The Second Seduction Page 6
“What do you think you were doing?” Hastings snapped.
Rosalind bit back the words that trembled at her lips,
her anger burning away the threatening tears. Surely that was
obvious? She wanted to go for a walk on the beach, longed to
taste the salt in the water and feel the sand running through
her fi ngers. She intended to savor the new experience. “I . . .”
“You need a damn keeper.” Th
e bite in his voice made the
tears burn again. “Let me see.” He strode toward her, brushed
aside her cloak and slid his hands under her woolen skirts
before she could blink. Th
e feel of his bare hands caressing
her calves made her freeze in shock. But the snort of the horse
snapped Rosalind to her senses.
“I . . . Don’t do that!”
“You’re bleeding.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Good morning, sir,” a masculine voice said.
Th
e black horse shied for a second time. To her horror,
Rosalind let out a muffl
ed squeak. Hastings swept her up,
hugging her close to his side, cursed, and whirled about to
calm his mount.
“Sorry I frightened your horse, sir.” Th
e man shifted a
bag from one shoulder to the other and edged past Oberon.
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Rosalind felt a stirring of sympathy for the man’s pre-
dicament.
“You came from the cove?” Hastings demanded.
“Yes, sir. Collecting seaweed. Grows good vegetables.
Sell it, I do.” He swiped a hand over his forehead and glanced
back down at the sea, a strange look of almost desperation on
his face, as if he were afraid.
Rosalind followed his gaze to see what he was looking at.
She saw nothing but the wide expanse of sand and sea. But
the man seemed nervous. He shifted his sack from shoulder
to shoulder, looking ill at ease.
Th
e horse stirred restlessly, pawed at the ground and
snorted, rolling his eyes. Rosalind decided that he was the
cause of the man’s unease. She didn’t feel safe standing this
close to the massive beast either.
Th
e man wiped his face again, leaving a grubby mark.
He hoisted his sack to his other shoulder and scurried off
with a muffl
ed farewell.
Lucien scowled after the rapidly departing man and
turned to face Rosalind. “I’ll take a look at your knee.”
Rosalind swallowed and backed up. Th
e feel of his work-
roughened hands sliding over her limbs lived with her still.
Th
e remembered sensation crouched at the forefront of her
mind, and just thinking of it made her hot and shivery all
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over. Work-roughened? Her brows drew together in a frown.
He’d stated he had estate business this afternoon. Perhaps he
helped. A vision formed in her mind, and it had nothing to do
with her sight and everything to do with her imagination. A
strong, robust man, naked to the waist, chopping wood . . .
Somehow, she didn’t think Hastings would look skinny
and frail under that shirt. She didn’t think he’d look like the
stable lad she’d surprised having a wash at the well.
Heat fl ooded her face. Aghast at the direction of her
thoughts, she backed up further still. Several times when
she’d touched a man or woman by mistake, she’d seen
risqué pictures in their minds. Now, it was happening to
her, and she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with all the
confl icting emotions.
“Careful! You’ll slide over the edge.” Hastings reached over
and with one, eff ortless move heaved her to safety. “If you’re
sure you are uninjured, we should carry on.” He jerked his
head in the direction of the sun. “Th
e noon hour approaches.”
Rosalind took one look at his determined face and
nodded hastily. “I’m fi ne,” she said, even though it was a lie.
Her heart beat in a frenzied tattoo, and she couldn’t get the
wretched picture of him out of her mind. Th
e half-naked
him . . . with the sheen of sweat coating his muscles.
Before he could remonstrate further, Rosalind plunged
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down the path at a breakneck speed, trying to outdistance
her turbulent thoughts. Aunt Elizabeth would be mortifi ed if
she could read her thoughts or see her unladylike fl ight. Not
that Rosalind was that happy about the situation herself. It
was diffi
cult enough facing her husband without her mind
conjuring visions of him naked.
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IV
Lucien shook his head, befuddled by the woman’s behav-
ior. She’d looked at him like . . . like . . . He shuddered
inwardly, feeling the lick of answering heat before he thrust
it aside.
He studied her rapidly departing fi gure and scowled. “A
trick of the light,” he muttered. Th
at was the way Francesca
used to look at him. As though she wanted to eat him for her
next meal.
Th
is feeling, this jump of heat and awareness, was his
body’s reaction to her proximity. Any woman would have
caused the same sensation. After all, he hadn’t had a woman
since Francesca. He hadn’t wanted to.
Acknowledging that touching the woman had been a
mistake, Lucien glowered in her direction. A big mistake, but
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
she had hurt herself so he excused his slip from grace.
Lucien tugged Oberon down the last steep portion of the
path before it fl attened out to sandy beach. His attention was
drawn to the woman, her child-like glee as she tugged off her
gloves and bent to pick up handfuls of sand. Th
e sand slid
through her fi ngers, small, shiny fragments catching the sun
as they fell. Lucien heard a soft laugh of pure joy. How long
had it been since he had laughed in that carefree way? He
knew the answer without even thinking.
Ten months to the day.
He hadn’t laughed since Francesca’s murder and hadn’t
wanted to. Anguish clogged his throat as he recalled his love.
His resolve hardened. Enough. Time to focus on the task at
hand. Find Francesca’s murderer, bring him to justice, and
then he’d make the trip back to Naples.
Once revenge was his, he’d return home.
Th
e woman darted forward and scooped up a glistening
white shell. A few seconds later, she changed direction and
pounced on another shell. Lucien watched while she splashed
into the sea, heedless of the water wetting her boots, to wash
her treasures. She held them up to the light, studied them
carefully and slid them into the depths of her voluminous
cloak. Th
en she darted off again. Lucien sighed and followed,
leading Oberon behind him.
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Wi
thout warning, he sensed he was being watched. He
glanced at the woman but her attention was on a pile of fl ot-
sam washed up by the tide. His eyes narrowed as he casually
searched the top of the cliff where the path ran. Nothing. Yet,
his gut screamed at him to tread cautiously. He scanned the
expanse of sand in front of them but could discern nothing
out of place. Still, the hairs at the back of his neck prickled.
He slowed, having learned to trust his instincts.
Up ahead on the expanse of sand exposed by the retreat-
ing tide, he saw footprints. More footprints than one man
would have made while collecting seaweed.
Oberon snorted, sensing his watchful concern. Lucien
frowned while splitting his attention between the woman
and the rest of the cove. Th
e nagging feeling that wouldn’t
go away suddenly bloomed into a concrete thought. He’d
watched smugglers landing their prize last night at high tide.
At the time, the sea had covered most of the sand, yet this
morning several sets of footprints were clearly discernible. It
looked as though they led to the network of caves he’d dis-
covered at the far end of the cove. Which meant this cove was
defi nitely not a safe place for the woman to walk alone. Even
one of the burly footmen Lady Augusta employed would be
little deterrent against a smuggler’s gang intent on mischief.
Although he hadn’t heard rumors this group was prone to
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
violence, other smuggling gangs further down the coast in
East Sussex were.
Th
e woman meandered up the beach, and Lucien made
a clicking sound to Oberon to hurry him up. It was best if he
kept a close eye on her. Hopefully, she would soon tire of wet
boots and sand clinging to her fair skin.
Th
e length of the cove later, she still bounded forward,
pouncing on each new pile of washed-up debris with a child-
ish delight. A grudging smile tugged at his lips, only dying
when he had to follow her back to the other end of the cove.
Shaking his head with rising impatience, he strode forward.
“It’s time to go.”
At the same time, the woman spun about. Th
e look on
her face was grim, her mouth pursed tight in annoyance.
“Look what I’ve found.” She thrust a scruff y black thing at
him. “Look!”
Before he was able to off er an opinion or even discover
what had raised her ire, she clutched the mass of black to her
chest. “Look at what?”
Her mouth smoothed out, like a fl ower blossoming and
turned up into a ravishing smile of delight. Lucien blinked at
the suddenness of her mood change.
“It’s alive,” she announced. “I’m taking it home with me.”
Her blue eyes deepened in color about the same time her
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dainty chin tilted upward in the small act of stubbornness he
was coming to recognize. Some sort of creature, he deduced,
but he had no idea of its identity since she clutched it protec-
tively to her bosom.
“What is alive?” Annoyance simmered through him.
Did she think he was some sort of unthinking monster? Th
en
he answered the question himself. Of course she did.
Only monsters looked like such as he.
“It’s a cat,” she said. “A kitten. We should return to the
castle. I need my herbal remedies.”
Th
at chin of hers still pointed upward in determined
defi ance, imperious despite her small stature. Lucien sighed,
more than ready to leave the cove, and not about to off er up
an argument to the contrary. He bent from the waist in a stiff
bow. “After you, my lady.”
Th
e look of surprise that fl ashed across her face almost
made him smile. Perhaps he was learning how to manage the
woman. A rusty sounding chuckle escaped at the thought.
Lucien sobered immediately, arching one brow in silent en-
quiry when she remained rooted to the spot, gaping at him.
“Did you want to walk in front of Oberon up the path?”
Lucien asked. He’d noticed her reticence when it came to his
mount. Despite her obvious liking for the kitten, she wasn’t
a lover of horsefl esh.
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“Th
ank you.” Th
e words were stiff and a little ungracious
as she swept past with her nose in the air.
Lucien grinned, the action feeling foreign and awkward.
Th
e woman looked as prickly as the hedgehog he’d surprised
during his midnight rambling last night. And he’d discovered
a truth. To make sure she kept her distance, all he needed was
Oberon at his side.
Th
e walk back to Castle St. Clare took half the time the
outward journey had. Th
e woman marched briskly down the
path in front of him, clutching the kitten protectively and not
attempting a word of chatter. She crooned to the creature, but
apart from that, the journey was undertaken in silence.
In the outer courtyard, they parted ways. Lucien led
Oberon to the stables, and the woman disappeared inside
the castle.
Lucien paused to look back. She hadn’t cast him a second
look. Not one. Oberon nudged him in the middle of his back
and with an impatient snort, sent him lurching forward.
“All right.” Lucien pushed the woman to the back of his
mind, and smoothed a hand over his mount’s withers. Th
e
woman was of no importance anyway.
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Tickell, the St. Clare butler, opened the heavy oak door a
second before Rosalind grasped the head of the brass lion
knocker. She smiled her thanks and rushed past, eager to get
to her chamber.
“Where have you been?”
Th
e stern screech echoed through the Great Hall and
stopped Rosalind dead. A log resettled in the grate, sending a
shower of sparks sailing upward into the chimney. Rosalind
used the brief distraction to take a deep breath before turn-
ing slowly to face Lady Augusta. One look at Lady Augusta’s
pinched face told her she was in for a tongue-lashing, no
matter what excuse she gave.
Forcing her mouth to curve into a polite smile, she said,
“I’ve been for a walk, my lady.”
Lady Augusta stared down her long nose, her gaze im-
perious. “A walk? I expected you here,” the elderly woman
snapped, slicing and swishing her fan through the air in a
way that made Rosalind’s knuckles tingle. “A household this
size does not run by itself.”
Nothing like starting off wrong-footed. She hadn’t real-
ized Lady Augusta wanted to oversee her in the household
duties. Th
at wasn’t the impression the elderly woman had
given yesterday. Rosalind sighed inwardly and wondered how
to proceed.
She’d have to apologize. Th
e kitten stirred in her
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
hands and let out a weak mew. “I’m sorry . . .”
“What have you there?” Lady Augusta thrust her face
closer and let out a hiss. “A cat! It looks diseased. Remove it
at once. I won’t have it in my castle. Filthy beast.”
Heat swept through Rosalind’s cheeks. A nervous quiver
raced through her body, but instinct told her if she let Lady
Augusta win this round, she was doomed. Determined to
hold fast, she straightened and prepared for battle. Th
e kitten
depended on her.
Th
e wooden door at their backs burst open. A fl urry of
breeze stirred the tapestries on the far wall before Tickell
closed the door after Hastings. Th
e fi re hissed with new life,
sending up a sullen plume of smoke.
“Aunt.” He inclined his head in a respectful nod before
turning to Rosalind. “My lady.”
“Tell her to remove that vermin from my castle,” Lady
Augusta demanded, her voice high and querulous. “ ’Tis un-
lucky to have a black cat indoors. Witch’s beast!” she ended
with another hiss.
Rosalind backed up at the vehement tone but kept her gaze
on Lady Augusta. Th
e elderly woman quivered with anger, the
ribbons on her bonnet rattling, echoing the sentiment.
“Take the cat to your room and keep it there,” Hastings
said without looking directly at her.
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Lady Augusta swelled with indignation. “But . . .”
“Go, Rosalind.”
Rosalind hurried off before Lady Augusta changed
Hastings’ mind. But she couldn’t resist a quick look over her
shoulder before she left. Hastings was watching her. She felt
a strange warmth inside as she ducked through the door and
out of his sight.
He’ d called her by her given name.
Perhaps there was hope for the future after all.
Rosalind strode down the same dimly lit passageway
she’d walked this morning. A smile fl itted across her mouth
as she skipped to the end of the corridor. Not only had Hastings
called her by name, he’ d taken her side against Lady Augusta.
She stroked a fi nger across the kitten’s head and felt her smile
widen. Th
at was defi nitely a hopeful sign.
At a second fork in the corridor, she hesitated before
turning left. More portraits of long forgotten ancestors fi lled
the walls, interspaced with alcoves holding marble busts.