Lady Helena some decent competition. Th
at’s if your maid
decides to return today. Meantime, I want you to go over the
menus with me.” Lady Augusta paused, an expectant look on
her lined face. “Well, what do you say?”
“Ah, yes. Th
ank you, Lady Augusta.”
Th
e elderly woman fi xed Rosalind with a steely glare.
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“You must win over Hastings.”
“Yes, Lady Augusta.”
“Time we had St. Clare off spring running about the
castle again.”
Rosalind’s mouth dropped open. How did Lady Augusta
know it was her dearest wish to hold a child to her breast, to
smooth the soft down of its head and shower enough love to
make him or her grow into a healthy adult? Hastings’ child,
she thought. An excited tingle speared from her breast to her
belly at the thought. Yes, she wanted her husband to give her
a child.
“Surprised you, did I?” A dry cackle sounded. “I’m not
that old that I don’t remember what it’s like for the blood to
run hot with passion. Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Lady Augusta,” Rosalind said hastily, heat fl ooding
her cheeks. When she dared meet Lady Augusta’s gaze again
she noticed the imperceptible tightening of lips. Th
e elderly
woman required a tonic. She hoped Mary would have some
idea of how to get her to drink a potion without raising sus-
picions. “Shall we start on the menus? Cook will want them
as soon as possible.”
By the time they fi nished going over the menus to Lady
Augusta’s satisfaction a full two hours had passed.
“Ring the bell for Tickell. Tell him to send for Hancock.
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I am weary and wish to rest.”
Rosalind stood with alacrity and made haste before Lady
Augusta gave her another chore.
“See if that maid has returned. She’d better be back if she
knows what’s good for her.”
Rosalind reached for the doorknob, half-expecting Lady
Augusta to call her back. She jerked the door open and almost
leapt through in her hurry to leave. Th
eir menu planning ses-
sion had left her with a pounding head and it hadn’t done
much for Lady Augusta’s temperament either.
A maid hovered a few feet from the door, making Rosa-
lind suspect her of eavesdropping. Th
e amused glint in the
maid’s dark eyes confi rmed Rosalind’s suspicions.
“Has Mary returned from her errand yet?” she snapped.
Her words wiped the smirk from the maid’s face, but raised
guilt. She sounded like Lady Augusta.
“I haven’t seen her.” Th
e maid tossed her head. “But, she
may have returned while I was doing the library.”
Rosalind nodded. “Please tell Tickell that Lady Augusta
wishes the services of her maid.”
Once the servant left, Rosalind hurried to check her
chamber. As the maid had said, it was possible Mary had
returned with the gowns and gone straight to Rosalind’s
chamber to hang them so the creases dropped out.
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“Mary?” Rosalind pushed the chamber door shut behind
her. “Mary, are you here?”
Silence greeted her call. Rosalind stepped into the dress-
ing room to collect the cloak Mary had lent her and came to
a stunned halt.
Six gowns hung on hooks where this morning there were
none. But, they didn’t look like the gowns she and Mary had
ordered from the seamstress.
A slow smile curved Rosalind’s lips. Th
ey were gorgeous,
gowns of the like she’d never seen before, with matching pet-
ticoats. And the colors! Rosalind picked up the closest gown
and couldn’t resist holding it to her body, despite the risk of
marking it. Oh, it was glorious, the blue and gold fabric soft
and feminine. Rosalind buried her nose in the silk, savor-
ing the scent of new cloth. A delighted giggle bubbled up
her throat. Th
ere were fi ve more, each so beautiful she’d
have trouble choosing which gown to wear tonight. Rosa-
lind whirled about, swinging the gown with her. Th
e fabric
rustled as though she were dancing. She couldn’t wait to see
Hastings’ face when he saw her in one of her new gowns. And
to thank him, for it must have been his doing. For once, she’d
show to advantage. She would look beautiful.
160
IX
The dinner hour approached, and Mary was still missing.
Rosalind’s stomach clenched tight with growing
worry. Her hand stilled on the top of Noir’s head. Despite
Lady Augusta’s conviction, Mary was not the type to run off
with a lover. Puzzlement pleated her brow while she thought
on the matter.
Mary’s whereabouts were a mystery. She’d returned to
the castle with the gowns, hung them in the dressing room,
then disappeared with not a soul seeing her. Repeated ques-
tioning of servants had produced no answers. No one had
seen Mary since early this morning.
Th
e maid, who was helping her dress for dinner, smoothed
the lustrous pink silk of Rosalind’s gown, coaching a tuck
into obedience, fl icking a piece of lace on her sleeve.
SHELLEY MUNRO
“You look right nice in that dress.” Th
e sturdy girl stood
back to survey her handiwork. “Th
e color suits you. Should I
come back later to help you get ready for bed?”
“Th
ank you, Janet, but I’m sure Mary will return soon.”
Janet bowed her head and curtsied, but not before Ro-
salind witnessed the clear doubt in her round face. Everyone
believed the stories of a lover.
Outside, the day was beginning to close in. A stiff breeze
blew in from the sea, rattling loose shutters and shooting cool
draughts about the castle. Clearly, a storm was on the way.
Rosalind frowned, apprehension eroding the pleasure she’d
felt on donning one of her new gowns. It wasn’t like Mary to
disappear without a word.
In the distance, a clock chimed the hour, reminding her
of the need to hurry. She scooped Noir off the dresser and
placed him on the fl oor.
“Th
ank you, Janet. Will you make sure my chamber
door is closed when you leave?”
Janet’s gaze speared to Noir. Her mouth compressed, but
she nodded. “Aye, Lady Rosalind.”
Rosalind’s silk skirts rustled as she hurried down the pas-
sage. When she entered the Chinese room, guests were still
arriving. Lady Augusta beckoned her immediately with an
imperious gesture of her hand. “What was in that tonic you
162
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
sent for me?”
“It was a recipe my grandmother taught me.” Rosalind
fought the need to roll her eyes. Good gri
ef. She’d wanted to
help. Why was she being told off ?
“Ah, Hastings.” Lady Augusta summoned her nephew
from a discussion with Charles.
Rosalind blinked, momentarily speechless. Was that a
smile on Lady Augusta’s face?
Hastings sauntered to a halt beside Rosalind. Dark
locks were styled in loose curls on his shoulders, contrast-
ing with the pale blue waistcoat he wore with black breeches
and jacket. His inscrutable dark eyes skimmed her face, then
traveled down her body. A tremor raced through Rosalind,
the air whooshing from her lungs. His gaze caressed her like
a handful of soft petals brushing her skin. Rosalind imagined
his hand trailing down her body instead of his gaze. And in
that moment, she wanted to touch him so much her hand
tingled beneath her pink gloves. Every time he looked at her,
her heart leapt in response, yet the awareness of his masculin-
ity, his strength, tied her insides in knots of confusion.
“You will escort your wife to dinner,” Lady Augusta
commanded, jerking Rosalind from her illicit thoughts. “In-
troduce her to Justin.”
“Yes, Aunt.”
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Rosalind glanced in the direction Lady Augusta indi-
cated with a fl utter of her fan. A large man, tall and solid,
stood on the other side of the parlor near a display of Orien-
tal etchings. Cousin Charles held up his quizzing glass and
minced three steps before whirling to speak to the man. Th
e
blond man threw back his head and roared with laughter at
Charles’ antics.
“Go on,” Lady Augusta snapped, striking out with her fan
to emphasize her order. “Before Tickell rings the dinner bell.”
Hastings’ expression never changed. “Shall we?” he mur-
mured, off ering his escort to Rosalind.
Th
oughts of her husband had rattled her so much the
protective gloves she wore were a blessed relief. A chance to
block her gift and know her mind would remain free of vi-
sions. Forcing her worries for Mary’s safety away, she placed
her trembling hand on Hastings’ arm and strolled at her
husband’s side, her head held high with pride.
Hastings thought he’d managed to hide his shock at
Rosalind’s appearance. Tonight, his wife looked like a grace-
ful bird instead of a small brown mouse. Th
e pink gown lent
color to her cheeks and made her blue eyes sparkle. Hastings
felt, rather than saw, the admiration from male guests. He
slowed his steps and moved her closer to his side. Immedi-
ately, a delicate scent assailed him, bringing to mind the rose
164
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
garden on a lazy summer afternoon.
“Lady Rosalind. You look good enough to eat.”
Hastings couldn’t help but tense at the admiration in his
cousin’s voice, and judging by her puzzled glance his English
mouse noticed his reaction.
“Cousin Charles,” Rosalind replied, sweeping into a low
curtsey. “Th
ank you.”
“Lady Rosalind, may I present Viscount Mansfi eld?
You’ve heard me speak of our childhood friend, Justin.”
Lucien watched the man, supposedly friend, bow over
his wife’s hand. Try as he might, he had no recollection of
Justin. Th
e childhood memories Charles described were like
mist, opaque yet insubstantial.
Justin straightened, lust fl ashing beneath the polished
veneer. It was gone so quickly Lucien wondered if he’d imag-
ined the reaction. Many marriages among the aristocracy
were open-ended, with aff airs common. Lucien scowled, his
frame tightening with inner tension. If Mansfi eld thought to
fl irt with his wife, he could think again.
“Steady, cuz.” Charles wore an amused smile. “Friend.”
Lucien blanked his face, but too late. Drat the woman,
he thought. He hadn’t meant to think about her, and yet
he couldn’t rid himself of the possessive urges that surfaced
without warning.
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“I’m pleased to meet you at last, Lady Rosalind. If I’d
known how beautiful and charming you are, I wouldn’t have
dallied in London so long.”
Lucien curled his arm around Rosalind’s slender waist in
a proprietary gesture. “Mansfi eld.”
“Hastings.” Humor lurked in his eyes. “Are you keeping
your wife prisoner in the castle? Th
e local rumor mill . . .”
“You shouldn’t rely on gossip,” Lucien cut in without a
trace of nuance.
Justin gave an arrogant nod and eyed Rosalind with a
speculative lift of brow. “So I see.”
What the hell did that mean? Lucien might not remem-
ber his childhood friend, but he recognized a wolf when he
saw one. A wolf who was ogling his wife’s attributes. Lucien
winged a dark glare at the man that promised retribution
should he continue.
“Good evening, Hastings,” a soft feminine voice cooed.
Rosalind stiff ened at his side, the obvious distaste in
her expression so in tune with his own thoughts that Lucien
almost laughed. Still, Lady Helena’s artless chatter provided
insightful clues in his search for Hawk.
Lucien had learned which of the local aristocracy pur-
chased goods from the smugglers, who ordered tea, tobacco,
brandy, or French silk. After receiving the information from
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Lady Helena, he’d questioned several of the landowners,
but none of them knew Hawk’s identity. In truth, Lucien
didn’t think any of them cared so long as they continued to
receive the luxuries they desired with minimum fuss. He’d
discovered the money was deposited at a specifi ed place on
a certain night, and the next morning they’d fi nd the goods
on their doorsteps. Every step of the transaction was done
at a distance. He didn’t want to alienate Lady Helena too
much. After his previous setdown when she’d tried to trap
him into kissing her, he was lucky she still spoke to him.
“Lady Helena.”
“Hastings, I wanted to discuss my purchase of a new mount.
I’m sure Lady Rosalind can spare you for a few minutes.”
“Perhaps after dinner, Lady Helena,” Rosalind stated.
“Tickell will ring the dinner bell soon.”
She trembled, but Lucien knew none of the others no-
ticed. He wondered at her possessive manner, especially since
his behavior had been little short of rude last night. His gaze
drifted over her pert nose and onward to soft pink lips. Th
e
drift of color to her cheeks made him smile. Lady Rosalind
hid a quiet dignity and a caring nature beneath her reserve,
and he couldn’t help but admire her for it.
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SHELLEY MUNRO
Th
under crashed, reverberating throughout Rosalind’s cham-
ber. A fork of lightning lit the night sky
before Janet, who was
still substituting for Mary, slammed the shutters across the
windows to close the storm out. “Will you need anything else
tonight, Lady Rosalind?”
Rosalind noted the tinge of color on her maid’s cheeks,
the way she picked up her hairbrush and put it down only to
fondle a blue and silver hair ribbon. She was like a bird crav-
ing freedom from a cage, restless and eager to fl y.
“Are you meeting Tom tonight?” Before dinner, the maid
had told her about the man who was courting her.
“Yes, miss.” She hugged herself, the sparkle in her eyes
making Rosalind even more miserable. Why couldn’t Hast-
ings court her?
Rain lashed against the shutters. Th
e wind roared its
fury. Rosalind glanced down at her hands. She didn’t want
to be alone. She would order the maid to stay. After all, what
fool would venture outside in weather like this? She sucked in
a deep breath and turned to Janet, about to tell she required
her services tonight. Another glimpse of her sparkling eyes,
the softly fl ushed face, and clear impatience to leave made
Rosalind’s shoulders slump. A fool in love — that’s who’d
brave the elements.
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
She couldn’t do it. It wasn’t the maid’s job to quell the mon-
sters that haunted both Rosalind’s chamber and her mind.
“No, Janet, I won’t need you again this evening.”
Th
e maid nodded and skipped to the door. “Good eve-
ning. Sleep well.”
Rosalind fi xed a smile to her lips and concentrated on
ignoring the apprehension that danced through her body.
“Have a lovely time.”
“Th
ank you, Lady Rosalind.” A quick grin stretched across
Janet’s face and then she disappeared from sight, the heavy
wooden door closing with a soft thud, leaving Rosalind alone.
Again.
Rosalind rose from the stool in front of her looking glass.
Where was Mary? No matter what Lady Augusta and all the
others said, Mary wouldn’t run off without a word. Tomor-
row, she would ask questions in the village and perhaps or-
ganize a search.
A loud crash, almost overhead, made her wince. Th
e
promised storm had arrived with a vengeance. She hoped
Mary was somewhere dry and warm.
Rosalind padded to her bed and climbed in. Sleep, she
thought. Sleep and forget about Hastings. Although, she
The Second Seduction Page 14
