accursed gift. She didn’t want tales of witchcraft to fi nd her
here at Castle St. Clare. For once, she wanted normality, to
feel the same as others. Mary knew of her gift, but she was the
only one. It must remain that way. If Hastings discovered she
had the sight, he might call off the marriage. Panic made her
voice sharp. “It’s nothing. A touch of indigestion.”
Hastings snatched up her hand, and in her mind, Ro-
salind saw a couple dancing beneath the stars, a full moon
hanging low in the sky. She bit back a soft moan of distress.
Th
e couple was in love. It was there for Rosalind to see in the
way the man held the woman, the soft smile on his face when
he gazed at her.
Questions trembled at the tip of her tongue, but one look at
his face made her choke them back. Dark and unapproachable.
23
SHELLEY MUNRO
Brooding. His expression did nothing to encourage chitchat.
Th
e wedding was scheduled for tomorrow. Rosalind
couldn’t call it off . She wouldn’t. She refused. Rosalind
glanced at her betrothed’s face then down at the ground.
Tears stung her eyes and she bit her bottom lip.
How could she marry this man knowing his thoughts
were for another? How could she not?
“Good morning, Miss Rosalind.” Mary’s voice sounded
seconds before she whipped back the damask curtains that
screened the bed.
Morning. Already? Rosalind groaned softly, not ready
to rise from the comfort of the feather mattress. Not even
for the enticing scent of hot chocolate that wafted from the
pot Mary had placed on the walnut dresser. She yanked the
covers up over her head and squeezed her eyes shut. It was
dark under the covers, but not distracting enough to keep the
shadows in her mind at bay.
Today was the day.
Her wedding day.
Confusion had tied her stomach in knots, keeping her
awake, twisting and turning late into the night. Th
e fault of
24
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
new surroundings, she tried to tell herself. Yet, that wasn’t the
whole truth. For, despite the wail of the wind and the rap of
a loose shutter throughout the night, the specter that preyed
on her mind was that of the dark-haired man to whom she
was betrothed.
Th
e enigma, the man called George St. Clare, or Lucien,
the name he answered to.
“It’s time for you to prepare. Th
e wedding, miss.”
“I’m tired,” Rosalind muttered, struggling to sit.
“Oh, miss! I’m not surprised. Did you hear all the
strange noises last night? Ghosts, I reckon. Th
e other maids
said they’re searching for the long lost St. Clare treasure. Th
e
ghosts haunt the castle to scare everyone away.” Her voice
held distinct relish. A tiny shudder of delighted horror rip-
pled down her body. “Or it could be smugglers. I hear they
employ many of the village men.” Mary cocked her head
and pursed her lips in a considering manner. “Th
e noises
sounded like chains rattling and moans. Lots of moans.” She
shuddered again, her gaze darting to all four corners of the
chamber before returning to Rosalind. “No, miss. I’m sure
it was ghosts.”
“It was the wind. Th
ere are no ghosts in this castle.”
Rosalind swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slith-
ered down until her feet touched the ground. Mary had a
25
SHELLEY MUNRO
terrible penchant for gossip. Treasure! Rosalind didn’t believe
the stories of ghosts and treasure for a moment. “I suppose I’d
better get ready.”
“I can’t fi nd your hair brush,” Mary said. “Have you
seen it?”
“It will be here somewhere,” Rosalind said, smothering a
yawn. Her wedding day. Fear danced down her backbone as
she slid her arms into the robe Mary held. She’d be glad when
the ceremony was over and she was safely married.
“Are you still worrying about the marriage bed?”
Rosalind grimaced. “I am now. Th
ank you for remind-
betrothed hated her and now it seemed he was a smuggler.
Add the mysteries of the marriage bed her aunt had de-
scribed in most confusing terms, then yes, she had plenty
to worry on.
For years, she had looked forward to this day. Yet, now
her wedding day was upon her, she felt like a lamb being
driven toward Smithfi eld’s — a lamb for the slaughter.
Th
e dainty Englishwoman looked as if she might faint. She
appeared so fragile that if a gust of wind picked up Lucien
26
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
thought she’d take fl ight. Th
ere wasn’t much to her that he
could see, apart from her eyes. Her big blue eyes reminded
him of the lakes near his home in Italy.
Lucien frowned and concentrated on the drone of the
vicar. How much more would he deem fi t to say? He wished
the whole procedure was over so his life would return to
normal, as normal as it could be without Francesca. No more
dinner parties. No more dinner guests. He needed peace and
privacy to investigate. His hands fi sted at his sides, his body
tensed. Th
e Englishman who had sent men to murder them
during their journey from Italy to St. Clare had a name and
he wanted it.
He wanted to know why.
An edgy agitation assailed him when he thought of his
wife. His tight jaw relaxed as he recalled her laugh, her love
of life. Th
e way Francesca loved him, and the way she showed
her love. His loins tightened, and he stirred restlessly, remem-
bering too late that she was gone.
Murdered.
And he was no closer to fi nding the person responsible
for the despicable deed.
Th
e vicar cleared his throat, and Lucien snapped to atten-
tion. When the vicar repeated the words, Lucien swallowed
before uttering a reply. Dammit! How could he pledge to
27
SHELLEY MUNRO
this woman when he hated the very idea? Frustration warred
with necessity. How could he not? As long as everyone as-
sumed he was Viscount Hastings, he was trapped into this
wedding. For, without his cover here at Castle St. Clare, he
had no hope of fi nding the elusive Hawk, his main suspect
in Francesca’s murder.
A loud cough echoed in the chapel. Th
e vicar’s eyes
beseeched Lucien to act. Behind Lucien, feet shuffl
ed, skirts
rustled. He closed his eyes briefl y and snapped out the words
in a clear, fi rm voice.
Minutes later, it was over.
Lucien was married to the colorless woman at his side.
Rosalind huddled under the covers, the fl owered damask
&n
bsp; hangings drawn about the bed creating a private haven. Her
brow furrowed while she considered the length of time that
had elapsed since she’d retired. It seemed ages since Mary had
helped her change from her bridal fi nery into her nightgown.
When would her husband appear?
A series of assorted creaks and thumps sounded in the
passage outside her room. Settling noises, she assured herself.
Th
e foreign sounds were nothing unusual at all.
28
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Th
e scurry of tiny feet across the fl oor near her head
made Rosalind bolt upright in bed. Not mice? She detested
the furry rodents.
A door squeaked, and Rosalind stiff ened. He had arrived
at last. She strained to hear footsteps, her heart thumping
with both anticipation and fear of the unknown. She heard
a soft sound that might have been a footstep, then nothing.
Possibly the fi ne Persian carpet muted further sounds. Her
heart thumped so noisily she thought Hastings would hear. A
deep, hurried breath did little to ease her anxiety.
Finally, tired of the strain, she called out, “Hello?” Th
e
distinct wobble in her voice made her frown. She sounded
frightened and that wouldn’t do at all. Experience with her
gift had taught her that no matter what the situation, a brave
façade worked wonders.
“Is someone there?”
Th
ere was no reply, but every one of her senses shouted of
a presence in her chamber. Rosalind chewed on her bottom
lip and wondered how to proceed. Instinct told her if Hast-
ings was in her chamber, he would answer her greeting and
not skulk like . . . like a mouse.
Rosalind slid toward the join in the damask hangings.
With one hand, she inched the curtains apart and peered
intently into the darkness.
29
SHELLEY MUNRO
To her intense frustration, the shutters were fi rmly closed
over the windows, leaving her room black as chimney soot.
Yet she knew someone was inside the room with her. Listen-
ing intently for the slightest sound, she slid one leg over the
edge of the bed. Th
e salty tang of the sea was normal if the
windows were open, but not the sweet whiff of tobacco.
Rosalind half stood before a sound behind made fear
surge. She whirled about, her leg tangling with the bedcov-
ers when she turned. A sharp nudge in the middle of her
back propelled her forward again. Empty air met her frantic
hands. Her head clipped the corner of the four-poster bed,
then collided with the unforgiving fl oor. Pinpricks of pain
stabbed at her temples.
In the distance, a clock chimed the hour. Th
e fl oorboards
creaked behind her.
Footsteps.
Rosalind struggled to lift her head, to focus. Dizziness
made the room whirl. She whimpered softly, then surren-
dered to the dark.
“Miss! Miss Rosalind!”
Th
e high, sharp tones pierced Rosalind’s stupor. Vigorous
30
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
shaking did the rest, bringing her to full wakefulness.
“Stop shaking me,” she muttered “before you do some
damage.”
“What happened, Miss Rosalind?”
Rosalind paused to think, but there was a yawning hole in
her memory. She had no idea how she came to be on the fl oor.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
“I don’t think so,” Rosalind said. She struggled to a sit-
ting position, and Mary hastened to help. White-hot pain
sliced through her head. A grimace twisted her lips. She
remembered the wedding and the celebration afterward. Ro-
salind felt heat collect in her cheeks. She remembered waiting
for Hastings. Th
en . . .
Th
en nothing.
She clambered to her feet and wobbled slightly before
Mary grabbed her and pushed her down on the bed.
“My head hurts,” she muttered, trying not to dwell on
her husband’s failure to appear. Her mind refused to coop-
erate and she frowned. She hadn’t done anything wrong,
had she?
“Let me see.” Mary’s hands moved over her head. When
she touched the side of her head, above her ear, Rosalind
winced. “You have a lump on your head, Miss Rosalind.
Would you like a headache powder? Th
ere’s no need for you
31
SHELLEY MUNRO
to go down to breakfast. Not this morning.”
Th
e knowing look on Mary’s face made Rosalind squirm.
Did she suspect that Hastings had not consummated the
marriage? All the more reason to go down, Rosalind thought.
And pretend this marriage was normal.
Th
e hour appeared advanced. She would explore the
gardens, the castle, and acquaint herself with her new home.
She experienced a gamut of perplexing emotions as her mind
returned to her absent husband. Maybe she’d summon the
courage to corner Hastings and demand answers.
“I feel better now, Mary. I would enjoy a walk after
breakfast.”
“Too much fresh air is not good for a body,” Mary stated,
folding her arms across her ample bosom.
“Rubbish. I enjoy walking. I’ve wanted to explore the
beach ever since I arrived.”
“Stay away from the sea water,” her maid admonished.
“You will take a chill, especially after falling from bed and
hitting your head.”
Rosalind’s eyes narrowed. “I did not fall out of bed. You
make me sound like a child.” A whisper of a memory fl itted
through her mind, and Rosalind seized it. One hand crept to
test a painful spot in the middle of her back. Yes! Someone
had pushed her. She was sure of it.
32
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“How did you come to be on the fl oor, if you didn’t fall
from your bed?”
“Can you help me dress now, please, Mary?” She doubted
Mary would believe her.
“Only if you eat fi rst. I will bring some hot chocolate and
spice cakes before I help you dress.” Mary tugged back the
bed covers and patted the bed. “Back into bed with you.”
Rosalind’s mouth fi rmed, but she climbed back into bed
as instructed. Th
e minute Mary left, she clambered back out
and ignored the throb in her head to dress. After a brisk wash,
she chose a dark blue open robe with a matching petticoat,
pulled on shoes, and tugged a cloak from her wooden chest.
Half way to the door she realized she’d neglected to tidy
her hair. Rosalind spun back to her dresser and grabbed up
her hairbrush.
“Ouch,” she muttered, then stilled. Her hairbrush. She’d
picked it up off the dresser, but it hadn’t been there when she
went to bed.
Th
e back of her neck prickled. She whirled about, her
gaze piercing every corner. Th
e sh
utters were open now. Light
streamed into the room, highlighting the feminine fripperies,
the jewel-colored tapestries of Diana the huntress, and the
Persian carpet. Rosalind exhaled sharply. It was the knock
on her head, defi nitely the knock on her head; that, and
33
SHELLEY MUNRO
an overactive imagination. Th
ere was no one present in the
chamber except her.
She grabbed her gloves and hurried from her room, head-
ing down a lengthy corridor and turning right at the end.
Rosalind navigated her way by counting doorways. As she
hurried toward the breakfast room, her shoes clattered on
the wooden fl oors, echoing nosily. Portraits of long-forgot-
ten ancestors frowned down from the walls. Rosalind shot an
uneasy glance over her shoulder.
No, she was alone. Yet . . .
Ridiculous, she thought, and slowed, determined to
prove there was nothing to be frightened of. Th
ere were no
ghosts or specters with clanking chains and eerie wails, and
although she’d heard mice, she’d yet to see one.
She studied the old, tarnished suit of armor that stood
against the wall, and scanned the portrait of the woman who
looked uncannily like Lady Augusta.
A cough rattled noisily in a throat behind her, and Rosa-
lind almost parted company with her shoes. She spun about,
her hand trembling at her breast, icy fear galloping through
her veins until she focused and recognized the earl.
“Rosalind, child. What are you doing skulking about in
the passage?”
“Ah . . .” Did he know about her failure with her husband?
34
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Rosalind felt the blush heating her cheeks and, unable to
bear pity or sympathy, hurried into speech. “Good morning.
I wanted to explore.”
“Plenty of time for that later,” the earl said, off ering his
arm. “I expect you would like breakfast.”
“Yes,” Rosalind murmured, although she wasn’t sure
food would sit easily in her stomach.
“In you go,” the earl said, propelling her toward the break-
fast room. “I need to speak with my secretary for a moment.”
At the doorway, her steps faltered. Th
e only other oc-
cupant was Hastings. She hesitated, her bravado from earlier
vanishing as she studied the man she’d married the day
before. He was huge. He towered over the earl and made her
feel small and insignifi cant.
She couldn’t stay out here all day. He was her husband.
Determined to show poise, Rosalind forced herself to step