove her.

  Huh! Rosalind tried to dislodge the achy lump in her throat with a swallow. Lady Sophia would laugh hysterically if she learned Lucien didn’t want her, that he pushed her away.

  “Wait.” He caught her upper arm and
forced her to stop. His hand dropped away the instant she halted.

  “I don’t bite,” she snapped.

  Lucien raked a hand through his hair, leaving dark tufts sticking out of his queue. “Hell. I’m sorry, but it’s difficult. This isn’t an ordinary situation.”

  “I have to live with it every day.”

  “Please, go ahead. Make me feel better,” he said in a dry tone.

  Rosalind stared. Was that a twinkle lurking deep in his dark eyes? Had he made a joke?

  “You can sleep in my chamber tonight.”

  Rosalind stared anew. Their gazes clashed and held. The silence between them stretched. In the distance soft music tinkled, masculine laughter floated up from outside. A soft breeze ruffled the Flemish tapestries covering the walls.

  “Where…” Rosalind cleared her throat. “Where will you sleep?”

  Lucien’s gaze intensified. Her skin prickled, not in fear, but a different, more foreign sensation. His gaze dropped to her mouth. The hush grew heavy with expectation. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

  Lucien cursed, long and loud, even as he eyed her lips. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” Rosalind backed up. This time, he stepped closer and raised one hand to trace her mouth with his fingers.

  “That,” he whispered. “What am I going to do with you? I’m trying to do the right thing, but you make it difficult.”

  “I’m your wife.”

  “But I didn’t want to care for you.”

  Rosalind considered his words. He’d loved his first wife. Was there room in his heart for her too?

  His thumb brushed her bottom lip, and he bent his head. Rosalind couldn’t breathe as he lifted his other hand to cup her head, his dark eyes intent and serious.

  He’d kissed her before. She knew what to expect, yet this time seemed different and full of unexpected tension.

  “Are you sure you want to sleep in here tonight?” His voice was low. Husky. His eyes glinted in the candlelit room, holding silent questions he hadn’t voiced.

  Rosalind was certain. She nodded, turning to nuzzle his hand and press a soft, moist kiss to his palm. “I’m sure.”

  He lowered his head and drew her against his chest.

  Apprehension swept through Rosalind when her body came into contact with his. Now that Lucien was acquiescing, she had no idea what to do or how to behave. What if she did something wrong? What if she compared unfavorably with his first wife? Tense horror flooded her mind. What if she did something so wrong he never let her enter his chamber again?

  “Second thoughts?” He stood so close, his warmth heating her body. Port and the faint tang of tobacco plus a scent uniquely Lucien made her sigh and relax.

  “I’m not sure what to do next. I sort of know what happens, but what if I do the wrong thing?”

  Lucien chuckled, and the infectious sound made her lips curl up at the corners. “I know exactly what to do,” he said.

  An intriguing dimple winked at the corner of his mouth and entranced her. She lifted her hand to run her fingers over the small dent. Instantly, images flooded her mind. Her gaze flew to Lucien’s. “I have no clothes on!”

  The dimple reappeared. “I know.”

  Her brow creased in a frown. “You’re wearing clothes.”

  Lucien grinned, and when Rosalind attempted to speak, he placed a hand over her mouth. “Shh,” he murmured. “You talk too much.”

  The candles flickered. Lucien lowered his hand, pressed a fleeting kiss over her mouth. “Can you read my mind all the time?”

  “My grandmother taught me to block. I can block most thoughts as long as I’m calm. Sometimes they slip in, but I have to be touching the person.”

  “We’ll probably come into physical contact,” he murmured, an undertone of laughter in his voice. “I’d better watch my thoughts.”

  This teasing Lucien was a stranger to her. Relaxed and approachable, he made her crave more of the same. His pointed gaze made her self-conscious. She sighed, knowing she could trust him.

  Lucien placed his hands on her shoulders and took half a step back. Slowly his gaze trailed downward to linger at her lips. Heat bloomed on her skin. Rosalind tensed as his attention moved lower. It was as if he caressed her. She wanted to fidget, but a strange lethargy held her in place. Suddenly her clothes were cumbersome. And Lucien seemed to know.

  “Let me play maid tonight.” He pushed her down onto a walnut chair. In the dressing-table looking glass, she saw their twin reflections. Lucien appeared somber in his usual black attire while her brown hair glinted in the candlelight.

  Lucien’s fingers deftly removed the two ivory combs fastening her hair. His fingers worked through her brown locks until they spilled past her shoulders.

  “I’ve imagined seeing you like this,” he confessed. His hand smoothed across her hair. A relaxed sigh drifted from Rosalind as his fingers combed and massaged her scalp. She eyed his reflection. His intent expression was discernable with his restrained hair. She liked it best when he allowed his hair to hang about his face, the curls springing to life.

  “Stand for me, Rosalind.”

  She rose on unsteady legs. His deft fingers dealt with her gown and petticoat. Laces unfastened, and tapes were untied as if by magic. The silken fabric dropped to the floor with a soft whoosh. He whisked her hoops and stays from her body. Rosalind chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety rising once more. Lucien tugged her against his chest, his mouth nuzzling behind her ear. Velvet fabric tickled her back. Hot, moist breath fanned her neck, and the sensation did little to aid her wobbly knees. The heat in the room intensified, despite her lack of clothing. Muscles constricted with alarm but his lips on her heated skin was most pleasant. A shiver moved down her body.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he murmured.

  “I’m not,” she said and knew it for a lie. It was hard to act brave when the future looked so hazy.

  His hand toyed with her chemise strap. He turned her to face him, cupping her head until she met his gaze. His eyes were wild and stormy. Hot. Her pulse skittered, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips again. Lucien gave a soft laugh as if he found her nerves amusing. Rosalind stiffened.

  “Relax. I’m not laughing at you.” He smiled and brushed one finger over her quivering mouth. “Your face is easy to read. Your emotions give you away.”

  Lucien bent his head, closing the gap between them. The touch of his lips differed from what she expected. His kiss was soft and fleeting, tentative as if he was trying not to scare her. His lips moved over hers, and she felt a flick of his tongue. Startled, she opened her mouth and his tongue swept inside.

  Smell. Taste. Her senses bombarded Rosalind as she experienced proximity to Lucien. Curiosity burned inside her and, greedily, she wanted to try everything. Her hands fluttered before settling on his shoulders. His black jacket was rough to her touch while his velvet waistcoat slid soft and luxurious beneath her fingertips. Her hands slipped under to discover the white linen shirt beneath.

  “Would you like me to take off my waistcoat and shirt?”

  Rosalind considered the idea. “Yes, please.” Heat suffused her face, but Lucien didn’t seem to mind. Her brow creased. This was nothing like the scenario her aunt had described. The dark fumbling and mortifying touches of a husband forcing his way into the bed. Pain for a short time then left blessedly alone until the next time.

  Candles spluttered in the wall sconces. Rosalind shifted to allow the light to shine on her husband.

  Her mouth rounded as Lucien removed his clothes. Finally, his shirt dropped down his arms and whispered to a puddle at his feet. Her gaze rose to meet his. “You’re beautiful.” Not even the scars on his face or the one on his upper shoulder detracted from his presence.

  “Don’t let that get around,” he said. “I’ve worked very hard to scare all the women away with my ugly scars.”

  Her hand hovered over the bare skin of his chest. “Can I touch you?”

  His laugh w
as short, his voice husky. “Please.”

  Dark hair grew on his chest. It was soft beneath her fingertips. She edged closer, near enough to press her nose against his skin. His scent filled her lungs. Something mystical. Oriental. That was it. The aroma reminded Rosalind of the small sandalwood boxes that hailed from the Orient.

  His hands tugged her against his chest. Instead of the scratchy cloth of his jacket, his skin was smooth and warmer. Hot to the touch. Her mouth opened and she kissed him in the middle of his chest. He groaned and tightened his hold.

  Then he laughed. “You, madam, will be the death of me with your questions and your curiosity. Come, let us lie on the bed before my knees give out.”

  “Oh, are your knees wobbly too? I thought perhaps I’d drunk too much wine,” Rosalind said.

  He made a small choking noise.

  “Are you all right? Should I hit you on the back?”

  Lucien laughed hard then. He wiped a splash of moisture from his eyes and grinned at her. “When I first saw you, I knew you’d be trouble.”

  “I know my gift is a curse, but I try not to be a nuisance.”

  “I know you do, sweetheart.” He snatched her off her feet and took three quick steps to the bed.

  Rosalind fell to the mattress and bounced. The mattress dipped as Lucien sat on the edge of the bed. He slid off her pink satin shoes and tossed them to the floor. The sensation of his hands on her legs made her freeze. His hands slid up until he came to her garters. Deft movements untied them in a trice. Then he peeled down her stockings, his callused hands smoothing them to her ankles, sending a shiver down her spine. Her pulse raced, her body awash in sensations she’d never experienced before.

  And there was much more to come. Pain. Would she bear it? Sighing, she decided yes. To have a child of her own to love, she would endure any amount of pain.

  Lucien removed his shoes and stockings while Rosalind watched with avid curiosity. His hands settled on the fastening of his breeches. Hesitation skirted his face.