comb tonight. In celebration? She wasn’t sure, but his garb
gave her an idea.
She crept close, barely breathing. Justin mustn’t real-
ize she’d moved. Rosalind edged closer until only an arm’s
length separated them. Almost there. Her right foot kicked a
stone. It skipped across the ground before rattling to a stop in
front of Justin. Rosalind froze. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Rosalind, I want you where I can see you.” He never
took his gaze from Lucien.
She’d have to make a move. Now. Before he became
suspicious.
“Rosalind?”
Rosalind leapt on Justin’s back, clinging like holly on
the North tower. Her hands seized the back of his wig. She
twisted it roughly so the powder sprayed in all directions and
the hair hung in his face, obscuring his vision. Justin’s elbow
jerked upward, catching her a glancing blow on the side of
the head. Rosalind saw stars and slid from Justin’s back.
A gun discharged. Th
e acrid smell of gunpowder fi lled
413
SHELLEY MUNRO
the air. A hand fi sted in her hair, tugging painfully hard.
“Get up. Now.” Justin’s voice held fury, no longer the
charming rogue.
It felt as though he was ripping her hair out by the roots.
Tears smarted at her eyes. Waves of agony pounded through
her head. A groan sounded, then the explosive crunch of a fi st
smacking against bone. Th
e fi rm grip on her hair loosened,
bringing with it blessed relief.
Rosalind wiped the back of her hand over her eyes and
looked up. Lucien and Justin were trading punch for punch.
What had happened to the smithy? Had Lucien sent him
for help?
Lucien caught Justin with a heavy blow to the jaw. He
lurched back and almost fell over Rosalind. She crawled out
of range.
Th
e smithy wasn’t present, but the fat woman from the
inn was. Rosalind saw the woman creep up behind Lucien
with a heavy earthenware urn in her hands.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Scrambling to her feet, Rosalind
rushed at the woman, screeching at the top of her lungs.
Lucien was depending on her. He couldn’t handle both Justin
and the woman at the same time.
She charged, her head butting the soft roundness of
the woman’s stomach, throwing herself at the woman even
414
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
though she was half the size. Th
e air bled from the woman
in a hoarse gasp. Rosalind struck out with her elbows, using
them like weapons.
“I’ll get you, little bitch,” the woman howled. She raised
her hands above her head and smashed the urn down, aiming
for Rosalind. Th
e woman stumbled and a rush of air whistled
past Rosalind’s ear.
“Rosalind!” Lucien shouted. Urgency fi lled his voice.
Rosalind heard a thud. A groan.
A fi st whizzed past her face. Th
e fat woman staggered, then
silently dropped to the ground with an earth-shaking crash.
“Rosalind?” Impatient hands grabbed her, clutched her
roughly, and smoothed her hair away from her face. “Rosa-
lind, are you all right? Where do you hurt? God, I told you to
leave this to me. I’d wish you listen for once in your life!”
Her head hurt, her scalp smarted, and her shoulder ached
like the devil. Rosalind’s lips curled up in a lazy grin. “Good
to see you too,” she murmured.
A blur of movement behind Lucien caught her attention.
“Behind you!” she screamed.
A gunshot sounded. Blood bloomed on Lucien’s shirt-
sleeve. Rosalind screamed.
“My game, I believe.” Justin swayed behind Lucien, a
smoking gun in his right hand. Triumph blazed from his
415
SHELLEY MUNRO
face. “My woman.”
He shoved Lucien away like pig swill and held out a hand
to Rosalind. “Come, my dear. It is time for us to leave for Rye.
Th
e boat awaits. We will leave now and board early, ready for
departure at full tide.”
“I think not, Justin. I believe I hold the winning card.”
Lucien indicated the group of men behind him, led by the
smithy. “You can’t shoot all of them.”
“God, I should have had you killed in France,” Justin
snarled. “Th
ey were meant to leave you dead. You have the
luck of the devil — more lives than a damned cat.”
Lucien’s face blanked of expression, and Rosalind bled
inside for him. She knew how much he’d loved his wife and
their unborn child.
“Why didn’t you? You killed my wife. My child.”
“I decided it didn’t matter. I wanted you to suff er,
dammit. Like I’d suff ered. Besides, you had no idea who
you were. I thought you’d wander around France or return
to Italy. If I’d known you would travel to St. Clare, I’d have
shot you myself.”
“Maybe you should have done a better job in Italy, then
you would have been rid of me once and for all.”
Rosalind gasped. Both men were talking as if . . . Her gaze
shot to Lucien’s face. He’d regained his memory! Rosalind
416
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
was pleased for him. No matter what that might bring for
the future, at least Lucien was past the struggle with darkness
and frustration, groping with the unknown.
“What do you want done with him, my lord?” Th
e
smithy approached Justin with wary respect.
“Tie him up and lock him in the cellar. Th
e woman too.
We’ll send them to the authorities once it’s light.”
After a brief struggle, the smithy restrained Justin. Lucien
watched as they shoved him roughly toward the cellar. Two
of the men lifted the woman to her feet and dragged her,
kicking and screaming, to the cellar as well.
“Rosalind?” Lucien held out his hand to help her up.
“You’ve got your memory back.”
Lucien studied his petite wife, awe in his thoughts at
her steadfast determination to save him despite the danger to
herself. Her bravery eclipsed that of most men of his acquain-
tance. “I have.” If Justin had harmed her or done anything
untoward, he’d kill the man with his bare hands. “Did Justin
do anything?” He hesitated, unable to voice his fears.
“I’m fi ne. Justin didn’t force himself on me. Th
ough he
intended to later on.” She grinned. Lucien felt relief fi rst, then
warmth swept through his body followed by desperate need
to reassure himself she was in good health.
“I’m glad,” she said.
417
SHELLEY MUNRO
“Glad you’re married to George St. Clare, Viscount
Hastings?” he asked. Somehow, the answer mattered. He
didn’t want sympathy. Lucien wanted a woman who would
meet him on equal terms, a woman who looked him straight
in the f
ace without a fl inch.
She grinned again and stepped closer until Lucien felt
the warmth coming from her skin, the scent of lavender and
Rosalind.
“It’s Lucien I fell in love with,” she whispered.
Her words shivered through him, making him wish they
were alone in his chamber.
Her chin lifted while her blue eyes glinted with deter-
mination. “I don’t believe there was a George anywhere in
the equation.”
Despite the men milling around them, Lucien bent his
head to kiss his bride. Th
e moment their lips touched, Lucien
knew he was home.
Really home.
418
XX
The open carriage lurched and swayed over the uneven
road. In the early dawn, the wind whistled in from the
coast bringing the invigorating tang of the sea.
Rosalind sat beside Lucien on the hard bench seat. With
each successive rut in the road, she bounced hard enough to
make her teeth rattle. She clutched at the carriage sides, her
body tense and uncomfortable. Yet, she wouldn’t have it any
other way.
“Th
ank you for arranging for Annie to come to work at
Castle St. Clare,” Rosalind said. “I felt guilty about locking
her in that room and leaving her to face that horrid woman.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Tickell will be glad of the
help,” Lucien murmured, as he urged the horses on, glancing
behind to check on Oberon who was tied to the back.
SHELLEY MUNRO
Th
e castle appeared on the horizon. Squat and ugly, with
glaring eyes, it looked like a nightmarish creature lying in
wait for the unwary traveler.
Rosalind turned to smile at her husband, her heart feel-
ing lighter than it had for a long time. “We’re home.”
Lucien transferred the reins to one hand and reached
over to squeeze her knee. “So we are.” Satisfaction coated his
voice. “Ugly, isn’t it?”
Th
e carriage clattered past the crumbling gatehouse and
the grimacing gargoyles. Rosalind regarded them fondly.
Th
e sky darkened when they drove through the avenue
of trees leading to the castle courtyard. “I must arrange for a
man from the village to trim the trees,” Lucien remarked.
Rosalind recalled her initial arrival and the fright that she
and Mary had suff ered. Her smile wavered as sorrow sliced
deep. “Justin murdered Mary. She knew he was up to no good.
She should have come to me instead of threatening him.”
“I’m sorry, love. We will remember her with fondness.
She was a good friend to you.”
Th
e carriage creaked to a halt. Lucien tossed the reins to
a stable lad and walked around to help Rosalind down. His
muscles fl exed as he lifted her, despite the bandage with which
she’d bound his arm. Th
ank goodness it had been nothing
but a scratch, Justin’s shot going wider than he’d intended.
420
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Secure in his arms, Rosalind smiled at him, and when his
solemn gaze met hers, her heart stuttered against her ribs.
Her husband.
Charles sauntered from the Great Hall, a picture of el-
egance in dark gray breeches and a mauve waistcoat. “Rosa-
lind! Lucien! Where have you been? Where’s Justin? We’ve
searched the village and the castle high and low.”
Rosalind and Lucien turned to Charles.
“It’s been a long night, and the story is even longer.
Rosalind and I are hungry. Can we discuss this in the
breakfast room?”
Ten minutes later, they sat at the dining table. Tickell
plied them with buttered toast and saw their cups were fi lled
with chocolate and coff ee. Rosalind bit the inside of her cheek
to keep laughter at bay. Th
e man’s ears were fl apping so hard
it was a wonder he didn’t take fl ight.
“Justin kidnapped you.” Charles’s voice held disbelief,
despite the dried blood that covered Lucien’s shirt.
Lady Augusta rapped her knife against her china plate.
“I don’t believe it.”
“I do.” Th
e earl sighed, looking older than his years. “It
was because of me.”
Pity fi lled Rosalind. Sorrow for the angry young boy and the
misguided adult that had hurt him. “Yes. He’s a bitter man.”
421
SHELLEY MUNRO
“What nonsense are you babbling about, girl?” Lady
Augusta snapped.
Th
e earl sighed again. “Justin is my son.”
Tickell dropped a serving spoon. It clattered to the fl oor
with a metallic clink. A choked sound came from Lady Au-
gusta. Her face paled, and she slumped in her chair. “Say it
isn’t true, St. Clare.”
“It’s true.” Lucien wiped his mouth with a linen napkin
and dropped it on the table. He looked to his father, ignoring
everyone else in the breakfast room. Rosalind’s hand crept
under the table to clutch at his and took comfort from his
warmth. “I’ve regained my memory. While I was in Italy,
Justin blurted it out to me one night after we’d drunk several
bottles of wine and brandy. I didn’t believe him. We fought.
He left the inn with Charles and the others while I stayed.
On my way home, I met up with Justin and was attacked and
left for dead.”
Charles shot to his feet. “Justin was responsible for that? I
don’t believe it. Justin is . . . family. Justin wouldn’t do that.”
Lucien tensed but relaxed when Rosalind squeezed his
hand.
“Everything Lucien says is the truth. Justin kidnapped
me, Charles,” Rosalind said. “He intended to kill Lucien and
force me to marry him.”
422
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Charles sank back into his chair, his face strangely somber.
Lucien knew they were shocked. But, there was more.
And, it was best they heard it all. “Justin led the smuggling
ring in the village.”
“Justin was Hawk?” the earl asked. “Ah, that explains all
his absences. He skulked about as Hawk, letting us believe he
was in London.”
Lucien gave an abrupt nod. “He found it a useful way
to fi ll his pockets and keep tabs on the coming and goings
at Castle St. Clare at the same time. He explored the old
caves and came across the tunnels. He decided to use them
to his advantage.”
“So, he was responsible for the kitchen caving in,” Tick-
ell muttered.
Rosalind spoke up. “From what he told me, his men
were extending the passages underneath the castle so they
could move their goods inland without fear of discovery. I
believe the old excise man was replaced six months ago, and
his replacement is younger and more vigorous in carrying out
his duties. Th
e rumor in the village is of more excise men
being employed to stamp out the illegal trading along the
>
East coast.”
“Th
ey’ll fi nd it diffi
cult,” Charles murmured. “Th
e local
aristocracy are the smuggler’s biggest customers. Even the
423
SHELLEY MUNRO
Parson buys tea from them.”
“Justin is a fool,” Lady Augusta snapped. “We haven’t
replaced all those servants yet. Good servants are diffi
cult
to fi nd. Th
e tunnels were probably an excuse. He was after
the treasure.”
“No, Aunt Augusta,” Rosalind said, much more politely
than Lucien thought his aunt warranted. “Justin wasn’t look-
ing for treasure. He told me it was Charles.”
Everyone turned to stare at Charles.
“You?” Lady Augusta barked.
Charles shuffl
ed about on his chair like a child being
disciplined for wrong doing. “Yes. I’ve discovered several
references in a diary I found tucked away in the library. Th
e
treasure exists. Th
ere’s even a map.”
“A map?” Lady Augusta sniff ed. “Rubbish!”
“It is not rubbish, aunt,” Charles said with quiet dignity.
“Th
en, why haven’t you found the treasure? Why have
you kept it a secret?”
Everyone continued to watch Charles. Ruddy color
collected high on his cheekbones, and he obviously wished
he was elsewhere. “A mouse has eaten part of the map,” he
said fi nally.
“Th
at doesn’t explain why you haven’t told us,” Lady
Augusta snapped.
424
THE SECOND SEDUCTION
“Because you’d treat me like an idiot,” Charles fi red
back. “Just as you are doing now.”
“Where is Justin now?” the earl asked, butting in on his
sister’s mumbling about stupid fools.
“He was locked in the cellar at the King’s Head in
Whittlebury overnight. Th
e magistrate decided to move him
under guard to Dover since the facilities are better there.
He didn’t want Justin’s cohorts to overpower his jailors in
Whittlebury and set him free. He’s to be put on trial in Dover
for kidnapping, attempted murder, and possibly smuggling.”
Lucien answered.
“Th
e magistrate probably buys brandy from Justin’s
smugglers,” Charles muttered.
Even if this were the truth, the magistrate knew better
than to free Justin. Lucien ignored the comment and turned
to the earl.
The Second Seduction Page 35
