TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
THE
SECOND
SEDUCTION
SHELLEY MUNRO
Gold Imprint
Medallion Press, Inc.
Florida, USA
Dedication:
For Paul.
Your love encourages me to strive for dreams.
Published 2005 by Medallion Press, Inc.
225 Seabreeze Ave.
Palm Beach, FL 33480
The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO
is a registered tradmark of Medallion Press, Inc.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this
book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the
publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment
from this “stripped book.”
Copyright © 2005 by Shelley Munro
Cover Illustration by Adam Mock
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Munro, Shelley.
The second seduction / Shelley Munro.
p. cm.
ISBN 1-932815-19-8
1. Arranged marriage--Fiction. 2. Women healers--Fiction.
3. Nobility--Fiction. 4. Widowers--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3613.U6926S43 2005
813ΚΌ.6--dc22
2005009729
THE
SECOND
SEDUCTION
SHELLEY MUNRO
I
East Sussex, England, 1720.
Lucien studied the elderly man standing by the window—
the man who claimed him as son.
Th
e family, the faithful servants, all backed up the Earl
of St. Clare’s assertion, but the role didn’t feel right. Not to
Lucien. Living in the gloomy pile of rocks they called Castle
St. Clare made him edgy. Uneasy.
Th
ey were mistaken.
He was not the Earl of St. Clare’s son.
Th
e idea was laughable. Him, the long lost heir, Viscount
Hastings. He recalled none of what they told him.
“Hastings, the carriage is coming.” Th
e earl stepped away
from the window. “Your betrothed has arrived.”
SHELLEY MUNRO
Lucien rose from a square-backed chair and fl icked the
lace at his cuff s. “My name is Lucien.”
Th
e earl ruffl
ed up like a feisty bantam cock. “Stuff and
nonsense! You were christened George. If it’s good enough for
the King, it’s good enough for you.”
Lucien strolled past shelves of books and paused to fi nger
an amber fi gurine from the Orient. From what he’d heard
since his arrival in England, people disapproved of the King
e man didn’t even speak Eng-
lish. Lucien looked the earl straight in the eye. “My name is
Lucien,” he repeated, his tone implacable and determined.
“Lucien. Not George. Not Hastings.”
“Dammit, boy. You have the look of the forebears.
Why do you persist with your gainsaying?” Th
e Earl of St.
Clare’s voice held a trace of pleading. “Can’t you see it in
the family portraits?”
Lucien grimaced. If he studied the portraits with one eye
shut and the other squinted, certainly there were similarities.
He replaced the fi gurine and stalked across a blue Persian rug
to gaze out a window overlooking the courtyard.
Th
e study door fl ew open. Lucien whirled then relaxed when
the honorable Charles Soulden bounded in. “Hastings . . .” He
faltered as he intercepted Lucien’s glare. “I mean, Lucien! Th
e
carriage comes with your betrothed.”
2
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“So I’m told.” Lucien sauntered toward Charles, his
newly discovered cousin. “By all means,” he murmured. “Let
us greet the woman brave enough to wed me . . . the man
with no memory.”
Th
e carriage swayed and bounced over the uneven road.
With each successive pothole, the driver cursed more color-
fully. Rosalind gripped a carriage strap, the excessive jolting
doing nothing for her frazzled nerves. At the completion of
this journey, she would meet her betrothed — for the fi rst
time. Questions pounded inside her head. Would he like her?
And would he accept her, despite her . . . faults?
Beside Rosalind, her childhood friend and maidservant,
Mary, pressed her nose to the carriage window. “Oh, miss! I
think we’re almost there.”
Rosalind tensed at the news. She forced a smile then bit
back a cry of alarm as the carriage lurched. Grabbing the seat
to avoid a tumble to the fl oor, she righted herself and slid
along the seat toward Mary. “Can you see Castle St. Clare?”
She peered out the dusty window.
A snarling gargoyle appeared inches from their faces.
Rosalind’s breath escaped with a horrifi ed gasp. Beside her,
3
SHELLEY MUNRO
Mary trembled and jerked away from the window.
She clutched at Rosalind’s forearm, her voice rising to a
squeak. “Miss Rosalind, do you think we should turn around
and return to Stow-on-the-Wold?”
Mary’s dread, her frenzied thoughts, bombarded Rosalind
and she shrugged from her maid’s grip to break the connection.
“Th
e earl is expecting us, Mary. We can’t go back.”
Th
ey sped past a rundown gatehouse, the carriage jolt-
ing from one pothole to the next. As they clattered through
a stone gateway, Rosalind glimpsed the gargoyle’s twin. It
leered from atop a stone wall and seemed alive, as if it could
step from its granite prison on a whim.
Th
e carriage made a sharp swing to the right, the coach-
man cursing his team of straining horses as the gradient
increased sharply. Th
e whip cracked. Without warning, the
interior of the carriage turned pitch black. Mary yelped and
clutched at Rosalind again.
Rosalind swallowed her gasp, rearranged the skirts of her
best blue
and gold-trimmed riding habit, and patted Mary
on the arm.
“It’s all right,” she soothed, yet the hand hidden in her
skirts trembled. For a moment, the temptation to turn back
teased at her, then she recalled the situation she’d return to
— relations who resented her presence. Th
e reality pushed
4
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
aside her fears. Ugly gargoyles or not, she silently vowed to
continue her journey.
An object scraped along the carriage sides, sending a
shiver down her spine. Mary’s piercing shriek echoed within
the confi nes of the enclosed space. Goosebumps rose on
Rosalind’s arms. Her gaze whipped about the carriage. Th
e
noise repeated with an eerie echo.
“Hush, Mary,” Rosalind snapped, her heart pounding
so loudly she could barely hear herself think. Mustering
every shred of courage, she pressed her nose to the cold glass
of the window.
Th
tunity to seize a secure future. Rosalind, the affl
icted one,
the one the people of Stow-on-the-Wold whispered would
never catch a husband. Th
e cousin destined to stay on the
shelf. Th
is was her chance to prove them all wrong. Despite
her accursed gift.
Leaves swept against the windows, followed by the same
scraping sound. Th
e cold knot of fear in her stomach twisted.
A fl ash of ghostly fi ngers waved before her startled eyes. A
branch. Th
at was surely a branch. Th
e fear clogging her throat
lessened, and she relaxed against the plush cushions of the St.
Clare coach with a tremulous sigh of relief.
“It’s a branch,” she said to Mary. “We are driving along an
5
SHELLEY MUNRO
avenue of trees. I fear they need trimming to let in the sunlight.”
“Are you sure, Miss Rosalind?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Rosalind made her voice fi rm
and decisive. “Look out the window. You can make out the
branches if you look hard enough.” As she spoke, the dark-
ness in the carriage lifted. Th
en they were in daylight again.
“Th
ere, what did I tell you?”
Mary grabbed her arm. She tugged. Frantically. “Miss.
Miss. Look!”
Rosalind turned. Her mouth dropped open. Th
is was
where she was to live? She swallowed as she studied the for-
tress that perched on the cliff top like a menacing monolith.
Th
e castle was built of stone, solid and strong to withstand
the winds that howled across the English Channel. Arrow
slits glared like malignant eyes. Hardly the welcoming home
she had envisioned.
“We’re almost there,” Mary announced. “I can see the
gate and the courtyard beyond.” She turned to Rosalind,
her eyes huge brown rounds in her freckled face. “Th
ere are
people waiting to meet us.”
Uncertainties assailed Rosalind, threatening her fragile
composure. Repeated swallowing did little to clear the lump
in her throat. Th
ey said Hastings was mad. Perhaps she should
have refused to marry him, but she had promised her uncle.
6
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Th
e papers had been signed when her cousin, Miranda, and
she were babes. One of them had to marry Hastings. Miranda
had fl atly refused so it was up to her to fulfi ll family obliga-
tions. At least she would have a home of her own. Her hands
crept up to check that her lacy cap sat straight. Th
at was what
she wanted, wasn’t it? A home of her own. A husband, and if
she was fortunate, lots of chubby, laughing babies.
Security.
“Whoa, there!” the coachman bellowed. A horse snorted.
Harness jangled, then came a piercing screech as the coach-
man hauled on the brake to halt the ponderous carriage.
Th
e door fl ew open, and a footman dressed in green livery
placed a step down for them to alight. Rosalind pushed aside
her apprehension, swept up her skirts in one hand and placed
her other into the footman’s to descend. She released his hand
instantly. Seconds later, Mary exited and stood beside her,
blinking in the early afternoon sun.
Th
e earl, much older than she recalled, bowed before
her. Tall and thin with stooped shoulders, his clothing hung
loosely while his powdered wig drew attention to his extreme
pallor. “Lady Rosalind, it is good to see you again.”
Rosalind sank into a deep curtsey, her eyes modestly low-
ered to hide her sudden nervousness. Her betrothed was here,
standing right behind his father, but she was too frightened
7
SHELLEY MUNRO
to look. Her cousin’s frenzied words rang through her mind.
Viscount Hastings was an ogre. A beast.
Th
e earl interrupted her panic. “Child, let me look at you.”
Rosalind straightened and met the frank gaze of the elderly
earl. “Lady Rosalind, you have the look of your grandmother.”
She smiled. “Th
ank you, my lord. I count that a compli-
ment indeed.”
Certainly, her grandmother had been the one person
who understood how Rosalind felt, since she suff ered from
the same family affl
iction. Rosalind had found the past three
years since her grandmother’s death diffi
cult and lonely.
Th
e earl urged her forward. “Let me introduce you to my
son and nephew. You will meet my sister, Lady Augusta, later.”
A chill swept through Rosalind and her lashes lowered to
screen her fears. Th
e moment she had both looked forward to
and dreaded — the fi rst meeting with her betrothed.
“May I present my son, Viscount Hastings, and my
nephew, Charles Soulden?”
Viscount Hastings thrust out a hand, and Rosalind
placed her trembling one in his, wishing she had remem-
bered to pull on her gloves. It was too late to worry now.
She sank into another curtsey, too nervous to look up at his
face. She registered his size fi rst and then a number of erratic
pictures fl ickered through her mind. She shoved them away,
8
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
concentrating on the tangible man. He towered above her by
a good ten inches, making her acutely aware of her own lack
in that area.
Th
e calloused hand that held hers tightened, and Rosa-
lind looked up, startled. Her breath caught when she saw her
betrothed clearly. Clad in a somber black jacket and breeches,
and dark as she imagined the devil, he disdained the fashion-
able wigs and powder the other men wore. Instead, his hair
tumbled in loose, disheveled curls about his head. His face
was tanned, as if he spent many hours outside under
the sun.
But what really caught her attention was the angry scar that
slashed his face, running from just below his left eye to his
jaw. Puckered and red, it drew the eye.
Rosalind swallowed and looked away, but her gaze
clashed with that of her betrothed before she could politely
withdraw. His eyes were a mahogany brown, so dark they
were almost black, and they openly mocked her reaction.
Confusion and embarrassment fought within her. She
tensed under his sardonic gaze. She’d known the viscount
had suff ered an injury while on Grand Tour in Italy. Th
e
gossip of his miraculous return from the dead had spread rap-
idly through the ballrooms of London. Her stomach churned
uneasily, and she averted her eyes to the weathered gray wall
that surrounded the courtyard.
9
SHELLEY MUNRO
“Lady Rosalind, enchanted I’m sure.” Hastings’ low,
gravelly voice sent a surge of alarm through her veins.
She inclined her head and valiantly tried to hide her agi-
tation, but she suspected few fooled Hastings. “Th
ank you,
my lord.”
Sensations bombarded her mind, fragments of pictures,
pieces of a larger puzzle. Th
ey were faint at the moment, but
she knew from experience more details would come with
time. A frustrated scream lodged in her throat. She tugged
to free her hand, but he held fast. Why now? Why her be-
trothed? She’d thought — hoped — her betrothed would be
one of the people for whom her accursed gift did not work.
She had felt nothing when she touched the Earl of St. Clare.
Th
e picture of a woman formed in her mind. Dressed
in a fl owing white gown with a tumble of dark curls about
her shoulders, she walked arm in arm with a man. Rosalind
gasped. Her left hand clutched her skirt, and she yanked her
right from her betrothed’s grasp. Th
e man she saw in her mind
was her betrothed, and the woman with him was heavy with
child. She fanned her face vigorously, fi ghting for control. “It
is hot today.”
“Come inside, Rosalind,” the earl said. “You must be
tired after your long journey.”
“Yes,” she said, still aware of the viscount’s mocking
10
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
countenance. Her chin rose. “I am a little weary.”
“Allow me.” Hastings off ered his arm. Rosalind caught
the beaming smile on the earl’s face as he and Charles Soul-
den turned toward a fl ight of stairs leading inside the castle.
“It’s not too late to call off the wedding,” the viscount