The Spurned Viscountess (18 page)

“Are you going to sulk?” Interest colored Mansfield’s voice.

“No, I’m not! The two of you are impossible.”

“Just like my brothers,” Katherine said. “Always teasing.”

Rosalind turned to Katherine, surprised she was actually contributing to the conversation. “I’m an only child. I grew up with my cousin Miranda. I’ve no experience with brothers.”

“Lucky you didn’t grow up with us around,” Charles said with a grin. “We would have dared you to climb trees and crawl through dark passages. You’re so clumsy, we’d have been forever rescuing you.”

There was a moment’s startled silence, then the four of them laughed aloud.

“What’s the joke?” Lucien asked, coming up beside Rosalind.

The casual slide of his arm around her waist caused a hitch in her breath. She breathed carefully, savoring his closeness. “They’re laughing at my expense,” she said, shaking her head in mock sadness.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Katherine tense at Lucien’s appearance. Her gaze held both fascinated horror and pity. If Lucien saw, he gave no indication, but Rosalind felt irritation. It was a scar, that was all. He wasn’t a monster or a freak for people to pity. He was her husband. She rested her gloved hand on his arm to align her loyalties.

“Is your knee paining you? Your ankle?”

His warm, moist breath blew against her cheek, drawing a sweet shudder. In truth, her knee and ankle were both throbbing and, since the hour grew late, Rosalind had no compunction in retiring before the guests called for their carriages to leave. “I am a trifle sore.” The moment she uttered the words, the aches intensified. “Nothing some salve and rest won’t cure.”

“Come, say your good-nights, and I’ll escort you to your chamber.”

“Good night, Katherine. Thank you for keeping me company. Mansfield. Charles. No doubt I will see you on the morrow.”

After further farewells, Lucien and Rosalind left the parlor and made their way through the Long Gallery. At the base of the stairs, Lucien paused. “Would you like me to carry you?”

“I’ll manage.”

Lucien took one look at her pinched face and lifted her into his arms. She felt so tiny cradled next to his chest, a sensation he’d become used to recently. His English mouse possessed strength of character that made the rest of the women in the parlor look ordinary. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore her charms.

He paused outside Rosalind’s chamber to open the door. A sound coming from inside the room made him halt.

Rosalind tugged his sleeve in a silent demand for him to put her down. Lucien frowned and indicated with a hand gesture for her to stay outside. He moved silently into the chamber. A whisper of silk behind him made his teeth clench.

Rosalind sidled up to him and tugged on his sleeve once more. “Who is it?” Her blue eyes flashed excitement, and Lucien groaned inwardly.

“Stay there,” he mouthed.

A flurry of movement coming from Rosalind’s dressing room made her leap into action.

“If someone is destroying my clothes again I’m going to scream.” She limped past Lucien, evading his grasp and shot into the dressing room.

“Damn.” Lucien hurried after her to avert further injury.

Rosalind slammed to a halt. “What on earth do you think you are doing?” Her severe voice sounded surprisingly like Lady Augusta at her most imperious. Her eyes narrowed a second before she darted from sight, then a feminine screech rent the air, loud enough to make his ears ring.

“What’s going on here?” Lucien burst through the doorway in time to see Rosalind grab the dark-haired maid by the shoulders, the one who was always dropping sly hints about joining him in his bed, and shake her vigorously.

“I asked you a question,” Rosalind snapped.

Beth glared at Rosalind, her mouth firmed in a stubborn line of mutiny.

“Tell me.” Rosalind shook the maid again.

“I came to turn down your bed and light the candles,” Beth said. “Ask Tickell. He sent me.”

“He told Maria to do it,” Rosalind countered, releasing her.

“No, he…How did you know?” The maid edged away.

“I just do.” Rosalind folded her arms and glared down her upturned nose, her chin jutting upward in a pugnacious manner.

Lucien bit back a smile. Rosalind was handling this interview well without his help. And she was right to question the maid. Several gowns lay on the floor in a puddle of silk, and the maid was still grasping a lacy shawl in her right hand.

“Would you like to hand over the knife from your pocket?” Rosalind’s tone was as pleasant as if she were breaking a fast with acquaintances.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rosalind pointed. “The knife in your pocket.”

The maid’s shoulders slumped. She yanked the knife from her pocket, and Lucien stood poised, ready to intercede should she threaten Rosalind.

“They’re right,” Beth said with a snarl. “You are a witch.”

Lucien took two steps forward, but Rosalind stilled him with a look.

She grabbed the maid’s forearm. “Who says I’m a witch? Who’s spouting such falsehoods?”

Beth tried to ease from Rosalind’s grip. “I have more rooms to ready for the guests. Tickell said I have to finish them by midnight.”

“You’re going to clean up the mess here first,” Rosalind said. “But before you do that, you’re going to tell me who suggested you destroy my gowns. I presume it was you who ransacked my room last week. You must have laughed when I asked you to help me clean up the mess. How much did Lady Sophia pay you?”

The maid gasped. The color fled her cheeks, leaving her pasty white.

Lucien leaned against the doorframe and waited. He hoped Rosalind knew what she was doing, because when she blurted out things like that without warning, damned if she didn’t sound like a witch.

Beth refused to meet Rosalind’s gaze. She mumbled under her breath and this time Lucien heard Rosalind gasp.

“You were responsible for me falling down the stairs tonight. Why?”

“I was not!”

But one look at the maid’s face told Lucien she was guilty. She
had
caused Rosalind’s fall.

Lucien closed the distance between himself and the two women. Fury whipped him at the idea of losing Rosalind. Francesca’s death had been bad enough, but to lose another wife was unthinkable. “You could have killed Lady Hastings.”

“I think that was the idea,” Rosalind said. A look passed between them requiring no words.

“Don’t joke.” Lucien turned a glare on the hapless maid. “Why?”

Beth tossed her head and tried to tug free of Rosalind. “Let me go. I haven’t done anything.”

Rosalind’s mouth firmed. Lucien watched her tense then relax. She loosened her grip on the maid. “Go,” she said. “I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

About to protest, Lucien snapped his mouth shut when he saw the warning Rosalind sent him.

Freed, the maid shot past them. Her hurried footsteps resounded as she raced across the room. The door creaked and slammed, indicating her exit.

Lucien stepped from the cramped dressing room into the more spacious chamber. “Do you think she was acting on her own or is someone paying her to cause mischief?”

“Lady Sophia paid her.” Rosalind settled onto a wooden chair with a relieved sigh. She rubbed at her knee through her skirts and winced. “I feel as if I’ve been used for target practice. I think my bruises have bruises. I’ll talk to Lady Sophia in the morning. She won’t get away with this.”

Lucien frowned. “She didn’t admit that Lady Sophia paid her. Why are you so sure Lady Sophia is responsible?”

Rosalind’s eyes flashed. “Because I read the maid’s thoughts. Lady Sophia is responsible.”

“You read her mind?” Lucien seized Rosalind’s words and threw them back at her in clear disbelief.

Rosalind’s glance contained a mixture of guilt and frustration, tinged with something that looked like hope.

She read the maid’s mind? How was that possible? He laughed and heard uneasiness in the sound, the shock and disbelief. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“No,” Rosalind said, holding his gaze and maintaining it with a steady look. “I have…a gift. Sometimes I’m able to read minds. My grandmother had the same gift.”

Lucien felt an urgent need to move, so he walked to the door and returned. “How does this gift work?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I…it seems unusual.” He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of her eavesdropping on his thoughts. She’d said she could only read people sometimes. Hope surged and withered at her look of sympathy. “You can read my mind.”

“Mostly.”

Lucien stiffened. “So you know of my past.” Her knowledge of his inner thoughts seemed obtrusive.

She met his gaze fearlessly. “Yes.”

He compressed his mouth. “Good night, Rosalind.” He strode to the door connecting their chambers and jerked it open. It was only with the greatest willpower that he didn’t slam the door shut. God forbid, he wanted to. He paced the length of his chamber, ignoring the luxurious surroundings and the softness of the Persian rug beneath his shoes.

What the hell was he going to do?

The door burst open before he could even begin to think.

“Don’t walk away like that.” Rosalind limped into his chamber, her blue eyes blazing fire.

The door slammed behind her, and Lucien suppressed a flash of dark humor. He’d restrained his temper while she hadn’t even tried.

“How would you feel if I knew your every thought and not one single thing was private? You’d hate it,” Lucien answered his own question.

Rosalind’s chin jerked upward. “I don’t know your every thought.”

“That’s not what you said before.”

“I said I knew your thoughts, but only if I’m touching you. I don’t know what you’re thinking now.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Although I could take a guess. Do you think I enjoy knowing what the maid thinks, what Lady Augusta thinks? All my life this
gift
has set me apart. Do you think I want to be different from everyone else? Do you think I want people to look at me and call me witch? Why do you think I wear gloves most of the time?” She paused, her chest heaving with indignation. “The only reason I’m trying to read people now is so I can discover who killed Mary and who’s trying to hurt us.”

Lucien stiffened.
Us.
“Don’t,” he snarled. “It’s too dangerous.” The idea of taking responsibility for another death appalled him.

She approached him and stopped an arm’s length away, so close he smelled flowers on her skin and hair. “Do you think the accidents have something to do with Francesca’s death?” She stepped even closer until a mere hand span separated them.

Hearing Francesca’s name on Rosalind’s lips shocked him. Pain, sharp and jagged, wrenched his heart, and the ring of truth made him draw a sharp breath. It was obvious she was using her gift, trying to help him locate Francesca’s murderer, even though it put her in danger. The selfless act battered down the last flimsy defenses he’d erected between them.

“Hell, Rosalind.” His voice broke on her name. He closed the remaining distance between them, wrapping his arms around her body and drawing her to his chest. He smoothed his hand over her hair and noticed it trembled. He moved it again, smoothing and petting, savoring the softness of her. It was a long time since someone had looked at him with such belief. He pressed a kiss to the fragrant blond hair at her temple. He didn’t know how he’d inspired such loyalty in not one, but two women. But he had, and it was a precious gift—a second chance at love—if he wanted to take it.

“Lucien?” Her upturned face shone with trust, but underlying the conviction was clear determination.

Lucien sighed. He just knew she was going to be difficult about staying out of his investigation. “Yes?”

“I would like to have a child.”

Her words were like a spear piercing his heart. Sudden and unexpected. Painful.

“No,” he said harshly. He wrenched away from the temptation to seize her in his arms and offer comfort. Guilt and confusion made him unable to face her hurt expression.

“Why not?”

She’d had to ask. The raw emotion he’d held in check since Francesca’s death bubbled out before he could stop it. “Because I don’t want to go through the same thing all over again. I don’t want my wife and child to die and leave me alone.”

Harsh finality enveloped his voice. Rosalind felt her uncertain grasp on her dreams slipping. Her stomach roiled with fear, followed swiftly by anger. She’d fought for everything in life. Why should the fight for Lucien’s attention be any different?

So, she’d resort to her original plan and seduce him. Not that she knew how to go about a seduction. However, she’d watched her cousin flirt with male visitors often enough. Men flocked to Miranda in the hope of her bestowing them with one of her pretty smiles or a gurgle of laughter. It would work.
It has to work.

She turned to face her brooding husband. Ignoring the nervous stutters inside her chest, she said, “I’m frightened to sleep on my own. Can I sleep in your chamber again tonight?”

At first, she thought he’d balk at her suggestion. His muscular body stiffened beneath the black jacket. Hands fisted at his sides until he caught her watching him. He flung off his tenseness as easily as she discarded a shawl, except in his eyes. They still held pain and wariness. Rosalind edged closer. Before the thought even entered her head, she reached out to offer comfort.

“Don’t touch me.” Lucien wrenched away before her hand contacted his skin.

Pain sliced through her. Another rejection. Her throat closed up with a giant knot of emotion. She wanted to rail and scream at the unfairness of the situation. Why had it been her who received the gift and not Miranda? Gift! Huh! It was a curse that kept coming back to haunt her with the regularity of the monsters in Mary’s ghostly tales.

She turned away to hurry for the door connecting their chambers before Lucien witnessed the tears leaking from her eyes. The only good thing about her gift was she knew for sure Lady Sophia was directly responsible for a lot of the occurrences since her arrival at Castle St. Clare. She’d paid maids and some of the other servants to make life difficult for her. Rosalind had her suspicions why but needed to confront the woman to confirm plain jealousy was responsible. Lady Sophia coveted Lucien’s title and would do anything to remove her.

Huh! Rosalind tried to dislodge the achy lump in her throat with a swallow. Lady Sophia would laugh hysterically if she learned Lucien didn’t want her, that he consistently pushed her away.

“Wait.” He caught her upper arm and forced her to stop. His hand dropped away the instant she halted.

“I don’t bite,” she snapped.

Lucien raked a hand through his hair, leaving dark tufts sticking out of his queue. “Hell. I’m sorry, but it’s difficult. This isn’t an ordinary situation.”

“I have to live with it every day.”

“Please, go ahead. Make me feel better,” he said in a dry tone.

Rosalind stared. Was that a twinkle lurking deep in his dark eyes? Had he made a joke?

“You can sleep in my chamber tonight.”

Rosalind stared anew. Their gazes clashed and held. The silence between them stretched. In the distance soft music tinkled, masculine laughter floated up from outside. A soft breeze ruffled the Flemish tapestries covering the walls.

“Where…” Rosalind paused to clear her throat. “Where will you sleep?”

Lucien’s gaze intensified. Her skin prickled, not in fear, but a different, more foreign sensation. His gaze dropped to her mouth. The hush grew heavy with expectation. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

Lucien cursed, long and loud, even as he eyed her lips avidly. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” Rosalind backed up. This time, he stepped closer and raised one hand to trace her mouth with his fingers.

“That,” he whispered. “What am I going to do with you? I’m trying to do the right thing, but you make it difficult.”

“I’m your wife.”

“I know. But I didn’t want to care for you.”

Rosalind considered his words. He’d loved his first wife. Was there room in his heart for her too?

His thumb brushed her bottom lip and he bent his head. Rosalind couldn’t breathe as he lifted his other hand to cup her head, his dark eyes intent and serious.

He’d kissed her before. She knew what to expect, yet this time seemed different and full of unexpected tension.

“Are you sure you want to sleep in here tonight?” His voice was low. Husky. His eyes glinted in the candlelit room, holding silent questions he hadn’t voiced.

Rosalind was certain. She nodded, turning slightly to nuzzle his hand and press a soft, moist kiss to his palm. “I’m very sure.”

He lowered his head and slowly drew her against his chest.

Apprehension swept through Rosalind when her body came into contact with his. Now that Lucien was finally acquiescing, she had no idea what to do or how to behave. What if she did something wrong? What if she compared unfavorably with his first wife? The thought made her tense, horror flooding her thoughts. What if she did something so wrong he never let her enter his chamber again?

“Having second thoughts?” He was so close now, his warm breath wafted across her cheek. Port and the faint tang of tobacco plus a scent uniquely Lucien made her sigh and relax.

“I’m not sure what to do next. I sort of know what happens, but what if I do the wrong thing?”

Lucien chuckled and the infectious sound made her lips curl up at the corners. “I know exactly what to do,” he said.

An intriguing dimple winked at the corner of his mouth and entranced her. She lifted her hand to run her fingers over the small dent. Instantly, images flooded her mind. She gasped. Her gaze flew to Lucien’s. “I have no clothes on!”

The dimple reappeared. “I know.”

Her brow creased in a frown. “You’re wearing clothes.”

Lucien grinned, and when Rosalind attempted to speak, he placed a hand over her mouth. “Shh,” he murmured. “You talk too much.”

The candles flickered. Lucien lowered his hand, pressed a fleeting kiss over her mouth. “Can you read my mind all the time?”

“My grandmother taught me to block. I can block most thoughts as long as I’m calm. Sometimes they slip in, but I have to be touching the person.”

“We’ll probably come into physical contact,” he murmured, an undertone of laughter in his voice. “I’d better watch what I’m thinking.”

This teasing, laughing Lucien was a stranger to her. Relaxed and approachable, he made her crave more of the same in the future. His pointed gaze made her self-conscious. She sighed, knowing she could trust him.

Lucien placed his hands on her shoulders and took half a step back. Slowly his gaze trailed downward to linger at her lips. Heat bloomed on her skin. Rosalind sucked in a breath as his attention moved lower. It was as if he caressed her. She wanted to fidget, but a strange lethargy held her in place. Suddenly her clothes were heavy and cumbersome. And Lucien seemed to know.

“Let me play maid tonight.” He pushed her down onto a walnut chair. In the dressing-table looking glass, she saw their twin reflections. Lucien appeared dark and somber in his usual black attire while her blond hair glinted in the candlelight.

Lucien’s fingers deftly removed the two ivory combs fastening her hair. His fingers worked through her blond locks until they spilled past her shoulders.

“I’ve thought about seeing you like this,” he confessed. His hand smoothed across her hair. A relaxed sigh drifted from Rosalind as his fingers combed and massaged her scalp. She eyed his reflection. His intent expression was easily discernable with his restrained hair. She liked it best when he allowed his hair to hang loosely about his face, the curls springing to life.

“Stand for me, Rosalind.”

She rose on unsteady legs. His deft fingers dealt with her gown and petticoat. Laces unfastened and tapes were untied as if by magic. The silken fabric dropped to the floor with a soft whoosh. He whisked her hoops and stays from her body. Rosalind chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety rising once more. Lucien tugged her against his chest, his mouth nuzzling behind her ear. Velvet fabric tickled her back. Hot, moist breath fanned her neck and the sensation did little to aid her wobbly knees. The heat in the room intensified, despite her lack of clothing. Muscles constricted with alarm but the feeling of his lips on her heated skin was most pleasant. A shiver moved down her body.

“Don’t be frightened,” he murmured.

“I’m not,” she said, and knew it for a lie. It was hard to act brave when the future looked so hazy.

His hand toyed with her chemise strap. He turned her to face him, cupping her head until she met his gaze. His eyes were wild and stormy. Hot. Her pulse skittered, her tongue darting out to moisten her dry lips again. Lucien gave a soft laugh as if he found her nerves amusing. Rosalind stiffened.

“Relax. I’m not laughing at you.” He smiled and brushed one finger over her quivering mouth. “Your face is easy to read. Your emotions give you away.”

Lucien bent his head, closing the gap between them. The touch of his lips was different from what she expected. His kiss was soft and fleeting, tentative as if he was trying not to scare her. His lips moved over hers, and she felt a flick of his tongue. Startled, she opened her mouth and his tongue swept inside.

Smell. Taste. Her senses bombarded her as she experienced close proximity to Lucien. Curiosity burned inside her and, greedily, she wanted to try everything. Her hands fluttered before settling on his shoulders. His black jacket was rough to her touch while his velvet waistcoat felt soft and luxurious. Her hands slipped under to discover the white linen shirt beneath.

“Would you like me to take off my waistcoat and shirt?”

Rosalind considered the idea. “Yes, please.” Heat suffused her face, but Lucien didn’t seem to mind. Her brow creased momentarily. This was nothing like the scenario her aunt had described. The dark fumbling and mortifying touches of a husband forcing his way into the bed. Pain for a short time, then left blessedly alone until the next time.

Candles spluttered in the wall sconces. Rosalind shifted to allow the light to shine on her husband.

Her mouth rounded as Lucien started to remove his clothes. Finally, his shirt dropped down his arms and whispered to a puddle at his feet. Her gaze rose to meet his. “You’re beautiful.” Not even the scars on his face or the one on his upper shoulder detracted from his presence.

“Don’t let that get around,” he said dryly. “I’ve worked very hard to scare all the women away with my ugly scars.”

Her hand hovered over the bare skin of his chest. “Can I touch you?”

His laugh was short, his voice husky and low. “Please.”

Dark hair grew on his chest. It was soft beneath her fingertips. She edged closer, near enough to press her nose against his skin. His scent filled every breath. Something mystical. Oriental. That was it. The aroma reminded Rosalind of the small sandalwood boxes that hailed from the Orient.

His hands tugged her against his chest. Instead of the scratchy cloth of his jacket, his skin was smooth and warmer. Hot to the touch. Her mouth opened and without thought, she kissed him in the middle of his chest. He groaned and tightened his hold.

Then he laughed. “You, madam, are going to be the death of me with your questions and your curiosity. Come, let us lie on the bed before my knees give out.”

“Oh, do your knees feel wobbly too? I thought perhaps I’d drunk too much wine,” Rosalind said.

He made a small choking noise.

“Are you all right? Should I hit you on the back?”

Lucien laughed hard then. He wiped a splash of moisture from his eyes and grinned at her. “When I first saw you, I knew you’d be trouble.”

“I know my gift is a curse, but I do try not to be a nuisance.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.” He snatched her off her feet and took three hurried steps to the bed.

Rosalind fell to the mattress and bounced lightly. The mattress dipped as Lucien sat on the edge of the bed. He slid off her pink satin shoes and tossed them to the floor. The sensation of his hands on her legs made her freeze. His hands slid up until he came to her garters. Deft movements untied them in a trice. Then he peeled down her stockings, his callused hands smoothing them to her ankles, sending a shiver down her spine. Her pulse raced, her body awash in sensations she’d never experienced before.

And there was much more to come. Pain. Would she bear it? Sighing, she decided yes. To have a child of her own to love, she would bear any amount of pain.

Lucien removed his shoes and stockings while Rosalind watched with avid curiosity. His hands settled on the fastening of his breeches. Hesitation skirted his face.

“Is it necessary to take off your breeches?” Rosalind asked.

Another small choking noise escaped from the depths of his throat. His mouth twitched.

“Maybe not,” he murmured and, grinning, he moved up the bed, his upper body covering her chest.

Not an unpleasant experience. The friction of her breasts against the sheer cotton of her chemise made her wriggle. Heat engulfed her face, her body; and low down in that place between her legs, an ache intensified. She squirmed a little more.

“Be still,” Lucien ordered.

Rosalind froze, not at his order but at the strange guttural groan he emitted. Her eyes widened. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Again his voice sounded strange. “Hell.”

He lowered his head and kissed her. Warmth surged from his lips. Heat. Flickers of sensation exploded, sending tendrils of heat from wherever he touched. His hand on her shoulder, his weight on her upper body—both felt strange but right. His mouth traced a path across her cheek, down her neck and, strangely, her ear.

Rosalind melted like a snowdrift under the rising sun. Who would have thought a kiss on her ear would feel so…so wondrous. One sensation merged into another. His hands, rough from working with the men in the village, elicited magical sparks that prickled up and down her limbs.

“Let me take your chemise off, Rosalind. I want to see you.”

“See me?” Even though she’d seen herself naked in his thoughts, the act of disrobing in front of her husband was not something she’d considered much before tonight. Her aunt hadn’t mentioned taking off clothes, and neither had Mary. Wouldn’t it make her vulnerable? What if he teased her or scorned her body like her cousin used to? She studied his bare chest and frowned. “Can’t you see me now?”