“At least tell me where we’re going.”
“We’re driving to Rye.”
“Rye!”
He grinned, his face full of excitement. “You, my dear,
are going to France with me. Th
ink of it. Walking the av-
enues in Paris.”
“I don’t want to go to Paris. I’m married to Lucien. Why
would I leave with you?”
His good humor dissipated, his jaw clenched. “I’ll treat
you well,” he said, “better than Lucien St. Clare ever will. I’ve
seen the way he’s treated you. He’s no better than a monster.
Hell, he looks like a monster with that scar. I should have
killed him when I had the chance.”
“What do you mean, when you had the chance?” Ro-
salind bit her bottom lip, wondering if he would grab the
opportunity to boast. Please tell me, she thought in a fervent
plea. She hated the idea of touching him and attempting to
read his thoughts again. “What did you do?”
“Rather clever of me, I thought. Our tutor and Charles
were rushing about Naples trying to fi nd George. I pretended
to go along with the search and fed them false leads.”
Rosalind frowned in true bewilderment. “But, why?
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Why did you try to kill Lucien? I suppose it was you who
organized the attack on Lucien and his wife.”
“Th
e idiots bungled the job. Lucien should have died
that night.”
Anguish for the suff ering Justin had caused Lucien tight-
ened around her heart like a fi st. “I don’t understand. Why
do you hate Lucien so much? Why do you want him dead?”
“I’m sick of your questions. Shut up or I’ll gag you.”
Th
e lazy indulgence had left his voice, replaced by deter-
mination. He meant his threat. Rosalind closed her mouth
and concentrated instead on a means of escape. Once again,
she considered jumping from the moving carriage and she
again rejected the idea. She’d have to wait until they reached
a town. Or, passed another carriage. All she’d have to do is
scream. She slid a glance at Justin. Th
at was, unless he had
a gun?
A loud screech rent the air. Rosalind’s head jerked up. A
horse and cart approached from the opposite direction. A lone
man walked behind the cart. It was heavily loaded with sacks
of grain and the wheels squeaked a protest with each turn.
“Don’t,” Justin warned, frightening her with his grim
resolution. “I’ll shoot the man, if I have to.”
Part of her was shocked, but she shouldn’t have been
after intercepting Justin’s twisted thoughts. “You’d shoot an
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
innocent man,” Rosalind demanded. “For no reason at all.”
“I have a lot at stake. One more life won’t make any dif-
ference.”
Rosalind pressed her lips together, stricken suddenly
with grief for Mary. No doubt, Justin was involved in her
death too. When she arrived at their destination, then. She
didn’t want anyone else to die because of her actions.
Th
ey passed the cart, the driver bowing his head in
greeting.
“Good girl,” Justin said. Th
e horses were breathing hard,
their coats white with lather. He slowed them to a walk.
“We’ll change animals in the next village. If we don’t hurry,
we’ll miss tonight’s tide.”
Rosalind gave a clipped nod, while she tried desperately
to think of a means of escape. She refused to let her dream
end this way, or let Lucien suff er because he thought he’d
failed another wife.
Another carriage approached.
“Put my cloak on and cover your head,” Justin ordered.
“Do it. Now.”
“Or, you’ll shoot the driver and passengers as well.” Fury
quivered in her voice and in her tense posture. “You can’t
shoot everyone, Justin.”
“Put on the cloak.” Th
e words were like a whiplash.
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He meant it. Rosalind reached for the black cloak and
wrapped it around her shoulders. She jerked the hood over
her head.
“Cover your face,” he snapped.
Rosalind obeyed because she had no other option. In-
wardly, she fumed. While she didn’t understand the why,
Justin was not going to get away with this. She knew Lucien
would come for her, and she intended to do her bit. She was
no helpless ninny.
Th
e village of Whittlebury was larger than St. Clare. Ro-
salind had yet to visit the village, but Lady Augusta’s friend
Lady Elizabeth lived hereabouts. Carriages, carts, and a herd
of cows fi lled the busy road. Th
e carriage eased to a crawl,
slow enough for her to leap off . . .
Justin cracked the whip. Th
e horses stirred restlessly as
his hand whisked out to cover her knee, his fi ngers digging
into her fl esh.
“Don’t even consider it. Move it,” he roared at the cart
driver in front.
Th
e driver of the cart turned to spit on the ground. “Keep
yer shirt on. Ain’t goin’ nowhere in a hurry.”
Up ahead, Rosalind saw the problem. Market day. A
cartload of fruit had overturned and blocked half of the road.
Urchins snatched up red apples, darting in front of horses and
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vehicles with scant regard for safety. Th
e driver of the cart
shouted abuse and threatened bodily harm if they touched
his produce. Everyone ignored him.
Rosalind edged away from Justin. With the number
of people around, she might have a chance of escape. He
wouldn’t shoot her, not in front of witnesses.
“Hold.” Justin grabbed her forearm with a force that she
knew would leave a bruise.
“We’ll walk from here,” he said.
“To Rye?”
“Don’t be obtuse. Slide over to me. I’ll get down and help
you from this side of the carriage.”
With hope of an escape stifl ed, Rosalind sought a way
to stay in the crowd where it was safer. “You can’t leave the
horses here.”
Justin snapped his fi ngers at a passing urchin. “You. Boy,
come here.”
Th
e urchin froze, slid a look over his shoulder, and then
took half a step in Justin’s direction. Clear suspicion lined his
grubby face.
“Do you want to earn a coin or not?” Justin demanded.
“Aye.” Th
e urchin approached with a streetwise weari-
ness that tore at Rosalind’s heart.
“Rosalind.” With command implicit in his voice, Rosalind
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knew she’d have to obey.
Th
e carriage lurched as Justin jumped off , landing like
her kitten, Noir, light on his feet. Expectation that she would
obey showed in
the confi dent tilt of his chin. Grudgingly,
Rosalind slid across the seat to Justin. Th
ink. Escape was im-
perative. But how?
“Quit stalling,” Justin snarled in a fi erce undertone.
“Don’t make me force the issue.”
Rosalind moved closer, unable to prevent a cringe when
his hands seized her by the waist. He swept her off the car-
riage and dragged her close. Too close. His sandalwood scent
enveloped her, but instead of enticing her as Lucien’s did, it
made her stomach roil. Like Noir pouncing from behind a
bush, his thoughts sprang into her mind. Rosalind’s gasp
held shock. Distress. Numb, she tried to pull away, to break
the contact between them.
“Don’t fi ght me,” Justin murmured next to her ear.
“Whatcha want, mister?”
Th
e image dissolved in her mind, the urchin’s interrup-
tion giving her breathing space. Th
e man was mad. He . . .
he . . . Words failed her. Of course, she’d seen like images in
other men’s minds . . . of naked women. Lustful thoughts.
But, to see herself with no clothes on.
Justin plucked a coin from his pocket. “Stay with my
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
horses and take them to the King’s Head when the road is
cleared. I’ll give you another coin when you get there.”
Th
e urchin rubbed his sleeve across his runny nose, his
gaze following the glint of the gold coin in Justin’s hand.
Finally, he nodded. Justin tossed the coin; the boy caught
it, inspected it closely, then clamped it between his teeth.
Satisfi ed, he nodded again. “King’s ‘ead.”
Justin dragged Rosalind against his chest. “As soon as
you can,” he ordered. Justin smoothed a possessive hand over
her head, keeping her close and under his control.
Rosalind forced back panic when another vision of her
naked body appeared in her mind. Her mind slammed shut,
but to no avail. As always, in times of stress, she was unable
to block and Justin’s licentious thoughts pushed through the
fl imsy screen.
“You can’t do this. I’m married to Lucien,” she said, her
shock spilling out into her words.
Justin’s grip tightened on her upper arm. With one hand,
he forced her head up so she had to look at him. “Th
e rumors,
are they true?”
Rosalind wrenched her gaze away from the intense brown
eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Look at me, Rosalind.”
Reluctant to look at him, she only followed his order
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after a long pause. His brown eyes held intelligence, cunning,
and a shrewdness that warned her to take care.
“Are you a witch?”
“Of course not.” Scorn fi lled her retort.
His eyes narrowed and he smirked. Th
e grin sent a shaft of
alarm dancing down her spine, but she refused to look away.
Th
e vision slid into her mind with clandestine stealth.
Th
ere before she knew it. A couple in bed. Naked. Before
she even viewed the faces of the couple, all rational thought
screamed to take care. Do not react.
“Why are we going to the King’s Head?” She aff ected a
casual air by thinking of a hot, sunny summer day, an excur-
sion with Miranda and her cousin’s friends to the river that
bordered her uncle’s estate.
“Th
is holdup has made us late. We’ll miss the tide. Th
e
landlord at the King’s Head is a friend. We will stay there
overnight and resume our journey in the morning.”
At least that gave her more time to escape. Once Justin
had her aboard a ship, her chances of escape were nil.
Gray clouds skittered across the sky. A stiff breeze plucked
at the black cloak Justin had insisted she wear. Rosalind shiv-
ered despite the warmth of the thick wool. It was late enough
in the afternoon that she and Justin would be missed. She
imagined the gossip and Lucien’s reaction to her absence.
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An icy coldness gathered in the pit of her stomach. Lucien
would believe in her innocence.
He had to.
361
XVIII
Oberon trotted down the village street, lazily swishing
his tail, while Lucien eyed the progress of the repairs.
His eyes narrowed. Much slower than he’d hoped. He slid
from Oberon’s back and leading his mount, walked the length
of the rutted road, studying the work still required. One of
the builders rounded the corner of a run-down cottage still
waiting refurbishment.
Lucien hailed him. “Th
omas, what’s the holdup?”
Th
e man glanced at his scarred face and looked hastily
away. “Supplier in the next village let us down. Th
e load of
timber never arrived.”
“Has anyone checked with the supplier?” Lucien pre-
tended he didn’t notice the man’s reaction.
Th
omas shook his head. “We kept thinking the cart
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
would arrive. I’ll send someone now.”
“I’ll go,” Lucien said. “Unless you need me here.”
“Nowt more to do until the load of timber arrives.”
Lucien mounted up and let Oberon have his head. Th
ey
sped along a narrow country lane, spooking a pheasant from
the thicket. Oberon snorted and faltered, but Lucien urged
him on, past the startled bird. Th
e sky had darkened since
he’d left the castle, the sun had faded and now large drops
of rain splattered the track. After a dry spell, they needed the
rain but not now, when the roofi ng was still under way.
Lucien leaned his weight forward and patted Oberon’s
glossy black neck. “Let’s make this a fast trip, boy.”
Th
ree-quarters of an hour later, after taking every short-
cut he knew, they trotted down the main road of Whittle-
bury. Lucien frowned at the size of the mob that thronged
the streets. He knew it was market day on a Wednesday, but
the crowds usually dispersed by midday. Carts laden with
bales of straw and turnips jostled with carriages, men on
horseback, and pedestrians. A wooden cage full of roosters
and hens being transported on the top of a handcart added
to the din with their cackling and crowing. Traffi
c through
the main thoroughfare had slowed to a crawl, and tempers
looked frayed.
“Move along!” the driver of a dangerously overloaded
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cart hollered. His whip snaked out, arcing over his horses
with a sharp whistle.
“’ere! Watch where you’re cracking that whip,” another
man roared.
Th
e driver ignored the man, and his cart shot into a gap,
the wheels squeaking in protest, while h
is load of straw tee-
tered, dangerously unstable.
Lucien urged Oberon on.
“Look at ‘is face,” a woman shouted to her companion.
“’Tis the mark of the devil.” Th
e companion crossed
herself and edged away from Lucien as if he suff ered from
the plague.
Lucien pretended he hadn’t heard, but the words stung
nonetheless. Th
ey made him think of Rosalind and how pro-
tective she acted toward him when people stared. She would
have taken the women to task for their rudeness. Th
e strength
of his need to see her, to steal a kiss, and haul her into his
bed again took him by surprise. It shouldn’t have, he thought
ruefully. Impatient to complete his task, Lucien signaled
Oberon to halt and dismounted, deciding to lead his horse.
Progress along the packed street was slow and frustrating, so
he ducked through the narrow lane that ran parallel.
Th
at, too, was crammed with pedestrians. Oberon took
exception to the crowd, tossing his head and dancing at
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Lucien’s side.
“Steady,” Lucien murmured.
Lucien nodded at an elderly man who hobbled toward
him with the aid of a stout stick. “What’s the problem? Why
is the street blocked?”
“Cart o’turned. An’ some fancy nob left ‘is ‘orse an’ car-
riage. Right mess it were. Blocked road.”
“How far down?” Lucien asked. “Do I need to keep on
this lane or is the road clear now?”
“Should be clear now. Damned fool nob. Th
ink they can
do what they like.”
“Th
ank you, sir.” Lucien inclined his head in a sign of
respect.
A rusty chuckle emerged. “I ain’t no, sir, but I’ll take yer
thanks right enough.” He bobbed his head and resumed his
laborious journey, the tapping of his stick echoing in the lane
as he departed.
Lucien turned back onto the main road and came to such
a sudden halt that Oberon nudged him in the back.
Th
e scar on his cheek tingled. Th
at wasn’t just some
fancy nob’s coach. Th
at was the St. Clare carriage. What
the devil was it doing in Whittlebury? And, where the hell
was Rosalind? Anxiety for his wife warred with fear. She was
meant to be safe with Charles and Justin, eating Lady Jessica’s
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famous cherry tarts and drinking lemon barley water. Where
were Charles and Justin?
The Second Seduction Page 30
