murmured.
Rosalind went cold inside. If she backed out of this wed-
ding, she would be a laughingstock. A failure. And she would
have no home.
No chubby, laughing babies.
Th
e gravel in the courtyard crunched underfoot, the only
sound breaking the sudden hush between them.
She would end up on the shelf, a charity case depending
on her uncle’s largesse. A shudder swept through her body at
the thought of being prey to her waspish aunt again. No. She
didn’t want that, which meant the wedding must go ahead.
Despite the fact the man walking at her side was in love with
another woman.
Lucien studied the young woman chosen for him by the
earl. Pretty enough, in a bland English way, but he’d need
to be dumb and blind not to realize she was frightened of
him. She’d turned as pale as his white linen shirt when she’d
noticed his scar. And she’d kept her gaze averted ever since,
preferring to study the crumbling North tower, the departure
11
SHELLEY MUNRO
of the carriage, the stable lads scurrying about. She watched
anything instead of him. Even now, her whole body trembled
with fear. If he made a loud noise, the woman would be off
running, probably screaming all the way back from whence
she’d come. Dammit, if he had to marry, he didn’t want to
marry a mouse. All he wanted was Francesca, and since she
was dead, he couldn’t have her. Th
e familiar burning pain of
loss seared through his chest. Francesca . . .
“No.” Her voice was barely audible above the pain that
roared through his head. “I will marry you.”
Surprise, nay, shock, made his brows shoot toward his
hairline. With eyes narrowed, he turned to study her face.
Dammit, if he hadn’t missed the stubbornness in her small
pointed chin. He cursed inwardly. At least he couldn’t be ac-
cused of marrying a copy of his deceased wife. Blond curls
peeked from beneath the lady’s lace cap, while pale blue eyes
shied from his gaze. She was petite, and very dissimilar from
Francesca’s dark, Junoesque beauty. He tried to imagine her
in the marriage bed and failed dismally. Time to play his
trump card. He continued with his lazy saunter, up a fl ight of
stairs into the Great Hall with the English mouse at his side.
“Th
ey say I’m mad,” he off ered, observing her reaction.
“Y . . . yes.” She stumbled at the fi nal step.
Ah, the girl had heard but remained set on her course. “I
12
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
have no memory of my past. Does that not disturb you?” She
said nothing, but Lucien found her transparent. Th
e rumors
bothered her. Th
en without warning, her generous mouth
fi rmed, her chin lifted defi antly, and her left hand screwed
up into a fi st, quickly hidden in her blue skirts.
She wasn’t going to change her mind.
An unwilling surge of admiration fi lled him. He shoved
it away. He wanted nothing to get in the way of his plan.
Someone had ordered the killing of his beloved Francesca.
Th
at someone must pay. Not only Francesca had died on
that dark night, but also his unborn child. Vengeance would
be his.
Lucien’s heart hardened. If Lady Rosalind wanted mar-
riage to Viscount Hastings, she would have it. After all, it
mattered little. Nothing mattered except revenge.
13
II
Rosalind sighed as she listened to the dinner table gossip
with half an ear. She counted the number of guests.
Twenty were dining tonight, and she had met most of them
earlier. Neighbors. Family friends invited to witness the
wedding nuptials.
Four burly footmen dressed in the green St. Clare livery
served with a calmness that Rosalind admired, given that the
earl’s sister, Lady Augusta, scowled so ferociously. A profu-
sion of candles illuminated the Royal dining room, creating
shadows and refl ecting in the sparkling glass and silverware.
Rosalind wrinkled her nose. Th
e perfume from an urn of
pink roses battled with the overpowering scent of the gentle-
on her nerves.
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“Have you heard about the Th
rockmorton girl?” a woman
in a dazzling yellow robe asked, her thin brows arching up in
a way that guaranteed she’d garner an enthralled audience.
“Do tell,” the bejeweled gentleman opposite cried, his
grin conspiratorial and eager.
Rosalind wanted to groan out loud. Th
e dinner to in-
troduce her to friends and neighbors was not turning out as
she’d expected. Th
ere were so many furtive whispers from
behind gloved hands and speculative stares from the gentle-
men. Her spine stiff ened. Th
ey were judging her — and fi nd-
ing her lacking.
“She’s not what I expected,” a young man whispered.
Rosalind glared down at her lap. Did they think she was
deaf? She was beginning to feel like one of the prize-winning
sheep from her uncle’s estate. She squirmed on her chair.
“Stop fi dgeting, girl,” Lady Augusta, the earl’s sister,
snapped, and she punctuated her words with a narrow-eyed
glare that made Rosalind freeze.
Rosalind battled straight out rebellion. She glanced the
length of the table. All the younger, more interesting guests
were seated at the other end, near Hastings and the Earl of
St. Clare. She was fi rmly ensconced next to Lady Augusta
and her friend, Lady Elizabeth. A part of her wondered if
it was a plot by Lady Augusta to assert her authority on the
15
SHELLEY MUNRO
newcomer. No doubt, a subtle scheme to put Rosalind in the
right and proper place.
She pushed a slice of stringy roast beef around her plate
and wished the night was over, that the wedding was over
and all the guests had left Castle St. Clare. She prodded at
a mystery lump with her fork and scowled down the table
at Hastings, but he never looked in her direction. Rosalind
picked up her glass of French wine and stared into the depths
of the ruby liquid. She set it down again with a soft sigh.
Lady Elizabeth laughed without warning. Rosalind
glanced up in time to catch the speculative look in the older
woman’s eyes. “Th
e gel won’t survive the marriage bed,” she
declared. “Doesn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive. Doesn’t
drink much either. Get some of that good smuggler’s wine
inside you, gel.”
Heat stung Rosalind’s cheeks when she intercepted the
amused glances from those seated within hearing distance.
She speared a morsel of jugged hare, placed it in her mouth,
and chewed stoically.
“Enough, Elizabeth,” Lady Augusta snapped. “T
h
at’s
hardly a proper topic for dinner conversation.”
“It’s true,” Lady Elizabeth said, unperturbed by her
friend’s censure. She directed a query further down the table.
“What do you say, Charles? Th
is latest batch of wine from the
16
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
smugglers should build the gel’s strength.”
Her rusty cackle set Rosalind’s nerves even more on
edge. Th
e pounding in her head intensifi ed, and she gave up
all pretence of eating.
A feminine titter at the other end of the table made her
wince. It was bad enough that Lady Elizabeth shouted for
those in the neighboring village to hear, but for Lady Helena
to hear and laugh was beyond embarrassing. Rosalind
watched Lady Helena place her hand on Hastings’ arm. Her
eyes narrowed at the familiar action. Th
at was her betrothed
Lady Helena was fl irting with!
Rosalind bit back a nasty word, one she’d overheard the
coachman use during the journey to St. Clare. Naively, she
had presumed her betrothal would be a time of celebration,
of giddy happiness. Not for an instant had she thought her
betrothed would ignore her or suggest she cry off . She shud-
dered inwardly at the idea of returning to live with her uncle
and aunt. No, it was unthinkable.
Dinner continued on. Th
e footmen removed the table-
cloth. Dessert was served and consumed.
Finally, Lady Augusta stood. “We will leave the men to
their port and pipes.”
Rosalind trailed after the rest of the women as they wan-
dered through to the Chinese drawing room. She chose an
17
SHELLEY MUNRO
upright chair, as far away from the roaring fi re as she could,
and tried to look inconspicuous. Lady Augusta waited for the
ladies to settle then glanced around at the expectant faces.
“Lady Rosalind, you may entertain us while I pour tea.”
Rosalind wanted to refuse. She hated to play the harp-
sichord. Always had. She hesitated, hoping one of the other
women would off er, releasing her from obligation.
But Lady Elizabeth shooed her toward the harpsichord.
“Go on, gel. Play. Something lively. Augusta, I hope you pur-
chased some tea from the latest shipment. Th
e last lot you
served up tasted like straw dipped in water.”
Several of the ladies tittered, and Rosalind noticed Lady
Augusta’s gloved hand tighten around the teapot.
“I serve nothing but the best at Castle St. Clare,” Lady
Augusta said in an icy tone. “Lady Rosalind, music, if you
please.”
Bowing to the inevitable, Rosalind settled behind the
harpsichord, drew off her gloves, and cast them aside. Th
ere
was a positive side to the situation. At least they hadn’t de-
manded she sing. Rosalind forced her lips to smile and ar-
ranged her skirts before running her hands over the keys.
About one third of the way through the Bach hymn, Rosalind
hit the wrong note.
A fl urry of whispers erupted. Rosalind bit her bottom
18
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
lip and looked up to see Lady Helena titter behind her fan.
She immediately struck another discordant note. Her heart
leapt as mortifi ed color gathered in her cheeks. Somehow,
she fumbled her way through the rest of the hymn, coming
to a crashing halt as the men fi led into the drawing room to
join them.
“Th
ank you,” Lady Augusta said. “Lady Helena, perhaps
you would care to take over?”
Rosalind slid off the stool and escaped toward the open
terrace doors that led out to the formal gardens at the rear of
the castle. A quick glance confi rmed no one would miss her,
and she stepped outside.
Th
e sky glowed softly, the color of deep blue, almost
black silk, neither day nor night but the time in between.
Rosalind inhaled and detected a hint of salt in the air. When
she passed the North tower, the muted surge of the waves
became audible. She followed a gravel path, lit at intervals by
torches, and savored the peace after the stuffi
ness and loud
chatter in the dining room.
As she rounded the sweeping curve of the path, Rosa-
lind paused to trail her hand over the foliage of a leafy green
hedge. A pungent aroma, peppery and spicy, rose when her
fi ngers crushed a leaf, and she realized she’d left her gloves
inside by the harpsichord.
19
SHELLEY MUNRO
“Th
ere you are. What kept you?” a harsh voice demanded.
Rosalind froze at the sound of voices coming from the
other side of the hedge.
“I had to wait for the courier, Hawk. He said to tell you
the shipment is due tomorrow night. On the tide.”
“About time,” the man called Hawk growled. “Notify
the men. We meet an hour before the tide. Go now, before
someone sees you.”
Smugglers? Not unusual in these times. Lady Elizabeth
had alluded to their presence at dinner and not ten minutes
ago. But even so, Rosalind instinctively hid, pressing against
the foliage, despite the branches jabbing through her silk
gown. It wouldn’t do for them to catch her eavesdropping.
Most people ignored smuggler operations since their presence
benefi ted everyone from villagers to the titled, but Rosalind
had heard tales of the gangs further down the coast, stories of
murder and brutality.
Stealthy footsteps passed a few feet away from her while
the other man left in the opposite direction via the gardens.
Her alarm eased and the tense set left her shoulders when
she could no longer hear the fi rm footsteps. She edged from
hiding, knowing it was time for her to return to the drawing
room. And Hastings. She turned to retrace her steps and came
to an abrupt halt, her nose fl attened against a solid chest. Th
e
20
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
air hissed from her lungs, and a startled squeak escaped. She
wobbled and strong hands shot out to grasp her upper arms.
“What are you doing out here alone?”
Th
e husky growl made her stomach lurch. Had it been
Hastings she’d overheard? Rosalind stiff ened with defi ance
before raising her gaze to meet her betrothed’s frowning
visage. “I needed some air,” she murmured.
His bare hands sent a tingle racing up her arm. Rosalind
wanted to move away, to free herself of this strange sensation,
yet contrarily she wanted to move closer to inhale the spicy,
sweet scent of tobacco that had permeated his clothes. She
felt a fl ush bloom on her cheeks at the thought.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“Why?” Was it because he was worried she might have
seen something? “Th
is is my home now.” Th
e heat in her
cheeks intensifi ed, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice her
unease in the dim light. “After tomorrow,” she added hastily.
His grip on her arms tightened. “It’s not too late to
change your mind.”
“I beg your pardon?” Questions whirled through her
mind. And not one possible answer presented a glimmer of
understanding. Th
is was the second time he’d asked if she
wanted to call off the marriage. Why was he so insistent?
“Now is the time to change your mind,” he said. Th
e
21
SHELLEY MUNRO
strain in his voice made her stare. “I can’t make you happy.”
Rosalind tugged from his hold while she struggled to
control the panic that fi zzled through her veins. She wanted
to get married. She wanted a husband.
Security.
Children.
And since the men of marriageable age in Stow-in-the-
Wold and the surrounding district thought she was a witch,
Hastings was her very last chance.
She didn’t expect love, but surely friendship wasn’t too
much to ask? “I want to marry you,” she said, ignoring for the
moment the conversation she’d overheard earlier.
Th
ey stared at each other. Rosalind’s heart raced, but she
refused to look away before her betrothed.
Hastings cracked fi rst. “So be it,” he ground out. “Don’t
say you weren’t warned.” He took possession of her arm and
propelled her toward the drawing room.
Rosalind hurried to keep pace with his longer stride, and
fi nally dug in her heels, forcing him to stop by a rose bed.
“Warned about what? I don’t understand.” In the light that
spilled from the drawing room, she saw the tightening of his
mouth, the slash of the scar down his cheek.
Th
e warmth of his hand heated her own and without
warning, a picture formed in her mind. Rosalind stiff ened,
22
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
felt her eyes widen.
Th
e woman. Again. Heavy with child and bearing a
wide smile, she skipped, happy and carefree along the edge
of a stream. Rosalind’s insides churned with sudden fear, but
the vision remained despite trying to block her betrothed’s
thoughts. Her skin felt hot, and her clothes clung to her
clammy body. She cast a quick glance at Hastings.
“What?” he demanded.
“Nothing!” She swallowed, trying to disengage from
him without being too obvious. No one must learn of her