The Spurned Viscountess

by Shelley Munro

  The cleanup took two hours and, by the time they finished, Rosalind’s back ached. Thankful they were done, she smiled at Janet and Beth. “Thank you.”

  “’Tis no trouble, my lady,” Janet murmured. “Sleep well.”

  The maid’s comment made Rosalind realize how late it was. Oh, goodness! She’d completely forgotten about the salve for Hastings. She hesitated before deciding against returning. Hastings hadn’t wanted her to fuss over him. Perhaps tomorrow. A yawn escaped before she could contain it. Although she wished she could sink onto her bed and drift to sleep, she had things to do. Determination solidified inside as she ushered the maids out. If it took her the rest of the night, she intended to discover the secret passage that led from her room. It was the obvious and only answer to the clandestine comings and goings from her chamber.

  Rosalind started at her door and worked her way around to her bed. She examined each portion of the wall in minute detail. She tapped the walls, listening for a telltale hollowness. Even though logic told her she’d find the passage low, she dragged a chair over to the wall and stood on tiptoes to tap above her head. Nothing. Rosalind doggedly continued her search, climbing up on the chair, scrambling back off. Still nothing. She bit her bottom lip in vexation. Her knuckles throbbed from the constant tapping, but she continued. There was a passage here. She knew it. There was no other way for someone to gain such easy access to her room. She paused mid-tap. Unless one of the maids was the culprit?

  Rosalind rocked back on her heels, considered the possibility and discarded it. It would be difficult for one of the maids to spirit her clothes away and destroy her belongings without others seeing or taking part in the mischief.

  The search continued, Rosalind working while her mind twisted the puzzle, probing for answers.

  The dull, echoing thud didn’t register at first. She stopped in front of a bureau. It looked heavy and unwieldy, but determination bade she make her search a thorough one. With a loud, unladylike grunt, she yanked the bureau. It moved surprisingly easily considering the size. She paused to take a deep breath, grasped the corners firmly, and tugged again. Small rollers attached to the bottom of the furniture aided its quick and effortless movement. A draft, a whisper of wind ran across her face, tugging tendrils of her hair. Rosalind gasped. Excitement pulsed through her veins. Tiredness dropped away as she held a candle aloft to study the gaping hole in the wall where the bureau had stood.

  “Yes.” The grin of success spread across her face. The bureau was part of the wall, and the rollers on the bottom allowed easy, almost noiseless entry to her chamber. On the rear, there was a sturdy handle to help the person exiting her chamber pull the bureau back into place with ease.

  “I knew it.” A job well done. She turned, picked up her candle, and plunged inside the black hole.

  ***

  Lucien turned on his side, trying to find a comfortable spot. His head ached as if someone was jabbing a dozen needles into his forehead. Although he’d told Rosalind not to bother with the salve, he could do with something to ease the pain now. He grunted. Who would have thought a simple fall would cause so much discomfort?

  He flopped over on his other side, sending the covers flying from the bed, and stared up at the playful nymphs that cavorted on the painting above his bed. He cursed low and soft with frustration. The curvy blonde nymphs reminded him of Rosalind.

  A soft, insistent tap jerked him from the dangerous thoughts. He sat up, listening intently. He’d almost decided the noise had been his imagination when it sounded again. The noise was coming from inside the wall.

  Lucien slid from bed and pulled on a pair of breeches. The noise sounded again, but farther away. Gradually the tapping receded. He snatched up a candle, fumbled for a tinderbox, lit the candle and slipped from his room. He paused to listen. Yes. There it was again. Maybe Rosalind was right. It seemed as if there was someone behind the wall. It could be a person or a creature of some sort. Either way, he intended to learn their identity.

  He stalked the length of the dimly lit corridor, following the progress of the muffled thumps and thuds. Holding the candle aloft, he studied the wall closely. He was unable to discern anything out of the ordinary. The wall appeared the same all the way along.

  He tapped the wall lightly with one knuckle. A muffled shriek rent the air, followed by a mighty crash. The wall where he was standing flew open. An apparition in white flew at him, arms outstretched. The ghostly scream made the hair at the back of his neck lift. Lucien took an instinctive step back.

  “Hastings!” the creature cried.

  Lucien peered closer. “Rosalind?”

  “Oh, you gave me a start! Never mind, I intended to find you anyway. Look what I’ve found.” She gestured at the black hole behind her.

  They both heard footsteps from a lower level at the same time.

  “Quick. Come out of there and we’ll shut the door.” Lucien made rapid work of placing the wall back, before he hustled Rosalind farther down the passage.

  Rosalind looked back over her shoulder. “Who is it?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know, but whoever it is, I think we should keep our discovery to ourselves.” He urged her down the passage.

  Rosalind dug in her heels. “Whose discovery?”

  Lucien took one look at her indignant face and wanted to laugh. Her blond hair, which was usually immaculate, stood up in all directions. A cobweb covered her face and her nightgown was gray with dust.

  The hollow echo of footsteps on the wooden floor came closer. Lucien frowned. They wouldn’t make it back to his chamber in time. The unknown person would pass them in a few moments. And Lucien would bet they, whoever they were, would have endless questions about Rosalind’s appearance.

  Acting quickly, he pressed Rosalind against the wall. He ignored her squeak, holding his candle up to survey her face. He wiped a smudge of dirt off her cheek with his free hand. Despite the gray tinge of dust, the gown glowed like a signal fire, giving away exactly what she’d been up to. A good thing she was so tiny. If he kept them out of direct candlelight they might pass inspection. His larger frame would hide most of the dust on her nightgown. His breath hissed out as he saw something else illuminated by the candlelight.

  Her breasts.

  Lucien squeezed his eyes shut but the vision remained imprinted in his mind. “Hell,” he muttered. He placed his candle on the floor and stepped away from her intoxicating scent. The floral perfume was driving him crazy, making him think things he had no right to think.

  “What is it?” she whispered, closing the gap between them.

  Lucien groaned under his breath. “Nothing. Be quiet. I’m trying to listen.”

  The footsteps came closer. Damn. He’d have to…

  The person paused, probably when whoever it was saw them. Lucien looked down at Rosalind. Her face was barely discernible in the dim light, but his mind filled in the details. Rosalind had eyes the color of a pale blue forget-me-not, lips rosy as a freshly picked apple, and a determined chin and heart-stirring smile.

  His head lowered. He heard her small gasp and smelled the warm womanly scent of her. Then his lips covered hers. He drank in her second gasp of surprise, his hand curving behind her head to draw her closer. Just one taste while they let their silent watcher draw his or her own conclusions. But one taste only fed his growing hunger. One more kiss, and then he’d stop.

  “Cuz, don’t you know they have bedrooms for that sort of thing?” Warm amusement colored Charles’s voice.

  Lucien loosened his hold on Rosalind. Blood thrummed through his veins. He hadn’t felt so alive for months, and the realization galled him. He took a step back before he allowed himself to glance at Rosalind. Even though she’d managed an impassive face, he sensed the yearning, the need to take the kiss a step further. He forced himself to think of Francesca and his plans to find her killer before returning to his estates in Italy.

  “Am I interrupting?” Charles cocked a brow and puffed on his pip
e, sending a cloud of smoke into the air.

  Irritation and a dose of self-recrimination bubbled inside Lucien. Of course he was, and Charles knew it. Lucien bit back a curse, knowing he should feel thankful his cousin had come along to interrupt what would’ve been an irretrievable step. He frowned. Still, damned odd that Charles had appeared at that exact moment, especially since his chambers were in the opposite wing.

  Lucien picked up his candle and shone it in Charles’s direction. “What are you doing here?”

  Charles glanced at Rosalind and visibly hesitated.

  “Well?”

  “I’ve been…visiting,” Charles said in a low voice.

  “Visiting whom?” Rosalind piped up.

  Lucien’s anger abated as he smothered a laugh. Charles had come from the direction of the servants’ quarters and no doubt a warm bed. A simple explanation.

  Lucien decided to take pity on him. “Charles is friendly with some of the servants. Sometimes they play cards or the dice.”

  “Oh,” Rosalind said.

  “What are you doing up so late?” Charles asked.

  “We couldn’t sleep so we went for a walk in the gardens.” He curled an arm around Rosalind’s waist and drew her against his side, taking care to keep her from Charles’s full scrutiny. Touching her felt natural. Right. Think of Francesca, he told himself with a surge of panic. He pictured her face easily enough, but the look of approval on her smiling face threw him.

  “I’ll bid you good night then.” With a bow, Charles sauntered away.

  “What do you think?” Rosalind whispered.

  Lucien looked down at her intent face. So, she’d thought Charles’s explanation strange too. The woman was astute as well as persistent. And a menace to his mission. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “The servants’ rooms are in the direction he came from.”

  “But you don’t know for sure. We should check in the morning. Ask a few questions.”

  She was right. But he didn’t see Charles as a killer. The man seemed foppish with his love of lace and cosmetics. “Come,” he said. “It’s late. I’ll escort you to your chamber.”

  “But don’t you wish to explore the passage?”

  “Not now. In the morning.”

  She accepted his arm and nodded. “That makes sense. I can’t wait to see where it leads.”

  Lucien halted to nail her with a glare. “It’s too dangerous for you. I’ll do the exploring.” The thought of her wandering alone in the passages made his blood run cold. He’d stake his life the passage connected with the smugglers’ tunnels at the beach and perhaps the North Tower. It was the only thing that made sense. All the booty he’d discovered during his explorations had disappeared between one visit and his next. He knew for a fact the contraband didn’t leave via sea or along the beach. That left only one alternative.

  “That’s not fair. I discovered the passage.”

  Now was not the time to argue. He took Rosalind’s arm and propelled her to her chamber. Get rid of her. Go and investigate now, before the smugglers discover someone has breached the passage. A snort escaped. Hell, who was he trying to fool? Each minute spent with Rosalind was a test of willpower. One taste of her lips left him craving more.

  At Rosalind’s chamber, he opened the door and stood back for her to enter.

  “I don’t believe it,” she muttered.

  Lucien followed her gaze. The room and its contents were in a shambles. Her belongings covered the floor, the bedding ripped from the bed, the sheets shredded as if someone had thrown a temper tantrum.

  Rosalind stomped inside her room. She rotated to face him, her face a mask of fury. “This is the second time tonight. That’s why I never returned with the salve for your face. The maids and I spent almost two hours clearing the mess.” She screwed up her face and, alarmed, Lucien wondered if she was going to cry. “The only gown I own is the one I wore tonight. All the others were shredded.” She swiped a hand over her face.

  Damn. She was going to cry. What was he going to do with a weepy female?

  “Where am I going to sleep?” she demanded with a sniff. “It’s so late, I can’t ring for a maid again.”

  “You can sleep in my room.” Lucien stilled as he registered his words. He’d said them without forethought, but he could hardly take them back now.

  “In your room?”

  “Yes,” he said gruffly. He headed for the connecting door, holding the candle to light the way while he unlocked it. Allowing Rosalind in his chamber was a bad idea. On the threshold, he hesitated. Rosalind didn’t seem to notice his diffidence as she surveyed his private rooms.

  “What will I sleep in?” she asked.

  His mind groped for an acceptable answer. “One of my shirts?” he finally suggested.

  Her smile made his heart beat a little faster. “Thank you.”

  Lucien shook himself mentally and crossed the Persian carpet to the door of his dressing room. Minutes later, he produced a white linen shirt. He paused in consternation. Rosalind was eyeing his bed with fascination. He felt a tinge of amusement as he jerked his gaze away. Just wait until she notices the cavorting nymphs.

  “Where will you sleep?”

  “There’s a couch in my dressing room.”

  Before he could speak, Rosalind darted into the dressing room. “You can’t sleep on that. The mattress is as hard as an oak tree.”

  Lucien sighed. She was going to be difficult. He just knew it.

  “Your bed is big enough for two.”

  Did she have to point that out?

  A plaintive meow sounded from the other side of the connecting door, saving him from a reply.

  “It’s Noir,” Rosalind said.

  Lucien grabbed the chance to escape, if only for a few minutes. “I’ll get him.” He unlocked the connecting door, spied the kitten by Rosalind’s bed, and played chase for several minutes. Finally, he cornered the kitten and returned to his bedroom at a much slower pace. Share the bed. He wasn’t ready for this. Not at all.

  Visions raced through his head without warning, visions that had little to do with sleeping. He paused, shocked at his thoughts. “Hell’s teeth,” he muttered.

  He set the kitten down on the floor and tried to think when his feelings had shifted. The change had been subtle and sneaked up on him. He might feel an attraction for her, but that didn’t mean he had to follow his inclinations.

  “I changed in your dressing room.” Rosalind walked to the bed without the slightest bit of hesitation, her legs bare to his gaze.

  And he looked. He couldn’t help it. His blood roared through his veins, his heart stuttering before resuming a rapid tattoo. Hands itched to touch her generous curves.

  Her legs were long and slender for such a tiny thing. She perched on the edge of his bed and calmly unbound her hair. Pale golden locks fell over her shoulders one by one, glinting in the light of the second candle she’d lit while he was away.

  “Which side should I sleep on?” Her voice sounded matter-of-fact, as if they’d done this a thousand times before.

  Lucien grimaced, still hesitating while Rosalind finished loosening her hair and pulled back the covers. His gaze fastened on her legs and never moved until they disappeared under the covers.

  “Shall I blow the candle out?”

  Lucien cleared his throat. “No, I’ll take it to the dressing room with me.”

  “You are coming back?” She patted the space on the feather mattress beside her. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  How long until morning?

  Lucien tugged at the neck of his linen shirt, trying to ease the tightness as he stared at the English mouse in bemusement. It felt a bit like a hangman’s noose, he thought with a flash of black humor.

  “Well?”

  She was pushy and oblivious to fear. Lucien still couldn’t get past the fact his scarred face did nothing to scare her off. Most women turned away when they spied his damaged che
ek. Even men averted their gaze, but not his English mouse.

  He felt the weight of a stare and knew she was watching him. Again. Slowly, he turned. Her lips looked soft and pink in the candlelight. The taste of her mouth simmered in his memory.

  “You need sleep,” he murmured, still eyeing her lips and feeling unbearably tempted. “You’ll rest better if I sleep in the dressing room.” With that decided, he stepped toward his dressing room.

  He couldn’t leave! She wouldn’t let him. Not when she was so close to finding out what went on between a man and wife in their bedroom. There had to be more than sleeping in the same room. She tossed back the covers and jumped off the bed. He was not sleeping in the dressing room.

  Rosalind seized his arm and planted her feet on the floor like an anchor. Her hand connected with the warm, smooth skin of his wrist.

  “Don’t go.”

  Images formed immediately, and she let them flow. Embraced them and was pleasantly surprised. Instead of the face of the woman, she saw her own. Rosalind closed her eyes, concentrating hard, savoring the vision. Her heart sang at the victory, although it was a small one.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” Lucien’s voice was tortured. She felt a tinge of shame, but not enough to halt the fight for her marriage or her determination to jolt Lucien from his lonely corner. She was alone too. They needed each other. Her hand dropped from his arm. “You’re my husband.”

  “I’m not a good husband.” Lucien turned to her. His face blazed with passion, with pain. “I was married before.” His voice caught and she saw his throat work.

  From her visions, she knew of the other woman, but actually hearing him talk of his wife made her seem more real and a threat. A spurt of jealousy raced through Rosalind, but not enough to kill her thirst for knowledge freely given. “What happened?”