The Second Seduction
Page 20
her face. Th
e bureau was part of the wall, and the rollers
on the bottom allowed easy, almost noiseless access to her
chamber. On the rear, there was a sturdy handle that would
help the person exiting her chamber pull the bureau back
into place with ease.
“I knew it,” she muttered, her voice full of satisfaction.
She turned, picked up her candle, and plunged into the
black hole.
Lucien turned on his side, trying to fi nd a comfortable spot.
His head pounded as though a dozen needles were being
jabbed into his forehead. Although he’d told Rosalind not to
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bother with the salve, he could have done with something to
ease the pain now. He grunted. Who would have thought a
simple fall would cause so much discomfort?
He fl opped over on his other side, sending the covers
fl ying from the bed. Lucien stared at the playful nymphs that
cavorted above his bed. He cursed low with frustration. Th
e
curvy blond nymphs reminded him of Rosalind.
A soft, insistent tap jerked him from the dangerous
thoughts. He sat up, listening intently. He’d almost decided
the noise had been imagination when it sounded again. Th
e
noise was coming from inside the wall.
Lucien slid from bed and pulled on a pair of breeches.
Th
e noise sounded again, but further away. Gradually the
tapping receded. Lucien snatched up a candle, fumbled for
a tinderbox, lit the candle, and slipped from his room. He
paused to listen. Yes. Th
ere it was again. Maybe Rosalind
was right. It seemed as though there was someone behind the
wall. It could be a person or a creature of some sort. Either
way, Lucien intended to fi nd out.
He stalked the length of the dimly lit corridor, follow-
ing the progress of the muffl
ed thumps and thuds. Holding
the candle up, he studied the wall closely. He was unable to
discern anything out of the ordinary. Th
e wall looked the
same all the way along.
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SHELLEY MUNRO
He tapped the wall lightly with one knuckle. A muffl
ed
shriek rent the air, followed by a mighty crash. Th
e wall
where he was standing fl ew open. An apparition in white fl ew
at him, arms outstretched. Th
e ghostly scream made the hair
at the back of his neck lift. Lucien took a step back, his heart
hammering in unease.
“Lucien!” the creature cried.
Lucien took a closer look. “Rosalind?”
“Oh, you gave me a start! Never mind, I intended to fi nd
you anyway. Look what I’ve found.” She gestured at the black
hole behind her.
Th
ey both heard footsteps from a lower level at the
same time.
“Quick. Come out of there and we’ll shut the door,”
Lucien said. He made quick work of placing the wall back,
before he hustled Rosalind further down the passage.
Rosalind looked back over her shoulder. “Who is it?” she
whispered.
“I don’t know, but whoever it is, I think we should keep our
discovery to ourselves.” He urged Rosalind down the passage.
Rosalind dug in her heels. “Whose discovery?”
Lucien took one look at her indignant face and wanted
to laugh. Her blond hair, which was usually immaculate,
stood up in all directions. A cobweb covered her face and her
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nightgown was gray with dust.
Th
e hollow echo of footsteps on the wooden fl oor came
closer. Lucien frowned. Th
ey wouldn’t make it back to his
chamber in time. Th
e unknown person would pass them in a
few moments. And Lucien would bet they, whoever they were,
would have endless questions about Rosalind’s appearance.
He whirled about and pressed Rosalind against the wall.
He ignored her squeak, holding his candle aloft to survey
her face. He wiped a smudge of dirt off her cheek with his
free hand. Th
e white gown glowed like a signal fi re, giving
away exactly what she had been up to. A good thing she was
so tiny, he thought. If he kept them out of direct candlelight
they might pass inspection. His larger frame would hide most
of the dust on her nightgown. His breath hissed out as he saw
something else illuminated by the candlelight.
Her breasts.
Lucien squeezed his eyes shut but the vision remained
imprinted in his mind.
“Hell,” he muttered. He placed his candle on the fl oor
and moved away from her intoxicating scent. Th
e fl oral per-
fume was driving him crazy, making him think things he
had no right to think.
“What is it?” she whispered, closing the gap between them.
Lucien groaned under his breath. “Nothing. Be quiet.
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SHELLEY MUNRO
I’m trying to listen.”
Th
e footsteps sounded closer. Damn. He’d have to . . .
Th
e footsteps paused, probably when whoever it was
saw them. Lucien looked down at Rosalind. Her face was
barely discernible in the dim light, but his mind fi lled in the
details. Eyes the color of a pale blue forget-me-not, lips rosy
as a freshly picked apple. Th
e determined chin and heart-
stirring smile.
His head lowered. He heard her small gasp and smelled
the warm womanly scent of her. Th
en, his lips covered hers.
He drank in her second gasp of surprise, his hand curving
behind her head to draw her closer. Just one taste while they
let their silent watcher draw his or her own conclusions. But
one taste only fed his growing hunger. One more kiss, he
thought, and then he’d stop.
“Cuz, don’t you know they have bedrooms for that sort
of thing?” Warm amusement colored Charles’ voice.
Lucien loosened his hold on Rosalind and stepped back.
Blood thrummed through his veins; he hadn’t felt so alive
for months. And the realization galled. He took another step
back before he allowed himself to glance at Rosalind. Even
though he couldn’t see her clearly, he sensed the yearning,
the need to take the kiss a step further. He forced himself
to think of Francesca and his plans to fi nd her killer before
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returning to his estates in Italy.
“Am I interrupting?” Charles drawled. He cocked a brow
and puff ed on his pipe, sending a cloud of smoke into the air.
Irritation and a dose of self-recrimination bubbled inside
Lucien. Of course he was and Charles knew it. Lucien bit
back a curse, knowing he should feel thankful his cousin had
come along, interrupting what would have been an irretriev-
able step. He frowned. Still, damned odd that Charles had
appeared at that exa
ct moment. Especially as his chambers
were in the opposite wing. He picked up his candle and shone
it in Charles’s direction. “What are you doing here?”
Charles glanced at Rosalind and visibly hesitated.
“Well?”
“I’ve been . . . visiting,” Charles said in a low voice.
“Visiting whom?” Rosalind piped up.
Lucien’s anger abated as he smothered a laugh. Charles
had come from the direction of the servants’ quarters and, no
doubt, a warm bed. A simple explanation.
Lucien decided to take pity on him. “Charles is friendly
with some of the servants. Sometimes they place cards or
the dice.”
“Oh,” Rosalind said.
“What are you doing up so late?” Charles asked.
“We couldn’t sleep so we went for a walk in the gardens.”
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SHELLEY MUNRO
He curled an arm around Rosalind’s waist and drew her
against his side. Touching her felt natural. Right. Th
ink of
Francesca, he told himself with a surge of panic. He pictured
her face easily enough, but the look of approval on her smil-
ing face threw him.
“I’ll bid you good night, then,” Charles said. With a bow,
he sauntered away.
“What do you think?” Rosalind whispered.
Lucien looked down at her intent face. So, she’d thought
Charles’s explanation strange too. Th
e woman was astute
as well as persistent. And a menace to his mission. “I’m not
sure,” he said slowly. “Th
e servants’ rooms are in the direction
he came from.”
“But, you don’t know for sure. He might be your cousin
but you don’t remember him. We should check in the morn-
ing. Ask a few questions.”
She was right. But he didn’t see Charles as a killer. Th
e
man seemed almost foppish with his love of lace and cosmetics.
“Come,” he said. “It’s late. I’ll escort you to your chamber.”
“But, don’t you wish to explore the passage?”
“Not now. In the morning.”
She accepted his arm and nodded. “Th
at makes sense. I
can’t wait to see where it leads.”
Lucien halted to nail her with a glare. “It’s too dangerous
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for you. I’ll do the exploring.” Th
e thought of her wandering
alone in the passages made his blood run cold. He’d stake his
life that the passage connected with the smugglers’ tunnels at
the beach, and perhaps the North tower. It was the only thing
that made sense. All the booty he’d discovered during his
explorations had disappeared between one visit and his next.
He knew for a fact that the contraband didn’t leave via sea or
along the beach. Th
at left only one alternative.
“Th
at’s not fair. I discovered the passage.”
Now was not the time to argue. He took Rosalind’s arm
and propelled her to her chamber. Get rid of her. Go and
investigate now, before the smugglers discover someone has
breached the passage. He frowned. A snort escaped. Hell, who
was he trying to fool? Each minute spent with Rosalind was a
test of will power. One taste of her lips left him craving more.
At Rosalind’s chamber, he opened the door and stood
back for her to enter.
“I don’t believe it,” she muttered.
Lucien followed her gaze. Th
e room and its contents were
in a shambles. Her belongings were strewn about, the bed-
ding ripped off the bed, the sheets shredded as if someone
had thrown a temper tantrum.
Rosalind stomped inside her room. She whirled to face
him, her face a mask of fury. “Th
is is the second time tonight.
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SHELLEY MUNRO
Th
at’s why I never returned with the salve for your face. Th
e
maids and I spent almost two hours cleaning up the mess.”
She screwed up her face, and alarmed, Lucien wondered if
she was going to cry. “Th
e only gown I own is the one I wore
tonight. All the others were shredded.” She swiped a hand
over her face.
Damn. She was going to cry. What was he going to do
with a weepy female?
“Where am I going to sleep?” she demanded with a sniff .
“It’s so late, I can’t ring for a maid again.”
“You can sleep in my room,” Lucien said. He stilled as
he registered his words. He’d said them without forethought,
but he could hardly take them back now.
“In your room?”
“Yes,” he said gruffl
y. He took her arm once again and
headed for the connecting door, holding the candle in his
other hand to light the way. Th
e seldom used door opened
with a loud, protesting creak as if it, too, thought allowing
Rosalind in his chamber was a bad idea. On the threshold, he
hesitated. Rosalind didn’t seem to notice his diffi
dence as she
surveyed his private rooms.
“What will I sleep in?” she asked.
His mind groped for an acceptable answer. “One of my
shirts?” he fi nally suggested.
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She smiled a smile that made his heart beat a little faster.
“Th
ank you.”
Lucien shook himself mentally and crossed the Persian
carpet to the door of his dressing room. Minutes later, he
produced a white linen shirt. He paused in consternation.
Rosalind was eyeing his bed with fascination. Lucien felt a
tinge of amusement as he jerked his gaze away. Just wait until
she noticed the cavorting nymphs.
“Where will you sleep?”
“Th
ere’s a couch in my dressing room.”
Before he could speak, Rosalind darted into the dressing
room. “You can’t sleep on that,” she said. “Th
e mattress is as
hard as an oak tree.”
Lucien sighed. She was going to be diffi
cult. He just
knew it.
“Your bed is big enough for two.”
Did she have to point that out?
A plaintive meow sounded from the other side of the
connecting door, saving him from a reply.
“Noir,” Rosalind murmured.
Lucien grabbed at the chance to escape, if only for a few
minutes. “I’ll get him.” He bounded through the connect-
ing door, spied the kitten by Rosalind’s bed, and then played
chase for several minutes. Finally, he cornered the kitten and
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SHELLEY MUNRO
returned to his bedroom at a much slower pace. Share the
bed. He wasn’t ready for this. Not at all.
Visions raced through his head without warning that
had nothing to do with sleeping. He paused, shocked at his
thoughts. “Hell’s teeth,” he muttered.
Lucien let the kitten down on the fl oor and tried to
think when his feelings had changed. Th
e change had been
subtle and sneaked up on him without warning. He might
feel an attraction for her, but that didn’t mean he had to
follow his inclinations.
“I changed in your dressing room,” Rosalind announced.
She walked toward the bed without the slightest bit of hesita-
tion, her legs bare to his gaze.
And he looked. He couldn’t help it. His blood raced
through his body, his heart stuttered before resuming a rapid
tattoo. Hands itched to touch her generous curves.
Her legs were long and slender, for such a tiny thing. She
perched on the edge of his bed and calmly unbound her hair.
Pale golden locks fell to her shoulders one by one, glinting in
the light of the second candle she’d lit while he was away.
“Which side should I sleep on?” Her voice sounded
matter-of-fact, as though they had done this a thousand
times before.
Lucien grimaced, still hesitating while Rosalind fi nished
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loosening her hair and pulled back the covers. His gaze fas-
tened on her legs and never moved until they disappeared
under the covers.
“Shall I blow the candle out?” she asked.
Lucien cleared his throat. “No, I’ll take it to the dressing
room with me.”
“You are coming back?” She patted the space on the
feather mattress beside her. “Th
ere’s plenty of room for both
of us.”
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XIII
How long until morning?
Lucien tugged at the neck of his linen shirt, trying
to ease the tightness as he stared at the English mouse in
bemusement. A bit like a hangman’s noose, he thought with
a fl ash of black humor.
“Well?”
She was pushy and oblivious to fear. Lucien still couldn’t
get past the fact that his scarred face did nothing to scare her
off . Most women turned away when they spied his face. Even
men averted their gaze, but not his English mouse.
He felt the weight of a stare and knew she watched him.
Again. Slowly, he turned. Her lips looked soft and pink in
the candlelight. Th
e taste of her simmered in his memory.
“You need sleep,” he murmured, still eyeing her lips and
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
feeling unbearably tempted. “You’ll rest better if I sleep
in the dressing room.” With that decided, Lucien walked
toward his dressing room.
He couldn’t leave! She wouldn’t let him. Not when she
was so close to fi nding out what went on between a man and
wife in their bedroom. Th