The Second Seduction
Page 8
would rather be doing.” A dry chuckle passed between them,
the unspoken sentiment raising Lucien’s hackles. “Th
ings far
more pleasurable than toiling on the estate,” St. Clare added,
spelling his thoughts out. He closed one eye in a sordid wink.
“Enjoy the marriage while you can.”
“Th
ere is no one to oversee the work,” Lucien said, ig-
noring the man’s insinuation that he should take the woman
to bed and keep her there until her belly swelled with child.
Th
e idea made his stomach churn.
“Charles will take care of the repairs.”
A snort escaped Lucien. Th
e honorable Charles Soulden
was a useless fop. His so-called cousin spent his nights ca-
rousing about the countryside with his friend Justin, his days
sleeping away his excesses. Work. Th
e man didn’t know the
meaning of the word. “I believe Charles has social obligations
to fulfi ll. I heard him informing Lady Augusta last night.”
St. Clare shrugged, leaning heavily on his ebony cane.
“No hurry. As I said, a day or two will make little diff erence.”
Irritated with the man’s attitude, Lucien turned to Max-
well. “I’ll start the repairs.” After wandering the estate, the
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need for repairs was obvious. It was no wonder the village
people accepted money from the smugglers in exchange for
providing labor and a cloak of secrecy. Lucien could hardly
blame them for trying to provide for their families. What was
also obvious was the growing resentment from the villagers
and tenants who lived on the estate.
Impatient with talk, Lucien leapt to his feet needing
action to fi ll his mind. Besides, the same uneasiness he’d felt
in the woman’s presence had crept into his gut. He sniff ed
cautiously, testing the air for her perfume. He grunted in-
wardly when he smelled only dusty books along with a tinge
of smoke from the fi re. With his imagination working over-
time, he needed the hard physical activity of estate work. He
needed to fall into his bed at night with his limbs heavy and
aching with tiredness. For then, he might actually sleep.
Lucien paced to the door in front of the desk, eager to
be gone. “Maxwell, is it the cluster of cottages this side of the
village that need work?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“I’ll put the work in motion. Are the building supplies
ordered?”
Th
e man blinked. “Th
ere was no point. Th
e work was
not scheduled.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Lucien marched from the study.
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Long strides carried him into the outer bailey. A raven cawed
from its roost atop the disused North tower, attracting Luc-
ien’s attention. Damned pile of stones, he thought. It needed
dismantling before it toppled into the sea.
Two minutes later, he arrived at the stables and a groom
came running at his call. After a short delay, he mounted
Oberon and trotted from the stable yard, glad to be gone
from the oppressive bastion.
He urged Oberon into a canter. After the morning
outing, the animal was content with the pace and they loped
alongside a hedgerow, heading for the cluster of cottages on
the edge of St. Clare village.
A crop of barley grew in the fi eld adjacent, the stalks
spindly and sparse for the time of the season. Planted too late,
he thought, perhaps with inferior seeds.
Was it any wonder the village people relied on the smug-
glers to supplement their incomes? It was a matter of survival.
As Lucien reached the brow of the hill, he had a view
of St. Clare village in the valley below. A plume of smoke
rose sullenly from a chimney. In front of the nearest cot-
tage, a red rooster scratched in the dirt. A toddler crawled
through an open door out into the muddy street. Somewhere
a blacksmith worked his forge, the incessant pounding of a
hammer beating in time with Oberon’s hooves. Th
e group of
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women who had been talking ceased their prattle and turned
to stare. Th
e scene bore little resemblance to the prosperous
Bacci estate in Italy.
Lucien slowed Oberon and dismounted. Every man,
woman, and child in sight froze, clear suspicion on their
faces. Even the rooster bore suspicion, squawking in fright
and disappearing into an alley running between two cottages.
Lucien could understand the attitude. He, too, was fi nding
it diffi
cult to trust these days, second guessing the motives of
everyone around him.
“My lord?” Th
e frail woman elected as spokesman was so
skinny she looked as though a gust of wind would send her
soaring through the skies.
“I have come to check the cottages, to see which require
repairs,” Lucien said, frowning once again over the lack
of concern from the castle. His words were greeted with a
stunned silence.
A huge man with bulging biceps and a blacksmith’s
hammer in one hand appeared behind the group of women.
“Talk be cheap.”
Th
e women backed up as if distancing themselves from
the man.
“Do you have time to give me a tour?” Lucien asked.
“Can you show me what requires attention?”
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Th
e man stepped closer before pausing to spit tobacco
from the corner of his mouth. Th
e brown wad landed two
inches from Lucien’s highly polished black boots. “Aye, for
all the good it will do.”
Lucien ignored the clear challenge. “Is there somewhere
to leave my horse?”
“My son will watch your ‘orse.” He snapped his fi ngers
and a child appeared at his elbow. “Take his lordship’s ‘orse
to the stables.”
Th
e awed look on the youngster’s face as he stroked a
grubby hand down Oberon’s neck reassured Lucien that his
mount would come to no harm. He handed the reins to the
boy, watched to see that Oberon accepted the boy then turned
to the man. “I am in your hands, sir.”
“Aye.” A blob of spittle landed on the ground at his feet.
Lucien chose to ignore the action, knowing he needed
to earn the villagers’ respect. Trust would take time because,
from what he had seen, they had no reason to believe a repre-
sentative from the castle. “After you, sir,” he murmured.
“Humph! I ain’t never bin called sir before. Name’s Sam
Judson, the smithy.”
Lucien off ered his hand and watched Judson’s mouth
drop open in bemusement. Th
e man stared at Lucien’s hand
and his gaze rose to size him up. It wasn’t diffi
cult to read the
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man’s mind, and Lucien felt renewed anger at the St. Clare
family. Th
ey owed a duty to the village people, a sacred trust.
He held his hand steady for a moment longer and was about
to lower it when the smithy extended his beefy hand. A tinge
of red shaded the man’s cheeks as their hands clasped in a
brief shake.
“What will you show me fi rst?” Lucien asked. “Should
we start at this end of the village and work our way to the
other end?”
Judson hesitated, then his expressive face hardened in
resolution. “Th
is way, my lord.”
Over half of the cottages Judson showed Lucien required
work to make them habitable. A leaking roof on one cottage,
rotten timber on another were minor problems and easily
solved. Th
e empty well that meant water had to be carried
from a stream at the opposite end of the village promised
more of a challenge. Judson introduced him to several men
and mentioned the names of the tenants in each of the cot-
tages. By the end of the tour, the initial anger in Lucien had
solidifi ed to a hard lump in his gut. Th
is was no way to treat
tenants. And by God, he would see improvements before he
left. Th
e stolen identity forced on him would do some good
after all.
Judson coughed to attract his attention. “Here comes
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
your lady, my lord.”
Francesca? Lucien straightened from his observation of
the well. A smile formed on his lips before abruptly fading
when he remembered she was gone. Lucien spun about, his
mouth tightening while inside he fumed. What the devil was
the woman doing in the village? He’d told her not to stray
from the castle without protection. Dammit! Hadn’t he told
her she was to meet with Lady Augusta and her visitors? Th
e
cantankerous old bat would make her displeasure known and
they’d suff er the consequences tonight at dinner.
His eyes narrowed as the woman approached, a slender
fi gure in a blue gown and cloak and a scrap of a hat perched
on top of her head. She picked her way around the biggest
puddles and splashed through others with scant regard for
her clothes.
“I thought I told you to take a footman with you if you left
the castle,” he ground out when she stopped in front of him.
“Matthew escorted us. I told him he could visit his
friends. Since you were in plain sight I thought that would be
acceptable.” Her smile was wide and sunny.
Lucien ground his teeth together. “What are you doing
here?”
“Exploring.” She sounded a little puzzled. “Th
is is my
home now. I want to learn everything. Besides, I have some
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knowledge of healing. I thought I could help.” She indicated
the bag she held in her right hand.
“What about your appointment with Lady Augusta?”
“Lady Augusta is unwell.”
As he watched, the woman stirred and chewed her
bottom lip. He registered the gesture of nerves. When she
glanced away, he continued to study her face, positive she
wasn’t telling the truth.
He scanned the surroundings: the cluster of squalid
buildings and the unkempt villagers. Why would she struggle
through the mud to soil her hands? She darted another look
in his direction. Under his scrutiny, her expression remained
guileless, but she still chewed her lip. A sudden thought oc-
curred. A thunderbolt . . .
Did she know Hawk? Was that why she was acting so
skittish? Although the woman hailed from Gloucestershire,
it was possible they were acquainted. A sick sensation made
his insides roil. Was she conspiring with the man? Or had
the man gained her trust since her arrival at the castle under
the guise of helping the villagers? Her soft heart was evident
in her every action, from speaking kindly to the servants to
rescuing that creature from the sea. Would that kindness
extend to Hawk?
His enemy.
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“Here comes Mary,” the woman said, turning back to
him. “We are intending to visit Mistress Baker. Th
e cook told
us to ask for her and gave us directions, but I fear we took a
wrong turning.”
“I will escort you,” Lucien found himself saying. Inno-
cent blue eyes peered at him, soft and limpid as the Bacci
fi shponds. No, the idea of the English mouse in collusion
with Hawk was ridiculous, he decided. With all that had
happened and his impatience to end the matter, his imagina-
tion was working overtime, grasping at straws.
“Th
ere’s no need,” she said immediately.
“Judson, where does Mistress Baker live?”
Judson scratched his head and sniff ed. “In the street with
the open drain. House with the good roof.”
Lucien nodded, remembering the stench distinctly. Th
e
grain of mistrust blossomed into full-fl edged suspicion when
Rosalind opened her mouth again, probably to protest, he
thought. Why would she refuse his off er of aid if she had
nothing to hide? “I will escort you. Th
is way,” he said, of-
fering his arm. He did not intend to take no as an answer.
“Judson, order the supplies we discussed. Tell the rest of the
men we start work tomorrow.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Lucien nodded at Judson then turned to the woman.
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“Come.”
Rosalind stood her ground. “I’m sure you are busy. Mary
and I will fi nd Mistress Baker.”
Lucien’s fi rst instinct was to not let her out of his sight,
but she would hardly lead him to Hawk if he hovered over
her like a broody hen. Lucien hesitated. Perhaps it was best to
back off and watch from a distance. Give the woman enough
space to incriminate herself . . . if she were truly guilty. Maybe
it was his presence that disturbed her.
“I will escort you to the door and then return to the
castle.” Th
e look of relief on her face made him want to curse
out loud. “Th
is way.”
She glanced at his arm and hesitated before resting her pale
fi ngers on his coat sleeve so lightly he barely felt her touch.
A soft gasp escaped her, a look of consternation fl itting
across her face before her lips tightened in a look of pain.
She refused to meet his gaze, but that shouldn’t have sur-
prised him. Most people were uncomfortable gazing upon
his ruined face.
“What is it?” Every survival instinct he possessed jumped
to full alert.
“Nothing of import. Ah, Mary,” the woman said when
her servant appeared. “Hastings knows the direction of the
cottage we are seeking.”
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Lucien intercepted the look that passed between the two
women. Yes, they were both part of a deception. It made him
even more determined to discover what they were hiding.
“Th
is way,” he said, emotion making his voice gruff . He
stepped over a muddy puddle, guiding the woman around.
Lucien noticed how hesitantly she clutched his arm, as if
he would bite. And the ginger-haired servant was no better,
sending wary glances when she thought he wouldn’t notice.
Lucien led the two women unerringly toward Mistress
Baker’s cottage at the far end of the village. Clouds obscured
the last weak rays of sun, making the cluster of poorly main-
tained cottages appear even more dilapidated. A scrawny
black pup cowered behind an overturned bucket, growling
ferociously once they were safely past. Lucien felt a muscle tic
in his tightly held jaw, more determined than ever to improve
the lot of the villagers.
As they progressed down the rutted track, Lucien no-
ticed the woman did her best to disengage from his touch.
Th
e pained expression remained, although each time she
looked at him she pasted a bright smile on her face. Lucien’s
irritation kicked up into anger. Th
e woman thought he was
so repulsive she couldn’t look him straight in the face.
At Mistress Baker’s cottage, Lucien rapped on the bowed
door before standing aside. “I will arrange for Matthew to
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meet you here. Do not set out for the castle without him.”
Th
e obvious relief on her face made the anger burn stron-
ger and he battled the inclination to shake the English mouse
until the truth spilled from her pale pink lips. Without an-
other word, he spun about and strode away before he gave
into the urge to throttle her.
When Lucien reached a narrow lane running between
the Nag’s Head public house and the hostelry stables, he
paused. A young boy stared, but when he noticed Lucien
watching him, he raced off . Satisfi ed no one else observed,
Lucien slid out of sight, hurried to the end of the lane and
circled back to the rear of Mistress Baker’s cottage.
Damn, he stuck out like a boil on a man’s arse lurking
out here. One glance out the window and they’d catch him.
He hovered, weighing the risks, and fi nally decided to stay
put. Lucien inched closer, hugging the walls of the mud and
wood cottage. Th
e soft murmur of feminine voices fi ltered