Th
e woman glared at him. Her light eyes darkened
with an inner fi re that underlined the stubbornness of her
chin. Under her cloak, he saw the subtle rise and fall of her
breasts. When he realized where he was looking, he stiff ened.
He jerked his gaze to her face and clenched his jaw while he
waited for her decision. “Well?” he demanded, not bothering
to hide his irritation.
Th
eir eyes met and held in a silent duel, but fi nally she
gave him a grudging nod. “I will take a footman.”
Lucien let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been hold-
ing. Despite her compliance, he sensed she wanted to tell him
to go to the devil. His mouth twisted. Hell, she was too late.
He was already there.
“Come on,” he muttered. He gestured for her to pre-
cede him down the path and made a clicking sound to urge
Oberon to walk on behind him.
Th
ey picked their way down the debris-strewn path, an
uneasy silence between them. Lucien’s thoughts drifted to
Francesca.
His search for Hawk was taking longer than he felt
comfortable with. Each whisper from the village of St. Clare
48
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
made hope surge, but the man was proving wily. Hawk had
managed to slip through his fi ngers. Th
e man remained one
step ahead all the time. Lucien let out a frustrated sigh.
Without warning, the woman stopped in the middle of
the track and whirled to face him. “Why don’t you like me?
What have I done to deserve such dislike? You didn’t even
come to my room last night.”
Lucien felt his mouth drop. He picked it up so rapidly
his teeth clicked together. He was her husband. How dare
she question him? Only one other woman had ever pushed
him this way . . .
He reined in his temper, and waited for the tight sensa-
tion in his chest to dissipate.
“I know you don’t like me. You can hardly deny it.”
Lucien snorted. If she thought marriages were made for
anything other than necessity, she was a fool. “Like” was not
an essential ingredient where marriage was concerned.
Th
e woman glared at him again. And the way her hands
fi sted, he was sure her fi ngernails dug painfully into her fl esh.
“You didn’t let me fi nish,” she snapped, her eyes turning
the same deep, unfathomable blue they had earlier. “Can’t we
try to be friends?”
A cynical laugh escaped before Lucien could censor his
reaction. Friends? He didn’t think so. Although he didn’t say
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it out loud, he intended to keep as far away from the woman
as possible.
He had loved before.
And lost.
“It can’t be that dangerous down in the cove,” the woman
said without warning. “Someone else is down there.”
Lucien jolted to full attention. He scanned the seashore
to no avail. “Where?” he demanded.
“To the right of the big boulder, the one jutting out into
the sea.”
Lucien gazed in the direction she pointed and caught a
blur of movement before the fi gure disappeared from sight.
Odd. Th
e villagers didn’t usually visit this cove. Lucien
presumed it was because of the smugglers, but the lack of
visitors could be rooted in superstition. Charles had spoken
of a shipwreck not far from the castle during the last century.
He’d mentioned tales of ghouls guarding a mystery treasure.
Lucien snorted at the romantic notion. It was more
likely a story put about by smugglers to ensure privacy. Was
this man connected? Frustration spiked inside him when he
glanced at Rosalind. Hellfi re. She would get in the way when
a chance presented itself.
Th
e information he’d turned up on Hawk was pitifully
sparse. Lucien mulled over the tidbits he’d discovered thus
50
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
far. One of the whispers that had particularly interested
him connected the mysterious Hawk with the smugglers.
Lucien had questioned a young shepherd tending his fl ock
and intimidated the boy into giving him an answer. Lucien
acknowledged the bullying with a sense of shame, but the
method had produced a lead. Th
e boy had blurted out that
the smugglers had a new leader, a mystery man who wore a
mask and spoke with the voice of the devil.
Charles had also mentioned an old hermit who lived in
a cave further around the coast. Th
e man’s only living son
had died in a run-in with excise men and he had retreated to
suff er his grief alone. Lucien intended to question him about
the mystery man who had taken over the smuggler gang.
Someone must know where the man had come from and his
real identity. Gossip was inevitable in a village of this size.
Th
e man must have enemies, a scorned lover — someone who
was willing to tell Lucien the man’s name.
Lucien hesitated, wanting to storm the cove and
demand answers. But he couldn’t leave the woman alone
without protection.
A quick glance told him she was still determined to go
down to the beach. Th
e up-tilted chin, the fi rm lips, and the
steady gaze signaled her intentions clearly without the need
for words. He cursed inwardly, admitting defeat. “Come on
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then,” he muttered.
Th
e woman turned, looked at him, her blond brows
arching.
Lucien felt a slight heat in his cheeks and scowled to
counteract the sensation. “I have estate business this after-
noon. We must make haste.”
Th
e blond brows arched higher still, and Lucien saw her
glance at the sun. “It’s mid-morning,” she said, turning her
attention back to him.
Now, he felt beleaguered and . . . petty. It was the calm
look on her face, the steady and candid gaze in those cool
blue eyes and her damned eyebrows. Th
ey spoke a language
all of their own.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a fl ash of move-
ment down in the cove. Reminded of his mission, Lucien’s
eyes narrowed in concentration.
When he held his dying Francesca in his arms, he’d
promised her he would retaliate and avenge her death. He
intended to honor the pledge. Th
e second part of the prom-
ise, unwillingly given to ease her passage into death — the
undertaking that he would seek love again, he shoved aside as
he turned to the English mouse.
“If you want to go, we’ll have to go now,” he growled.
Lucien turned to his mount and made a clicking sound
52
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
behind his teeth. Oberon trotted obediently at his heels, leav-
ing the woman to follow.
Ever
y one of his senses sprang to life. Lucien gritted his
teeth. Without looking, he knew the woman was frowning.
Too bad. If she didn’t like it, she was welcome to leave. His
stride lengthened as he increased the pace, heading toward
the dead oak, and the marker at the split in the path. Lucien
stalked along the right fork that led down to the cove.
Th
e wind whipped over the edge of the cliff , pulling
at Lucien’s hair. Th
e distinctive tang of salt carried on the
wind and a vision of young boys playing in the sea fl ickered
through his mind. A smile tugged at his lips, but the instant
he seized on the memory, his mind locked up, refusing to
release the slice of his past. Lucien had no idea who the boys
were, or the location.
Intense frustration beat at him, as it had since gaining
consciousness in Naples over three years ago. Physically, the
doctors told him there was nothing wrong with him. But the
attack by thieves had left him with huge gaps in his memory.
Francesca hadn’t cared about his foggy past. An angel, she
had rescued him after the attack and nursed him to health.
Now whole in body, but scarred both on his face and in mind,
Lucien had no recollection of his past. Francesca had said it
didn’t matter; they would make their own memories.
53
SHELLEY MUNRO
Together.
Lucien smiled, holding the memory close until a voice
jerked him back to the present.
“How long will it take to walk down to the beach? Does
the tide make any diff erence in when I can go down to the
cove?”
A groan built deep in his throat; his mouth curled up
in disgust. Th
at was all he needed — a woman who talked
non-stop and demanded his constant attention.
“Hawk, the lookout sighted two people up on the cliff . Man
and a woman.”
Hawk whirled about to stare at the wizened man who’d
called out. Beneath the loose black mask, his mouth fi rmed to
a thin line of irritation. Damned inconvenient. He’d wanted
to shift the cargo inland today, but that wouldn’t be possible
with strangers around.
“Did they see the lookout?” His low voice held authority.
Power. It breached the distance between them easily.
Th
e man held up his lantern and navigated the uneven,
slippery fl oor of the cave until he stood in front of Hawk. “He
said they did.”
54
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Hawk bit back his impatience. Damned idiot. Did none
of them understand how the return of the long lost heir
threatened them?
Hastings must have a guardian angel looking over his
shoulder. A snarl built deep inside Hawk’s chest, fi ghting for
release. He refused to give in to the luxury, the loss of control.
Hastings might have escaped death at his hands twice, but it
wouldn’t happen a third time. On this occasion he had a plan,
a full proof strategy that would allow him to taunt Hastings
before the fi nal deathblow. Th
ank God he’d had the foresight
to clear the tunnels leading beneath the castle. No more spur
of the moment attacks. Instead, he looked forward to weeks
of enjoyable entertainment before the culmination of his
scheming. Th
e tension inside him eased at the thought.
“Tell him to take an empty sack and collect seaweed.
Once the sack is full, tell him to carry it up the path.” His
words held enough bite to make the older man shuffl
e uneas-
ily. Good. A little fear was a damned healthy commodity.
“Aye, Hawk.” He doff ed his hat, half turned away to
carry out the instructions, then hesitated. “And if they ques-
tion him?”
Hawk shrugged, his mind already busy with alternative
plans to transport the cargo. “Th
ey won’t. If he carries the
bag, his purpose will be self-evident.”
55
SHELLEY MUNRO
“Right you are.”
Whiting moved stealthily toward the mouth of the cave
with a minimum of noise. Th
e best of a dim-witted lot. At
least this group carried out orders without question. Hawk
heard the low hum of speech as Whiting relayed his message
to the lookout.
A dull thud sounded from further up the cave passage,
followed by a curse. Long strides took Hawk to the source of
the noise. He surveyed the barrel on the cave fl oor. Brandy
trickled from the cask, the fumes fi lling the air.
“Whiting will deduct that from your share. Do it again,
and you’ll deal with me.” Hawk’s voice lashed out, leaving the
man pale in the fl ickering light of the lantern. “Understood?”
Th
e man cowered but managed to meet his gaze for a
brief moment. “Aye.”
Hawk noticed the silence in the cave, and his gaze leapt
to the rest of his workers. “Back to work. I want this cargo
shifted by the end of the day. Move.”
A fl urry of activity greeted his order as the men put their
backs into the job at hand. When Hawk was satisfi ed the job
was progressing, he stalked toward the mouth of the cave,
passing Whiting on the way.
“Watch the men. I want this fi nished today.”
“Today!” Whiting blurted with disbelief.
56
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
watch on the cove. Go.”
“Aye,” Whiting bit out. “Sir.”
Hawk remained still until Whiting’s footsteps faded into
the distance. But under the mask, his face tensed, his eyes
narrowed. Whiting’s attitude had changed over the last two
months. He’d started to question orders. Damn, he didn’t
have time for a power struggle. Not when everything he’d
worked for looked as though it would be wrenched from his
grasp. Making all his plans for naught.
Hawk strode to the mouth of the cave and peered out. A
man leading a horse led the way, followed by a woman. Hawk
snorted. He would recognize that brute of a horse anywhere.
Hellfi re and be damned.
Hastings.
His hand itched to reach for his gun. He could fi nish this
now. And solve each of his problems in one fell swoop. One
shot would do the trick. His hand moved without volition
to caress the pistol on his hip. One shot at close range, and
Hastings would be gone.
Except that would make things too easy. Hawk stilled,
frustration making him frown. He wanted Hastings to suff er
for all the wrongs he had infl icted, to know who killed him
and why. Hawk wanted to see his enemy’s face as his life
57
SHELLEY MUNRO
ebbed away and savor his victory.
He intended to dance on his enemy’s grave.
Rosalind followed the horse down the path maintaining a
wary, respectful distance. Th
e black looked docile enough the
&
nbsp; way it followed Hastings and nuzzled at his shoulder like a
pet lamb, but she wasn’t taking any chances. After a nasty
bite from a horse when she was a child, she preferred to keep
safe from harm’s way. Walking on her own two feet or riding
in a sturdy carriage sounded more sensible, in her opinion.
She would leave the unpredictable four-legged creatures to
her husband.
Her gaze fi xed on Hastings as she absently fi ngered the
bump on her head. Every time she thought of the intruder
in her chamber, she came to Hastings. And each time, she
discarded him as a suspect. She couldn’t explain why, but
instinct told her he hadn’t been in her chamber. Gruff and
irritable he might be, but she didn’t think he’d harm her.
She sighed. Instead, he ignored her, which was a hundred
times worse.
For a time she’d thought he’d forbid her to continue her
walk. Rosalind sniff ed, thinking his decree unnecessary. She
58
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
winced at the slight pain in her head. Th
e castle itself pre-
sented a sight more danger than walking about the estate,
what with all the strange noises and carryings on.
Her thoughts circled back to Hastings. Sometimes he
seemed almost angry with her, other times terse to the point
of rudeness. Th
en there were the odd visions that assailed her
when she touched him.
A gust of wind whistled in from the sea, whipping back
the hood of her cloak. Her hair toppled from the loose knot at
the back of her head, long strands fl ying in front of her face,
obscuring her view. Rosalind stumbled on a crumbly section
of the path. A startled cry escaped as she fell.
Th
e horse shied in alarm, jostling Hastings. Rosalind
heard him mutter a curse as he fought to calm his horse. Her
head jerked up warily.
“Whoa, Oberon. Steady, boy.” Hastings smoothed his
hand down his mount’s glossy neck and the beast ceased his
nervous fi dgeting.
Knowing she was safe from being trampled, Rosalind
pushed up to a kneeling position with a groan. Small, sharp
shells littered the path, piercing her stockings and digging
painfully into her fl esh.
“Ouch,” she muttered. Tears stung at her eyes, but
she refused to let them fall, especially in front of Hastings.
59
SHELLEY MUNRO
Instead, she scrambled to her feet and brushed down her
skirts. Screwing up her hands until her fi ngernails dug into
her palms helped keep the tears at bay.