Rosalind had no alternative but to obey. Feeling wretched
and a failure as a wife, she slid beneath the sheets and lay in
stiff silence while Lucien extinguished the candles. She heard
the soft whisper of his footfalls, the click of a door and knew
he was gone.
A tear trickled down her cheek. She was hopeless at attract-
ing a man. She wiped the tear away with the linen sheet and
stilled. Th
e linens smelled of Lucien, of green meadows and the
outdoors. She sniff ed, suddenly feeling better. At least she was
sleeping in Lucien’s room, in his bed. Th
at was progress.
Rosalind woke late, which was little surprise, given the hour
when she’d fi nally fallen asleep. She threw back the covers and
wandered through the connecting door into her own chamber.
“Good morning, Lady Rosalind.” Beth, the maid glanced
at Rosalind. A smirk spread across her face as she scanned
Rosalind’s bare legs. “Had a good night, then?”
Rosalind gasped, feeling her face heat. She tugged at the
bottom of Lucien’s shirt. “Th
ank you for cleaning my room.”
A sly look slid across the maid’s face. “Lord Hastings
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asked me to clean it for you.”
Rosalind knew when she was being baited and despite
her desire to throttle the maid, she nodded briefl y and began
a search for clothes. Bother. When she saw Lucien again, she
was going to demand he take action. Th
is wasn’t right! Th
ese
mischievous pranks wouldn’t have happened if Mary was
here. Lucien wasn’t doing much to help her fi nd Mary, either.
Th
at would change too.
Ten minutes later, she sighed and looked down at her
mismatched outfi t. She couldn’t wait to hear Lady Augusta’s
opinion about the way her brown open robe clashed with the
yellow petticoat. She looked like a bumblebee.
Rosalind slowed as she approached the Blue drawing
room. Perhaps she’d try to creep from the castle before Lady
Augusta emerged from her room. She held her breath when
she tiptoed past, only letting it out when she exited the Great
Hall and stepped out into the early morning sunshine. She
turned down the overgrown path that meandered along the
cliff top with views over the sea. A lively breeze tugged at her
hair. Rosalind watched a small white gull glide and swoop
over the bay. She laughed when the gull dived at another,
causing a fl urry of indignant squawks and fl apping wings.
Dew soaked the bottom of her cloak, but she carried on,
navigating the slippery path with care. Th
e day was far too lovely
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
to spend indoors, dwelling on Lucien and the elusive Hawk.
Th
e thought of Hawk made her frown. She needed to
learn more about the man, and that meant talking to the
villagers. Gaining their trust had taken time, but she needed
to push harder. Her frown deepened.
Unfortunately, the blacksmith’s wife seemed suspicious
of the way she treated her patients. Yesterday, when she’d
stopped by the bakery shop to buy a treat for Billy and Harry,
Rosalind had interrupted a whispered conversation. Th
e
whispers had resumed as soon as she left to check on Harry
and change his dressings. Harry and Billy’s mother gave her
grudging admittance each time she visited, but Rosalind
was positive the woman bore suspicions about her too. Mary
had always distracted the patients Rosalind treated, so the
chance of her gift being discovered was reduced. Not that
Mary’s presence had helped once Miranda had spread rumors
of witchcraft. After that everyone in Stow-in-the-Wold had
called Rosalind a witch.
“Mary, I wish I knew where you were,” she muttered.
“I miss you.” Tears blurred her vision as she halted at the
edge of the path and stared out to sea. Th
e rustle of clothing
behind made her start, but before she could turn, Rosalind
felt a shove in the middle of her back. Her boots skidded on
the wet grass. She screamed. Her arms fl apped for balance,
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but Rosalind felt herself sliding down the slope.
Panic clogged her throat. Twisting her body, she grabbed
ments of rock slid from under her feet, rattling as they rolled
down the cliff . Another rock. She grabbed and clung. Hell
and damnation, that hurt. She drew a sobbing breath deep
into her lungs. Waves crashed against the cliff base far below.
Sea spray fi lled the air. Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
She looked down. And swallowed. Panic struck a fi erce
blow. Her arms ached, throbbed from gripping the out hang-
ing rock. Drops of blood dripped from her right hand.
Rosalind dragged her gaze from the razor-sharp rock and
surging waves below that seemed to beckon. She looked up.
She hadn’t fallen that far, but even so, the climb to the top
was daunting.
Using her feet, she felt for nooks and crevices in the rocks
to use as steps. Gingerly, she eased her weight upward, trying
to hoist her ugly brown skirts out of the way so she didn’t
tangle her legs. Another rock. She needed to fi nd one strong
enough to hold her weight. Sweat coated her forehead, drip-
ping down her face. Th
e moisture itched and tickled. Rosa-
lind craved to scratch that itch, to wipe her face clean. She
laughed, and the sound held an edge of hysteria.
Th
e throb in her arms reminded her she needed to move.
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Now. Grimly, she continued the slow, inch by inch crawl up
the cliff face. From the corner of her eye she caught a fl ash
of color.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
A shower of small pebbles rained down upon her. Dust
clouded her vision. Squinting to protect her eyes, she peered
anxiously up to the cliff path. No. She hadn’t been mistaken.
Th
ere was the fl ash of color again.
“Help!” she screamed. “Help! I’m down here.”
Fragments of rock fell from the cliff top. Clinging to the
rocks, there was no hope of avoiding them. When a rock the
size of her fi st rolled over the edge and bounced twice before
striking her on the shoulder, she stopped shouting. Th
e
nudge she’d felt in the middle of her back wasn’t imagina-
tion. Someone wanted her to fall over the cliff and perish in
the sea below.
Rosalind fumbled for the next crevice in the rock face.
She intended to lever herself up this cliff if it was the last
thing she did. Her arms trembled, each breath sounded loud
and gasping. Her gown clung to clammy skin. Another foot-
hold. Scramble. Heave. Th
e motions took on a sequence that
she concentr
ated on fi ercely.
Her foot felt for the next hold. And found nothing. She
lifted her leg higher, searching blindly for the next step. She
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found it. Th
e distance to this one was greater than she’d at-
tempted thus far. She strained, reaching higher for a hand-
hold that would take her closer to safety. Her toes found the
indent in the rock. She crammed her foot in and pushed and
dragged her body up.
Th
e tiny fi ssure crumbled beneath the weight of her feet.
A strangled gasp escaped. Without volition, her gaze dropped
to the sea and the jagged rocks. Her feet fumbled for traction.
She slipped again, her knee bashing against the rocks as she
dangled above the hungry sea.
“Oh, God,” she prayed. She didn’t want to die. She wanted
to hold the babies she had once seen in a vision. Her babies.
Lucien’s babies. A sob burst free. Th
e pain in her knee was
excruciating. A tear trickled down her face. Th
en, suddenly,
she found a break in the rock surface. With the weight taken
off her arms, she slumped against the cold, damp rocks and
looked up. It wasn’t far, she thought. Grimly, she resumed her
climb, chanting under her breath, trying to ignore the pain
and fatigue plaguing her body.
“I can do this. For Lucien. For our son.”
Th
e last foot was the hardest.
“For our son,” she gasped, pushing away the persistent
aching of her knee, and the wet, clammy feel of her gown. “I
can do this,” she groaned.
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
With a last surge of energy, Rosalind pulled herself over
the lip of the cliff and lay face down on the path, gasping for
breath. Her fi ngers curled around a clump of grass as she sa-
vored the feel of solid ground beneath her body. Th
e sun beat
down on her head, somewhere a gull shrieked, and she heard
the faint drone of a bee in the hedge on the other side of the
path. Th
e dust tickled her nose so she fi nally moved, strug-
gling to sit up. She rubbed a grubby, scratched hand over her
face, reveling in the fact she could. It was good to be alive.
Rosalind pushed to her feet. Pain radiated from her right
knee and when she tried to take a step, she almost fell.
“St. Bridget’s ears,” she muttered, picking one of her
uncle’s more colorful phrases. How was she going to get back
to the castle?
She tried another step, and found if she didn’t think too
hard, she could manage. Just. She dragged her aching body
toward the castle.
As she staggered around an overgrown bush, she came
to an abrupt halt. Th
e wrenching in her knee brought tears
to her eyes.
Th
ere were several people in the formal gardens that spread
from the more modern part of the castle. She squinted into
the sun. “Hell’s teeth,” she cursed again, and this time it was
even more heartfelt. Lady Helena. Th
e persistent throbbing in
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SHELLEY MUNRO
her knee forbade backtracking. Rosalind clenched her teeth,
stuck her nose in the air, and hobbled forward.
Th
e animated chatter died. One by one, heads turned to
stare in consternation, then the muffl
ed whispers started.
Rosalind felt her cheeks heat. She knew she looked like
a ragamuffi
n. Her ugly brown skirts were covered in dirt and
her underdress bore a rip the length of her arm. On the fi nal
part of her ascent, she’d lost one shoe. Oh, yes. It was no
wonder everyone gawked. Pride lifted her chin as she contin-
ued her labored progress to the castle.
Charles and Justin hurried up to her.
“Rosalind? What happened?” Charles cried in horror.
“I was p . . .” She trailed off , thinking better of her in-
stinct to tell the truth. She’d tell Lucien, but she trusted him.
She wasn’t so certain of others. “I fell,” she said.
She heard Lady Helena titter and whisper to the lady
beside her. Her cheeks fl ushed anew.
“Are you all right?” Charles appeared anxious.
“I’ll be fi ne once I get to my chamber.”
“Let me assist you,” Justin said, and before she could
answer he swept her into his arms. “Open the doors for me,
Charles,” he ordered.
Rosalind heard the renewed laughter and chatter as they
entered the castle. “I can walk.”
262
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“Nonsense,” Charles said. “You look as white as the swans
swimming in the pond over there. Let Justin carry you.” He
paused to summon a servant. “Bring some warm water up to
Lady Rosalind’s chamber,” he instructed. “And ask Tickell to
summon Hastings.”
“Th
ank you. I can walk the rest of the way.”
Justin smiled. “And deprive me of my lovely burden?
Lady Rosalind, you are cruel. Charles, tell her to desist from
her protests.”
“But, I’m dirtying your clothes,” Rosalind wailed,
noting the patch of mud that decorated his pristine, powder
blue breeches.
“A badge of honor,” Justin insisted. A dimple at the
corner of his mouth winked as he fought a grin. Th
e smile
broke forth anyway.
Rosalind sighed, but couldn’t resist his good-natured
smile. Th
e man was a serious fl irt. Th
at much was clear.
“It’s no use trying to talk Justin out of his mission,”
Charles observed as he followed them along the passage that
led to Rosalind’s room. “He’s very stubborn.”
“I’d noticed,” Rosalind said dryly. “I only hope we don’t
meet with Lady Augusta.”
No sooner had she uttered the words then a shriek of
horror echoed down the long gallery. “What on earth are you
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SHELLEY MUNRO
doing? Put Lady Rosalind down this instant.”
“I warned you,” Rosalind muttered.
Justin didn’t slacken his pace. “Charles will deal with
Lady Gussie,” he said with a wicked smile.
Rosalind found herself grinning back at Justin. Over
Justin’s shoulder, she saw Charles speaking earnestly to
Lady Augusta.
Lady Augusta’s snort of disbelief exploded from the other
end of the gallery.
“Don’t worry about Lady Augusta,” Justin murmured.
“Her bark is ferocious but no one has died from her bite. Ah,
Hastings,” Justin said. “Your wife has had a fall.”
Rosalind bit back a yelp when his arms tightened. Th
en,
Justin set her gently on her feet.
“I’ll take it from here,” Lucien said brusquely.
A taut silence enveloped the group.
Rosalind smiled, hoping to break the tension. “Th
ank
you for coming to my rescue, Justin. Please thank Char
les
for me.”
“What did Charles do to earn your gratitude?” Lucien
demanded.
Justin grinned. “Headed off Lady Augusta.”
Lucien nodded abruptly. “Th
anks.” He swept Rosalind
off her feet and strode along the passage until he reached his
264
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
room. He shouldered the door open, then paused. “Justin,
can you summon a maid?”
He carried her over to his bed. “What happened?”
Rosalind frowned, recalling her impressions before she
spoke. “I went for a walk along the cliff path. Lucien, some-
one pushed me over the edge.”
Lucien studied his wife carefully. She didn’t seem badly
injured. “Where does it hurt most? Can you walk?”
Rosalind slid off the edge of the bed and attempted to
move. After hobbling one step, she pulled up. “My knee. I’ve
twisted my knee.”
“Th
ere was a heavy dew this morning.”
“Are you saying the fall was my imagination?”
“Not at all,” Lucien said. “Too many strange things have
happened lately. But why are you so certain you were pushed?
Did you see anyone behind you?”
Rosalind limped back to his bed and sat beneath the
colored dome depicting dancing cherubs. “No, I didn’t see
anyone,” she said. “It was more . . . an impression.”
“Th
is wouldn’t have happened if you had taken a foot-
man with you.”
Rosalind’s gasp was loud and punctuated with a glare.
A maid knocked on the door and entered bearing an
ewer of warm water. It was the maid that winked and off ered
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SHELLEY MUNRO
more than a smile whenever she caught him on his own. For
once, he was glad Rosalind was present.
“Will that be all, Lord Hastings?” the maid asked, her
voice low and sultry.
“Yes, thank you,” Rosalind answered.
Th
e maid curtseyed and slid a knowing grin at him
before sauntering from the room.
Lucien settled the ewer on a small oak table and moved
closer to Rosalind. “Lift your skirt and I’ll take a look at
your knee.”
She hesitated, then lifted the brown woolen skirts so he
had a clear view of her grubby, ripped stockings. “Th
ese will
need to come off .” Lucien unfastened her garter and peeled
the once white stocking down her leg. An angry red gash
was revealed on her knee. He prodded above the knee gently.
“Does that hurt?”
“A little,” Rosalind agreed. “I think it’s bruised. Th