ere had to be more than sleeping in
the same room. She tossed back the covers and leapt from the
bed. He was not sleeping in the dressing room.
Rosalind seized his arm and planted her feet on the fl oor
like an anchor. Her hand connected with the warm, smooth
skin of his wrist.
“Don’t go.”
Images formed immediately, and she let them fl ow. Em-
braced 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. Th
ere was room for
feelings to grow.
“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 fi ght for her marriage or her determination to
jolt Lucien from his lonely corner. She was alone too. Th
ey
needed each other. Her hand dropped from his arm. “You’re
my husband.”
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“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 ac-
tually hearing him talk of his wife made her seem real and a
threat. A spurt of jealousy raced through Rosalind, but not
enough to kill her thirst for knowledge freely given.
“What happened?”
“She died.” His face appeared carved with pain. “It was
my fault.”
Rosalind reached to comfort him without thought.
She grabbed his waist and fell against his chest so he had to
catch her. Impressions bombarded her. It was as if the dam
had burst, releasing a fl ood from the past. Emotions, both
heartfelt and painful rushed through her mind like towering
waves during a storm. Tumultuous. Powerful. She gasped,
struggling to turn thoughts to words.
“What?” She grimaced against his shirt at the totally
inadequate response. Lucien blamed himself for the death.
Yet, she knew her husband as a caring man, one who worked
tirelessly in the village, a man who took the time to play with
the village children.
“Francesca died.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” Rosalind said, her voice
244
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
fi rm and certain.
“For a long time after Francesca and I married, I re-
membered nothing of my past. Th
en, fragments returned,
but they made no sense. Francesca and I talked about it, and
she persuaded me we should travel to England and search for
answers. Francesca was expecting a child. I told her traveling
would be dangerous, but she was insistent. I agreed because I
couldn’t bear to be apart from her. We traveled by boat, then
by land. Bandits attacked us late one night.” Lucien faltered,
his voice layered with torment.
Rosalind pressed her cheek to his chest and heard the
thud of his heart. His body was tight. Tense. It was wrong to
push for details when it was obvious he was in pain, but she
needed to know.
“What happened?” she whispered, pressing her body
even closer, off ering comfort in the only way she knew.
“Francesca . . . she was shot.” He swallowed audibly. “She
died in my arms.”
Tears of sympathy built at the back of her eyes. Poor
Lucien. Losing his wife and child that way. “Were the ban-
dits caught?”
Th
e question tossed Lucien fi rmly back in the past, back
to the night he had lost Francesca. Th
e fear. Anger. Th
e pain
he’d felt at the moment he’d realized Francesca was gone. Th
e
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SHELLEY MUNRO
gnawing desperation for revenge . . .
“I’d give anything to bathe in warm, scented water,”
Francesca said with a heartfelt sigh. “My bones ache from the
journey today.”
Concern crinkled Lucien’s brow. He studied Francesca’s
pale, travel-stained face and felt instant guilt. “I knew we
should have stopped at that last inn. Cara, you should have
said something.”
“Pooh, it was only midday,” Francesca scoff ed, making
light of the extra miles they’d traveled. But Lucien noticed
how her hands crept up to massage the small of her back. “We
are only two days from the coast,” she continued. “It didn’t
make sense to halt early. Besides, we have stopped now.”
Lucien glanced about the rough camp they had made in
a clearing. A small fi re burned within a circle of rocks. Several
bushes provided shelter from the prevailing wind, and their
camp was far enough off the track to escape attention of pass-
ing travelers. Th
e two men who had journeyed with them
from the Bacci estate had gathered together leaves and grasses
for bedding, and now that darkness had fallen, one turned a
rabbit on a spit over the fi re. Th
e scent of the roast meat made
Lucien’s stomach grumble in protest. It seemed a long time
since their last meal.
Th
e camp wasn’t the ideal situation for Francesca and
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
their unborn child. Lucien frowned. He should have insisted
they stop earlier instead of letting Francesca persuade him to
carry on. Although the need to fi ll the holes in his memory
was strong and nagged at him, Francesca and his unborn child
were more important. “Come, cara. Let me rub your back.”
Francesca’s rich laugh rang out. “Stop worrying! I’ll be
fi ne after a good night’s sleep.”
Th
e distinct clip-clop of a horse’s hooves halted their
discussion, and they both turned. Th
ree men rode into
their campsite.
Oberon whinnied, pawing the ground in agitation.
Lucien stiff ened when he noticed the way their hats were
tugged low. Th
ey traveled light, with no luggage. He edged
back, out of the light of the fi re, gesturing silently for Franc-
esca to do the same.
“Signor, they have guns!” one of their men shouted.
“Bandits,” Francesca cried, ducking for cover behind a
leafy bush not far from where they stood.
One of the horsemen cursed. A gunshot reverberated
through the clearing. Another followed an instant later. Both
servants fell to the ground and remained there, unmoving.
“Run,” Lucien ordered his wife. Fear kicked him in the
gut. God, how were they going to get out of this? Nothing must
happen to Francesca. “Hide in the trees while I distract them.”
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SHELLEY MUNRO
“No!” Francesca pulled a small gun from her saddle-
bag. She peeked cautiously around the bush and fi red. “I
won’t leave you. Th
ere aren’t meant
to be bandits here. We
checked!”
From experience, Lucien knew it was pointless to argue
with Francesca. “Keep low,” he said tersely. “Your white
blouse catches the light.”
“Told ya we should have crept up on them,” one of the
horsemen snarled. “Hawk will have our skins if we don’t carry
out his orders.”
Th
e familiar accent tickled at Lucien’s memory. It wasn’t
Italian or French.
“English,” Francesca whispered. “Th
at doesn’t make sense.”
Who the hell was Hawk? Lucien tensed, his heart pump-
ing fear and anger through his veins.
“Can you hear them?” Francesca asked.
Th
e uneasiness in her voice echoed his apprehension.
Nothing about this situation seemed right. His stomach
clenched tight seeing the unrelenting blackness that sur-
rounded them. He listened intently before shaking his head.
“Wait there,” he murmured. “I’ll see if I can pick at least one
of them off .” Lucien knew they were there . . . waiting. Th
e
tension stretched tighter within him. Dammit, he couldn’t
even hear the horses. He moved cautiously, trying to nail
248
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
their positions.
A shot rang out. Pain fl areded in his shoulder. He fell.
“Lucien!” Francesca screamed.
Lucien scrambled to his feet, fi ghting the lethargy that
crept through his body. Only a fl esh wound. He pressed
the heel of his hand to the injury and searched for the gun
he’d dropped.
“Th
ere!” one of the horsemen cried. “Th
ere she is.”
Lucien’s head jerked up. He saw a fl ash of white. A gun
fi red. Francesca screamed and dropped to the ground.
“Got ‘er,” a man said in clear satisfaction.
“Someone’s coming,” another said.
Galloping hooves told of their rapid departure. Lucien
staggered over to Francesca. Panic like he’d never known
roared through him. “Francesca? Francesca!”
“Lucien.”
Lucien found her near the fi re. He dragged her close, cra-
dling her in his arms, searching frantically to fi nd the source
of the wound. Th
e blouse ripped easily to reveal a gaping
hole. She breathed in quick, shallow gasps, and Lucien heard
a rattle deep in her chest. No! A chill raced up his spine with
each labored breath Francesca took.
“Lucien.” Her hands gripped him painfully. Her dark
eyes glittered in the sullen light cast by the fi re.
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SHELLEY MUNRO
“Yes, cara.” Lucien had to lean closer to hear. Th
e blood
kept gushing from the bullet hole in her chest. He had to stop
it. He ignored the burning in his shoulder to press down on
the wound site. Her pained groan tore at him. He must stop
the bleeding. He must.
“Promise me. Go to England. Find St. Clare. Promise.”
“Don’t talk, cara. Save your strength. Let me tend your
wound and stop the bleeding.”
“Too late,” Francesca gasped. “Promise.”
Th
e life seeped from her beautiful eyes as he watched.
“Don’t leave me, dammit. I’m nothing without you. I love
you, Francesca.”
“Go to St. Clare.”
“Yes, cara. But you will come with me. We’ll go together
as we planned, to fi nd my memories.”
“I’m going to die,” Francesca whispered.
“No!” Horror screamed through his mind. He shud-
dered. He’d spoken the truth. Francesca made him whole.
She’d saved him, and he loved her for it.
“You will fi nd some . . . one. Promise me you will fi nd
another to love.”
Another terrible rattle from deep inside her chest made
him wince. “Never,” he said, his tone fi erce.
“Yes. Love . . . you.” Every ounce of fi ght faded from
250
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
her body.
She was gone.
“No!” Lucien screamed. “No!” He shook Francesca
fi ercely, but it was too late. He cradled her close, burying his
nose in her silky hair while the grief encompassed him.
“Hello, the camp!”
Lucien stiff ened but didn’t look up.
“I say, are you all right? We heard gunfi re.”
Lucien heard the jangle of the horses’ harness, the low
murmurs of several men. Footsteps came closer, and he
sensed a man crouch beside him. He couldn’t speak. Tears
and anguish clogged his throat, making it diffi
cult to breathe.
Francesca was gone, and he didn’t want to go on.
“Wilson, hold my horse,” a calm voice said. “Let me look
at her.”
Lucien loosened his grip a fraction and glanced up.
Tears fi lled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “She’s dead.
Francesca’s gone.”
“Do you know who did it?” another voice asked.
Lucien swallowed, the sound audible. Painful. “No.”
“You’re bleeding too,” the man with the calm voice
said. “Let Wilson hold Francesca while I take a look at your
shoulder.”
Lucien blinked. He couldn’t feel his shoulder. He’d
251
SHELLEY MUNRO
forgotten about being hit. Th
e reminder brought an arrow of
pain that increased when he moved. Th
focus, cleared his thoughts. Hate bloomed along with the
need for revenge. A man called Hawk had ordered the attack,
and the man hailed from England. He would fi nd this man.
Yes, he would search out Hawk and make him pay . . .
“Lucien.” A hand grasped his forearm. “Lucien!” Rosa-
lind’s voice intruded into his memories. “I asked you if the
bandits were caught.”
Lucien shook his head in an eff ort to clear his mind,
the pain still deep and soul wrenching. He coughed to move
the lump in his throat. “Th
ey disappeared almost as soon as
they attacked. Before Francesca died, she made me promise
to come to England, to search for my past. She felt it was
important I fi nd the answers we were searching for. Besides,”
he said harshly, “the bandits who attacked us were English.
Someone knew we were on our way to England and intended
to stop us.”
“English!” Rosalind gasped, springing away from Lucien
and staring at him in consternation. “How do you know they
were English? Couldn’t they have been French?”
His look held disdain. “Th
ey spoke in English, with
English accents,” Lucien said. “I’d say that was comprehen-
sive proof. I have a name, Rosalind. An English name.”
252
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“But why would English bandits attack you? What
name?” she said belatedly.
“Hawk.”
Everyone in the village feared Hawk. Lucien didn’t want
to run foul of him. “Be careful of Hawk,�
� Rosalind blurted.
“He’s dangerous.”
Lucien’s jaw worked, then he grabbed her by the arm and
wrenched her about so her face was in the light. “What do
you know of Hawk?”
Rosalind stared at him, horror spreading through her
body like poison. If she told him the truth, he’d have her
locked away. Just as her uncle and aunt had threatened when
she tried to tell them that the Duke they were maneuvering
toward Miranda had no intention of marriage.
“Answer me, damn it.” He punctuated his words with
vigorous shakes that made her head snap back and her teeth
click together.
“I don’t know anything about a man called Hawk.”
When he eased his grip, she wrenched away.
“Where did you hear his name?”
“I hear things when I’m treating the villagers. Th
e people,
your people, are frightened of him.”
“And that’s all?” Suspicion shaded his voice.
Rosalind ached to tell the truth, but she couldn’t. She
253
SHELLEY MUNRO
just couldn’t. “Th
at’s all,” she said. “He’s dangerous. Brutal. I
think he runs the smugglers’ ring.”
“I’ve heard rumors.” Lucien stalked the length of the
room and back.
“I want you to tell me if you hear anything while you’re in
the village. But don’t ask questions. If I fi nd you’ve put your-
self in danger . . .” He trailed off , but his meaning was clear.
It was obvious Lucien intended to wreak revenge on the
man, Hawk. What about the danger he placed himself in?
She hadn’t gone to all this trouble to fi nd a husband only to
lose him. Rosalind’s hands screwed up the fabric of the shirt
she wore, then smoothed it down her legs. “What about the
danger to you? You shouldn’t work alone. I can help you.”
“Keep your pert nose out of my aff airs. If you don’t, I’ll
lock you in your room and place a guard outside.”
Rosalind’s eyes narrowed. So he’d threatened before.
Th
en, she scanned his hard, unyielding face and knew that
this time, he meant every word. She’d go mad locked away in
her room. “All right,” she acquiesced. But, behind her back,
her fi ngers were crossed and according to her cousin, Mi-
randa, that negated a fi b. Rosalind meant to do everything in
her power to keep her husband safe.
“Get back into bed,” he growled.
“What about you?”
254
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“Never mind me. I’ll blow the candle out as soon as
you’re in bed.”