“Yes, getting into mischief,” she murmured, trying to
keep her tone stern, but failing dismally when Noir licked
her hand. “I’ve no idea how you escape from my chamber.
Mary swears the door is shut.”
Th
e kitten meowed in answer.
“Yes, I think Mary is frightened of you.” She smoothed
one hand over the kitten’s glossy black coat. “Mary thinks
you’re a witch’s cat too, because of your extra toes, your yellow
eyes, and your black coat. Luckily, I’ve managed to keep the
other maids from studying you too closely.”
Th
e wind wailed outside. Her candle fl ickered. In the
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distance, a shutter banged. Rosalind shivered. Another quick
squall pelted against the castle, blowing in from the sea
without warning. Th
e candle fl ame fl uttered and died. Th
e
chamber plunged into darkness.
“Bother.” After she’d been pushed from her bed, she’d
taken to sleeping with a candle lighting the room, or trying
to. Th
e blessed things kept blowing out. A chill crawled
along her arms and a swooping, hollow sensation danced in
her stomach. She stumbled toward her bed and placed the
kitten down out of harm’s way, every sense alert. Th
e dark-
ness seemed to pulse and reach out for her like a living being;
whispers of evil slithered over her skin leaving dozens of
goose bumps.
A creak drew a loud gasp. Was that a footstep? She swal-
lowed, each breath sounding deafening to her ears. A soft
rustle made her freeze. Was that the bed curtains? A footfall
on the rug?
Rosalind fumbled her way along the length of the four-
poster bed to a walnut dresser. She groped for another candle.
Fingers worked like thumbs as she struggled to light the taper.
A loud squeak behind made her jump. Her head jerked.
A breeze whispered against her cheek, and the candle blew
out again. Rosalind smelled a whiff of the sea and something
else . . . Tobacco?
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Noir’s distant meow galvanized her to action. She needed
a candle lit. Now.
“I’m not imagining things,” she muttered. “I’m not.” Her
hand trembled as she struggled to produce light. Someone
was inside the chamber with her. Another meow sounded as
the fl ame on the candle fi nally fl ared to life. Rosalind held
the candlestick aloft, every nerve in her body screaming to
run. But, she held fast. Rosalind intended to show Hastings
the specters at Castle St. Clare were not the product of an
over-active imagination. Th
ere was mischief afoot, and no
matter how terrifi ed, she wanted to prove it.
“Noir? Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” Rosalind crept about
her chamber searching for her pet. He was here somewhere.
Right now, she craved contact with him to help steady her
jangling nerves.
Rosalind searched every corner, under her bed, and in
her dressing room. Finally, she came to the only possible
conclusion.
Noir was no longer in the room even though all the doors
were fi rmly closed.
A plaintive meow attracted Lucien’s attention. He paused in
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the passage that led to his chamber. A black creature fl itted
under the oak table in an alcove. Rosalind’s kitten. A slow
smile spread across his face as he watched the kitten bat a dust
mote along the ground. Th
e kitten sidled closer, then pounced.
His whiskers twitched a second before a sneeze exploded.
Lucien chuckled and scooped the kitten up in one hand,
cradling it to his chest and smoothing his thumb over its
furry head. A loud purr fi lled the silent passage.
“I think Rosalind might miss you,” Lucien murmured.
Th
e kitten rubbed his head against Lucien’s thumb, silently
demanding the stroking recommence.
Lucien strode down the silent passage to Rosalind’s
tween the two rooms — a connecting door that remained
fi rmly shut. So much for Lord St. Clare’s hope to bounce a
grandchild on his knee. Pain spiked through Lucien’s heart.
His unborn child had died along with Francesca. He would
never have another.
Lucien pounded on the door. Footsteps sounded, then
the door cracked open enough for the person on the other
side to peer out.
“Hastings.” Th
e gap between the door and the frame
widened abruptly. “Hastings,” she repeated, her expression
one of amazement and apprehension.
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
As Lucien watched, her right hand darted out to smooth
her hair. She moistened her lips.
“Ah, come in,” she murmured, standing aside to let him
enter.
Th
e delicate blush on her cheeks, visible even in candle-
light made him freeze. An internal alarm clanged and his
scar tightened as he grimaced. A tic started under one eye.
“I’ve come to return your kitten.” He spoke harshly, unable
to believe the thoughts darting across the English mouse’s
face. Unconceivable! Th
at she would think . . . His brows
pinched together. Good God. Th
e woman . . . Th
e last thing
he wanted was to bed the scrawny English mouse. “Here.” He
thrust the kitten at her.
“Don’t you want children?” she blurted, taking the kitten
without touching him. Her cheeks glowed a fi ery red, but she
met his scowl unfl inchingly.
“No! I do not want children. ” Judging by the pained look
on her face, he’d hurt her feelings. Unable to bear a sudden
onslaught of guilt, Lucien spun around and reached the door
in two steps. It clicked shut behind him, sounding abnor-
mally loud. He winced. Hell’s teeth! All he’d done was act
civilly, and straight away she’d made assumptions. Th
e Eng-
lish mouse and Lady Helena both in the same night.
Tension tightened his muscles while anger made him
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SHELLEY MUNRO
long to strike out — a wall, a man, anything to dispel the
strain galloping through his body. His decision to keep a
careful watch on his wife no longer seemed wise, not when
his attentions made her jump to conclusions. Already, the
woman featured too prominently in his thoughts.
Lucien shuddered and started for his room before
abruptly changing both his mind and direction. If he re-
tired for the night, he’d have trouble sleeping or worse, have
nightmares again. He might as well go to the cove and search
for smuggler activity. Not all the men were masked. Lucien
wanted to fi nd an inconspicuous place to watch a shipment
being unloaded. Hopefully, he’d recognize some of the locals
that were involved and be able to work out the weakest link,
the man he could break or bribe and receive some straight
answers about Hawk. Th
e man had appeared mysteriously
six months ago, from what he could gather. Th
ere must be
someone who knew more.
He glanced out a nearby window. Th
e sickle moon was
shrouded with thick cloud. Th
e night appeared perfect for
smugglers, and Lucien was not about to pass up a chance to
fi nd the elusive Hawk.
138
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“Ah, Lady Rosalind. We meet again.”
Rosalind’s head jerked up as a man’s voice cut into her
frenzied thoughts. Mr. Soulden. Cousin Charles, she remind-
ed herself. He sauntered toward her, a slim and fashionable
fi gure in a white shirt, a heavily embroidered lavender waist-
coat and matching breeches, his wig a lighter hue of lavender.
Quite the gentleman; he should have looked out of place
amongst the wild, overgrown hedges and gardens, but didn’t.
Rosalind returned his smile even though she had never felt
less like smiling in her life. Not after Hastings’ fi rm rebuttal
of last night.
Don’t think of it, she told herself fi rmly, but Hastings’
stern words continued to rattle around inside her head, echo-
ing until she wanted to scream. Plain and blunt, his words
and the underlying sentiment had sliced like a dagger, cutting
wounds that went deep. Rosalind wanted to crawl away and
tend her injuries in private; she did not want company. She
considered waving and continuing with her walk, but decided
it wouldn’t do to upset the only person who had extended
the hand of friendship since her arrival. Now that Mary had
found someone, a man she spent her free time with, Rosalind
was often alone.
Lonely.
Th
e smile felt stiff and foreign on her lips, more a
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SHELLEY MUNRO
grimace than anything, but it was the best she could do.
She inclined her head in greeting as Charles picked his way
around a haphazard bed of purple and white petunias and
stopped before her.
“Cousin Charles,” she murmured.
“Might I escort you on a turn about the garden?” he
asked, the corners of his mouth quirking upward as if invit-
ing her to share in a private joke. “It is a glorious day.”
Her grimace never faltered. “I’m afraid I’m wandering
aimlessly, without real purpose.”
His blond brows arched, and he indicated the drawing
materials she held with a languid hand. “Can I not help you
fi nd the perfect bloom to paint, the perfect pastoral scene?”
His unfailing good spirits made guilt surface. And even
though Rosalind felt like moping alone, she decided to make
an eff ort. “I thought of painting the sea. Not that I am a
gifted artist. It is something to do out of doors.”
“I’ve noticed you try to avoid Aunt Augusta,” he inserted,
his smile turning sly.
Rosalind’s gasp was instant and loud in the silence of the
garden. “No, I don’t!” Th
e defensive note she heard in her
voice drew a frown. It was true. She avoided Lady Augusta as
much as she shunned mice. In fact, if the truth be told, she
would prefer to face an unpredictable mouse.
140
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“Let me take your drawing materials for you.” Charles
tucked her hand in the crook of his free arm, and by common
consent they wandered down an overgrown path that led to
the far end of the formal part of the garden.
“I am not avoiding Lady Augusta,” Rosalind said, break-
ing the silence that had fallen between them. At least she’d
done one thing right in her panic to leave the castle without
seeing Lady Augusta. Her gloves were in place, protecting her
hands against thorns and possible visions.
“I’m not accusing you of anything.” He fl ashed a grin.
“When Aunt Augusta gets in one of her moods, there is no
gainsaying her.”
Incredulity jerked Rosalind from dark thoughts of her
marriage. Lady Augusta was always in a mood. Th
e woman
was cranky and outright obnoxious. Nothing Rosalind did
pleased her, which was why she’d escaped outside. “I’ve no-
ticed she never snaps at you.”
“You didn’t hear her this morning.”
Rosalind sighed. “Probably after she found me absent.”
“No, she never mentioned you. I was in the fi ring line
today. According to Aunt Augusta, I spend far too much time
gadding around the countryside. I need to settle down with
someone of her choice. Unfortunately, her choices don’t fi nd
much favor with me. Last one giggled and the one before had
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SHELLEY MUNRO
teeth that would look better in a horse.” He shuddered and
patted Rosalind’s arm. “Go on, give me a smile. Don’t let
Aunt Augusta wear you down.”
His sympathetic words made tears build at the back of
her eyes. Rosalind looked down at the path glad when it nar-
rowed to the point they could no longer walk side by side. She
blinked fi ercely trying to keep the tears at bay. She’d been a
fool to think that marriage was the answer to her problems.
Before marriage, the dream of children and family was im-
possible, but now it was equally improbable because Hastings
refused to acknowledge her. He was frequently absent from
the castle, sometimes for days. When present, he chose to
ignore her.
Th
e path widened, and Charles took possession of
her arm again. Unbidden, a tear trickled down her face. It
splashed onto Charles’ shirtsleeve and was immediately fol-
lowed by another.
“Do you know where Hastings is?” Charles asked.
A sob broke free. “No.” As if he’ d tell her where he was
going.
Charles stopped walking without warning, dragging
Rosalind to a halt. He peered at her in astonishment. “Are
you crying?”
“No.”
142
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“You are. What’s wrong?”
Rosalind sniff ed. “I’m not crying.”
Charles grasped her upper arms and reached out to trace
one fi nger across Rosalind’s cheekbone. Th
e sun glinted on
the teardrop sitting on his fi nger. “Crying, just as I suspected.
What’s wrong?” he murmured. “Would you like me to fi nd
Hastings for you?”
“No!”
“No?”
“Hastings is busy. I don’t want to bother him.”
Charles stepped closer and gently wiped her cheeks with
the back of his hand, a soft smile of sympathy on his face.
He was close enough for Rosalind to smell him: the faint
scent of shaving soap, the rice powder that coated his wig,
and cloves and cinnamon on his clothes. He drew her closer
still until her
cheek rested on his waistcoat, the silver em-
broidery scratchy on her skin. His hand smoothed down her
back. After resisting for an instant, Rosalind relaxed into his
comforting embrace.
“From what I hear, marriage is not an easy thing. Since
his return from Europe I have found George changed.”
“Don’t you mean Lucien?” Rosalind asked.
Charles chuckled. “Yes, of course. Lucien, as he prefers
to be known.”
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SHELLEY MUNRO
Rosalind sniff ed and pulled far enough away that she
was able to see Charles’ face. “How has he changed? What
was he like as a boy?”
“I arrived at Castle St. Clare after my parents died in a
carriage accident. St. Clare and Lady Augusta treated me like
another son and Hastings and his best friend, Justin, treated
me like a brother. Th
e three of us were inseparable, always in
scrapes but always a threesome. We went on our Grand Tour
together. St. Clare hired a tutor, and the three of us started
on our big adventure.”
As Rosalind watched, Charles seemed to drift back into
the past. She touched his arm to regain his attention. “What
happened?” Although she’d heard rumors, she needed facts
from someone who knew fi rsthand.
Charles blinked the past away. “We were in Italy. After
spending time in Florence, we traveled down the coast in-
tending to visit the ruins at Pompeii. We were in Naples at a
tavern. Justin and I decided to leave early and return to our
rooms. Massey, our tutor came with us, but Lucien had met a
woman and he stayed. It was a huge joke to us all.” He paused
and coughed. “Not fi t for a woman’s ears really.”
“Go on,” Rosalind urged. “Please, I’d like to know.”
“It was a contest between us, as most things were. A game.”
“A contest about women?”
144
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
A trace of red fl irted with his cheekbones and he grinned
crookedly. “Ah, yes. Lucien wanted to win.”
“So, he stayed on at the tavern.”
“We never saw him again. None of us worried until late
the next afternoon. We searched for days. Th
e woman was
the last person to see him. We questioned her, but she was
unable to help. Th
ey spent most of the night together, parting
in the early hours of the morning when it was still dark. It
was as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Were the people in the tavern questioned? Th