“Bro . . . brother?”
“Yes, brother.” His response held a note of impatience.
He paced a tight circuit of the chamber, mumbling under
his breath before whirling to face Rosalind. “Hastings is my
brother. Have you not noticed the similarities between us?
Our features?”
Rosalind didn’t have to pretend confusion. “I don’t
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understand.” She didn’t understand at all.
“My mother had an aff air with St. Clare. Before she mar-
ried. I was an eight month baby,” he drawled.
Rosalind felt her mouth drop open in pure shock. “But,
you are heir to Mansfi eld.”
“Bah!” Justin scowled. “Th
e man was a wastrel. Mans-
fi eld gambled away the family fortune. All we have are debts.”
Hate burned in his eyes, strong enough that Rosalind took
a half step backward, her heart thudding with alarm. “I’m
barely holding the estate together.”
“So it’s you! You’re the one ransacking the castle for the
treasure?”
Justin laughed, but the sound held little humor. “Th
e St.
Clare treasure is long gone. If it ever existed. Charles believes
in chasing dreams. Me, I believe in reality.” A heavy dose of
sarcasm colored his voice. “Why would I bother to pursue
myths when the St. Clare fortune is within my grasp? No,
my dear. All I want is my due. St. Clare promised to marry
my mother, then reneged on the pledge. I want what’s due to
my family.”
“But, none of this is Lucien’s fault,” Rosalind burst out.
“Why are you set on destroying him? Why not St. Clare?”
Fear slithered through her when she saw the barely controlled
rage on his face. How did he think he could right the wrongs
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of the past by committing more atrocities?
He laughed, the devious, gloating sound scraping across
her raw nerves. “St. Clare. He suff ers each time I visit the
castle, but he knows he can’t stop me. Why the hell do you
think he was so set on marrying you to Lucien? He wants
grandchildren, heirs in my way. Fool. As if he could stop me
now. He knows I’m biding my time. But I intend to avenge
the honor blackened by St. Clare.” Th
e light of madness grew
in his brown eyes, a feverish need for revenge.
Rosalind tried to keep a healthy distance between them,
but continued to push for answers to her burning questions.
“Why did you have Lucien’s wife killed? His unborn child?
Th
ey had nothing to do with St. Clare.”
“Ah, but you forget. Lucien was on his way home to Eng-
land. I never liked the way he disappeared in Naples. We left
him for dead, but when his body wasn’t found, I suspected he
still lived. So, I paid a local man to watch, to listen, and any
information he learned was sent on to me. While Hastings
remained hidden away in Italy with no knowledge of who he
was there was no danger to me. I kept tabs on him when I
was in Constantinople, and later when I returned to England,
content to bide my time. My claim on the St. Clare fortune is
stronger than Charles’.” His chuckle held pure evil. “It killed
St. Clare knowing Lucien was dead and I, as his eldest son,
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could claim everything whenever I chose.”
“One fl aw with your plan,” Rosalind said.
“Yes?” he drawled.
“Lucien is still alive.” Satisfaction oozed from her voice.
In truth, Lucien’s presence was one of many fl aws in his plans.
Justin made everything sound easy, very black and white, but
Rosalind clung to hope. Lucien would come for her. And
meanwhile, she would grasp any opportunity to escape.
A smug grin fl ickered across his face. “Oh, didn’t I tell
you? I met up with Lucien about an hour ago. Seems he came
to Whittlebury to check on the building supplies that failed
to arrive.”
“Lucien is here?” Hope surged inside Rosalind, only to
be dashed when she noticed his smug expression.
“Yes, I met up with Hastings earlier. I tricked him and
knocked him unconscious, so if you’re counting on your hus-
band racing to the rescue, you’re wasting your time.”
Fury lashed Rosalind. She launched at Justin and punched
e fi rst blow hit him in the stomach and the second
snapped back his jaw. Rosalind prepared to strike for a third
time but Justin caught her hand, his fi ngers a band around
her wrist. Images poured into her head. A long narrow alley.
Darkness. Justin hurrying ahead, hiding behind a corner.
“If you’ve hurt him, I’ll never forgive you,” she snarled.
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She struggled against his hold, determined not to give in to
his demands. If he thought she’d follow his orders blindly
then he didn’t know her as well as he thought.
He subdued her by dragging her close to his body and sur-
rounding her with iron-muscled strength. Rosalind stopped
fi ghting, relaxed, and the instant he loosened his hold she
stomped on his foot.
“Damned hellcat.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and
shook until her head rattled. “I’m going to enjoy taming you.”
His brown eyes narrowed and appeared assessing.
Rosalind tried desperately to block his licentious thoughts.
Th
ey bombarded her like blows from a club — disgusting,
despicable. Worst of all was the vision of her exchanging vows
with him before a man of the cloth and off ering her body to
Justin. “No,” she cried. “You can’t make me marry you.”
“By God, the rumors are true. You can read minds. I
believe you will be very useful to me in Paris, my dear.”
She would never help him. Never. And, she’d never stop
fi ghting him. She’d seize any opportunity to escape. “Where’s
Lucien? What have you done with him?”
“He’s stashed in a safe place. Until I can have him re-
moved.”
Until he killed him. She hadn’t told Lucien she loved
him. Over and over the thought echoed through her head. “I
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suppose you recruited Lady Helena too.”
Justin paused with his hand on the door. “I told you
that Lady Helena works alone. I have no idea what you’re
talking about.”
Th
e man spoke the truth about Lady Helena. He seemed
very put out at the accusation. Obviously her assumption that
they’d worked together was a mistaken one.
“Witch.”
“I am not a witch.”
“Not you. Helena. I wondered why you didn’t wear the
clothes I left for you. So, she destroyed them. I knew she’d ar-
ranged to have you pushed over the cliff and down the stairs.
I would have stopped her if I’d known sooner. She always did
have her eye on Lucien, but St. Clare wanted y
ou for his pre-
cious son.” Justin laughed suddenly. “I’m surprised Hastings’
scarred face hasn’t scared her off . Th
e incentive of a title and
position in society must mean more to her than perfection.”
At the striking of a clock, Justin pulled the chamber key from
a pocket inside his jacket. “I’ll arrange a tray. Eat well and get
some sleep. We leave early in the morn.”
Justin had left the gowns for her. Horrifi ed, she stared
at his back as he sauntered out the door. Remembering how
excited she’d been when she’d found them, and how she’d felt
wearing the luxurious gowns, made nausea sweep through
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
her belly.
Th
e door shut fi rmly behind him. Th
e key turned in the
lock, and she heard his receding footsteps. Rosalind rattled
the doorknob anyway. Th
en, she circled the room, searching
for a means of escape, something she might have missed.
Finally, she fl opped on the bed and stared out the window.
Dusk had fallen. She heard the drunken revelry from the bar,
the noise becoming increasingly louder as the evening wore
on. Her stomach rumbled. Justin had said he’d send food.
Perhaps she could overpower the person whodelivered the
tray. Lord, could she risk eating any food Justin provided?
Th
e thought gave her pause. She must keep her wits about
her. She’d be no help to Lucien if she was incapacitated with
a sleeping potion.
Rosalind settled back to wait. Her eyes grew heavy, but
she fought sleep. Twice, she almost nodded off . Rosalind
concentrated on Lucien and prayed for his safety. Her lids
lowered as she pictured him in her mind.
A heavy thump jerked her awake. At fi rst, her wits were
scattered, her mind sluggish and uncomprehending. Th
e thud
of footsteps sounded outside the door. Rosalind stiff ened. She
bounded off the bed, anticipation racing through her veins.
Th
is was it — a chance to escape. Rosalind ducked behind
the Chinese screen, and waited out of sight. A weapon. She
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had nothing to strike them over the head with. Fool. Wildly,
she searched the room for a weapon. Anything! A poker. Bel-
lows. A lamp. Th
e chamber pot.
Frustration beat at her. It seemed as though Justin had
ordered the removal of anything that might double as a
weapon. Her shoulders slumped, and she stepped into plain
sight as the door opened.
An elderly lady waddled in. “Ho! Th
inking of escape,
was you?” Her face glowed a hot red and each breath came in
a harsh pant as though the stairs from the kitchens had taxed
her strength.
Rosalind ignored the taunt. Despite the woman’s bulk
and poor breathing, she still towered over her and looked far
too strong for Rosalind to deal with. She would have to think
of another way.
Th
e woman glanced over her shoulder at the door. “What
ya doing, dawdling out there, girl. I don’t have all night. Bring
that there tray and be quick about it.”
A young girl staggered in carrying a laden tray. Her arms
trembled under the weight, and it clattered when she dropped
it on the walnut table that stood beside the bed.
“You’ll pay for breakages, Annie. I be deducting them
from yer wages. Just you remember that.”
Th
e girl bobbed her head, keeping her eyes downcast.
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“Yes, mistress.”
Th
e woman turned to fi x small, piggy eyes on Rosalind.
“Put yer tray by the door when yer be fi nished. Annie will
come to collect it. And, don’t yer be trying nothin’ or I’ll
make yer sorry. I be wise to witches. Girl, come along.”
Annie shot from the room like a rabbit frightened by a
fox. Th
e elderly woman glowered at Rosalind and stomped
after the girl. Th
e door slammed shut with a solid thunk,
followed immediately by the scratching of the key when it
turned in the lock.
Rosalind stared at the solid wooden door. A daring plan
formed in her mind. Th
at was it, she decided, letting her
breath ease out in a whoosh. Her means of escape. Probably
her only means of escape, but she’d need to keep her wits
about her to make it work.
She surveyed the contents of the tray. Lumps of meat
swam in a bowl of thin gruel. A crust of dry bread accom-
panied the stew. Rosalind picked up the bread, knowing
she needed her strength. It tasted as bad as it looked, and
she dropped it back on the tray to wait for the return of the
young girl.
An hour passed. Th
en, another. Rosalind yawned and
glanced at the bed but knew sleep was a luxury tonight. She
stood and walked the length of the room, determined not to
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slumber and miss her chance of escape.
Finally, she heard the key scrape inside the lock. She
tensed and crept closer. Th
e fl utters inside her stomach in-
tensifi ed. Th
is had to work. Once Justin had her on the ship
to France, escape would be near to impossible. She didn’t
want to leave St. Clare or Lucien. Lucien — no telling what
Justin would do with her husband before he killed him.
Rosalind shuddered, knowing Lucien’s death was inevitable
if Justin wanted to succeed. She dare not fail. Th
ere were no
other alternatives.
Th
e door creaked when it opened. Light poured into
Rosalind’s room from the candle the young maid, Annie,
held in her right hand. Annie halted when she saw Rosalind.
“You were meant to put yer tray on the fl oor,” she said. A
frown puckered her brow.
“I forgot,” Rosalind replied, infusing her voice with con-
trition. She sauntered over to the bed and sat on the edge, not
far away from the table where the tray sat. “I’m sorry.”
Annie chewed on her bottom lip and stared at Rosalind
in clear dismay. “Can . . . can you bring it here?”
“You want me to carry the tray over to you?” Rosalind
tensed inside, ready to spring at the girl the minute she came
close enough.
Annie blinked. Even in the dim light, Rosalind saw the
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
desperation in the girl’s pale green eyes. Annie licked her
abused lip, looking from the tray to Rosalind. It was clear
she didn’t want to leave without the tray and risk the old
woman’s fury.
“Please, miss.”
Rosalind felt a fl ash of guilt. Th
e old woman would likely
beat the girl if she returned empty handed. Th
en, Rosalind
thought about Justin and what he intended. She hardened
her heart. “Come in and get it,” she said, waving a languid
hand toward the barely touched dishes. “I won’t hurt you.”
Th
e girl’s eyes rounded. She edged a few inches inside the
door, but looked ready to bolt at any sudden move. Rosalind
scarcely breathed, watching Annie closely, even though she
pretended disinterest in the tray and the girl’s presence.
“Be it true yer a witch?” Annie blurted.
Ah, gossip. Rosalind thought rapidly and came to a
quick decision. What do you want from a witch, Annie? One
thing came to mind. Rosalind wanted to smile with triumph
but inclined her head slowly instead so she didn’t frighten the
girl. Finally, gossip might bring good instead of heartache
for her. Th
e tittle-tattle might help save Lucien. “Yes, I’m a
witch.” She watched the girl closely, measuring her reaction.
Annie glanced over her shoulder in a furtive manner.
Both uneasiness and desperation slid across her face when she
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turned her attention back to Rosalind. “Do you do potions?”
“What did you have in mind?” A man was involved here.
Unrequited love. Rosalind bit back a satisfi ed smile, reassured
that her initial deduction was correct. Her plan would work.
She’d make it work.
After another quick glance over her shoulder, Annie took
a deep, shuddering breath and seemed to come to a decision.
She crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her, her
apprehension regarding Rosalind overtaken by the need for
love. “A love potion. I need a love potion.” Her blurted words
confi rmed Rosalind’s thoughts.
Rosalind pretended to consider the request before saying,
“Th
ere’ll be a price.”
Annie crept toward the dirty dishes, nearly going cross-
eyed as she kept one eye on Rosalind and the other on the
door. “I’ve saved some coins. How much do you charge?”
One loud boo and the girl would take off like a startled
hare. Rosalind quashed the guilt that bloomed inside her and
forged ahead. “No money.”
“But, you said there’d be a price.” Like a dog whose
master beat it, Annie cowered, poised to run. Scrawny hands
quivered at her sides. Her gaze skittered over Rosalind with-
out settling. She bit her bottom lip again in clear indecision.
“I can’t let you go. She’ll beat me.”
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Not if Rosalind had anything to do with it, but she
couldn’t make that promise now. Without warning, she