The Spurned Viscountess (20 page)

The color bleached from Lady Sophia’s face. “That’s not true.”

“It won’t be long before we have a child.” Rosalind knew she was being petty, forcing the truth down Lady Sophia’s throat, but the woman deserved it for her treachery. “Stay away from Hastings, or I’ll press charges. The local magistrate will take a dim view of the matter. The scandal will ruin your reputation.” Without another word, Rosalind turned away and sauntered over to the servants unpacking food from large cane baskets.

Charles strolled across the clearing to join her. “What was that all about?”

“A private discussion,” Rosalind said.

“About Hastings?”

“Go and fish or something.” Rosalind’s lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “I must supervise the servants before Lady Radford takes me to task.”

In truth, the servants didn’t require instruction. They were efficient, well trained, and almost finished with their tasks. Instead, Rosalind used the time to ponder her situation. She wondered if Lady Sophia would heed her warnings. A child would certainly cement her claim on Lucien.

Lady Radford clapped her hands together and raised her voice for all to hear. “I thought we’d walk to the folly on the other side of the copse before we break our fast.”

Enthusiasm greeted her suggestion, and most of the guests drifted down the narrow track in pairs.

Since she was still favoring her ankle a little, Rosalind found a pleasant spot on the bank of the stream and sat to mull over everything that had happened to her and Lucien. She’d read Lady Sophia easily. The other woman hadn’t known about the tunnels. Her surprise had been evident. Puzzlement furrowed Rosalind’s forehead as she pondered the matter. Was it possible there were two villains? Was Lucien right in thinking Hawk was responsible? She was unsure, but she needed to discover answers for Lucien somehow. It was the only way they’d find a measure of peace.

The time passed agreeably, and Rosalind rose to pluck a bouquet of wildflowers for Lady Augusta. Soon men and women arrived back from their invigorating walk. Charles and Mansfield sought her out, Lady Sophia winging a scowl at her when she noticed the two men had left her bevy of suitors.

Charles noticed. “She really doesn’t like you.”

Lady Radford thankfully interrupted with an announcement. “Please let the servants know what you’d like to eat.”

They broke into groups, taking seats at the tables spaced around the clearing or sprawling out on blankets. Servants bustled about and a jovial mood ensued with gay laughter and repartee. A sudden shout broke into the joviality. Like everyone else, Rosalind turned to see who dared interrupt one of Lady Radford’s rustic outings.

“What’s the meaning of this interruption?” Lady Radford’s steely tones cut through the burst of conversation.

The footman’s face was red from exertion, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasped for air. “It’s Mansfield’s sister. Took a fall from her horse. They’re asking for Mansfield.”

Charles jumped to his feet. “We’ll go now.”

“Of course.” Rosalind stood hastily. “I’m skilled with healing. I might be able to help.”

“Surely you don’t have to leave as well, Charles? You promised to tell us about the freak show at Bartholomew Fair.” Lady Sophia fluttered her eyelashes at Charles, her lips shaped in a moue of disappointment. “We were looking forward to hearing about the wolf lady.”

Mansfield stayed a protest by agreeing. “It’s all right, Charles. You stay, but Lady Hastings, my mother isn’t very good with blood or injuries. If you wouldn’t mind attending my sister at the manor, I’d be much obliged.”

“Rosalind, you go with Mansfield. Take the chaise,” Charles said to his friend. “I’ll ride your bay back to the castle.”

Rosalind nodded, turning to Mansfield. “Of course. I’ll do everything I can to aid your sister.”

***

Before Rosalind knew it, she was in the chaise with Mansfield and on the way to Mansfield manor.

Mansfield touched her forearm to draw her attention. “You’re very quiet. Did our hurried trip back to the chaise harm your ankle again?”

“No, it’s fine now. I scarcely feel a twinge,” Rosalind said with a smile. “How old is your sister?”

“It will probably be Charlotte who has fallen. She is twelve and too bold for her own good.” Mansfield’s hand tightened momentarily, digging into her flesh, searing it with heat. A flash of jealousy pierced her mental blocks, a splash of bright red and green swirling together in a mass, the jagged emotions battering her defenses.

Luckily, the burst faded the instant he broke the contact to concentrate on directing the horses. She bit back a gasp, relief hitting when she no longer needed to block. Something was bothering Mansfield. Excitement filled his thoughts, along with anger and envy. Strange—most people didn’t assault her mind like that. Perhaps he was more concerned about his sister than he acknowledged?

He clicked between his teeth, urging the horses on with his signal. They were both quiet for a time, the rhythmic swish of the wheels almost putting her to sleep. The sharp jolt of the chaise hitting a pothole jerked her fully awake, and she grabbed the edge of the seat to right herself. Her gaze focused on an ornate gateway as they clattered past.

“Isn’t that the turning to your manor?”

The excitement in his mind blazed openly on his face then. “We’re not going to the manor, Rosalind.” Mansfield urged the team into a gallop. The wind whistled past them, and her blue silk hat sailed away before she could save it.

“But I thought your sister was at the manor.” She didn’t have to pretend her confusion, but Mansfield didn’t hear. The wind snatched away her words as he took a hairpin corner at an impossible speed. She clutched the edge of the seat and held on for grim death. It was too late now to wish she’d listened to Lucien and stayed at the castle.

***

“Rosalind? Rosalind! Where are you?” Lucien stomped from her chamber into his. Both were empty. He eyed the empty rooms with misgiving before storming down the stairs in search of Lady Augusta, a maid or anyone who would know of his wife’s location. He found his aunt in the Blue Parlor.

“Aunt Augusta, have you seen Rosalind?”

Lady Augusta looked up from her needlework. “She went on an excursion with Charles and Mansfield. They mentioned the beech copse and Lady Radford’s cherry tarts. No cause for alarm, surely?”

She should be all right with Charles and Mansfield, yet his gut churned. He wanted her at his side. Safe. He shouldn’t have left her this morning without talking to her, but he’d suffered from second and third thoughts. It had taken him time to sort through them to the important issues, to gather the nerve to take his second chance, just as Francesca had made him promise.

“Stop behaving like a mooncalf, boy. Go and do something useful. Rosalind will be back later this afternoon. Go. I want peace, and I won’t have tranquility with you standing there glowering.”

“I need to check the progress of the roofing in the village.”

Lady Augusta rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Then what are you waiting for, Hastings?”

“Indeed. Your servant, ma’am.” Lucien bowed and strode through the Great Hall and out into the courtyard. Sunshine blinded him for an instant. He took comfort from the fact Rosalind wasn’t walking by herself. Charles and Mansfield would keep her safe.

Needing action to soothe his agitation, Lucien decided to walk to the stables instead of sending for a stable lad to collect Oberon.

The head groom spied him coming. “Did yer want the black saddled, my lord?”

“Yes, please, Bishop.”

The groom gestured at two of the stable boys. They disappeared, returning five minutes later with a dancing Oberon.

“Full of oats, he is, my lord. Even after the run this morning.”

Lucien nodded, taking the reins from the stable boy. He swung up into the saddle, reining his mount in. His mind kept returning to Rosalind.

“Anything wrong, my lord?”

Lucien forced a smile, which widened when he noticed the man focused on a point just above his head. He was becoming so used to Rosalind’s lack of reaction, he’d almost forgotten his face was disfigured.

“Nothing,” he said. “How long ago did Lady Hastings leave? Did they take the carriage?”

“They took the chaise. About three hours ago, my lord.”

Lucien dipped his head in acknowledgement and urged Oberon forward. There was nothing to worry about, but still his instincts churned, warning him of the danger in letting Rosalind out of his sight. He pressed Oberon into a gallop. The sooner he arrived at the village and completed his mission, the sooner he could return to Rosalind.

***

“Where are we going?” Rosalind scanned Mansfield’s hard visage, not liking the unease rippling up her spine. Something wasn’t right. “Why are you driving so fast? I know you’re worried about your sister, but surely it would be better if we arrived in one piece?”

Working on instinct, she stretched out a trembling hand, steeling herself to touch Mansfield. She’d pretend to grab him for balance, because she had to read his mind, learn what was going on and why they were really traveling at breakneck speed.

At first, she saw nothing, her instinctive block holding. Then the fog clouding his thoughts lifted, leaving a clear picture.

A man stood on the deck of a sailing ship, his hands gripping the wheel. Waves crashed over the bow as it plowed through the water. Dark hair blew in the wind, while the man balanced with ease, his head thrown back in laughter—almost daring Mother Nature to do her worst.

Rosalind frowned in confusion. That didn’t help much. “Tell me! Where are we going?”

“There’s been a change of plans.”

She jerked her hand away. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my sister.”

“What? But…you’re kidnapping me? Why? Are you in league with Lady Sophia?” Questions poured from her in a desire to understand. Everything was as clear as the blanket fogs that crept in from the sea to surround Castle St. Clare.

“We’re going on a journey.”

Rosalind didn’t like his answer, disquiet stirring to greater depths, making her heart punch against her ribs. She had to do something. She couldn’t just sit here and let him steal her away.
Think
. Mansfield’s memory of a boat must mean something. “Are you a smuggler?”

A teasing smile tugged at his lips. “Surely you know better than that, Rosalind.”

She glanced at him and suddenly knew, without touching or reading his thoughts.

Hawk
.

Frantically, Rosalind searched for a weapon, even as she recalled Hawk’s dark hair. Perhaps a wig? Could Mansfield really be Hawk? The chaise was traveling too fast for her to jump. “Lucien will come after me,” she shouted above the rattle of the equipage and the thunder of horses’ hooves.

An edge of danger tinged Mansfield’s laugh. “I’m counting on it.” He slowed the team enough for them to hear each other speak, but not enough for her to escape.

Rosalind glared. The man wanted to gloat. It was obvious by the triumph shining in his eyes. She wouldn’t ask. No, for Lucien’s sake, she needed to learn the truth. She must ask questions. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? What have I done to you?”

“Nothing, it’s your husband,” he drawled with distinct mockery.

“But Lucien is your friend. You said yourself the three of you are like brothers.”

Mansfield snorted. “Shows what you know.”

They took the corner at an alarming speed, almost tilting on two wheels, and Rosalind bit back a scream. “Do we have to drive so fast? You won’t achieve anything if you kill us both.”

“Full of advice, aren’t you?” he sneered, but he reduced the speed of the horses to a canter.

“At least tell me where we’re going.”

“Rye.”

“Rye?”

He grinned, his face full of excitement. “You, my dear, are going to France with me. Think of it—walking the avenues in Paris arm-in-arm.”

“I don’t want to go to Paris. I’m married to Lucien. Why would I leave with you?”

His good humor dissipated. “I’ll treat you well, better than Hastings ever will. I’ve seen the way he’s ignored 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?” Rosalind bit her bottom lip, wondering if he would grab the opportunity to boast.
Please tell me
. 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 find Hastings. I pretended to go along with the search and fed them false leads.”

Rosalind frowned in true bewilderment. “I suppose it was you who organized the attack on Lucien and his wife. But why? Why did you try to kill him?”

“He has everything. It was always so easy for him.” His mouth twisted, a flash of avarice distorting his handsome features. “Hastings should have died that night. The idiots bungled the job.”

Anguish for the suffering Mansfield had caused Lucien tightened around her heart like a fist. “I don’t understand. There has to be more. Why do you hate Lucien so much? Why do you want him dead?”

“He contracted a betrothal with the woman I loved. Edwina swore she loved me, but she accepted his offer. After Hastings’s disappearance, she married a man three times her age. She’s suffering for her perfidy now.” His chuckle of amusement held pure spite. “Hastings has more luck than one man deserves, but he’ll suffer this time.”

Rosalind couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Jealousy? This was all about envy and hurt feelings? Because of a shallow woman? “Why are you so jealous of him?”

“I’m sick of your questions. Shut up or I’ll gag you.”

The lazy indulgence had faded from his voice, replaced by determination. He meant his threat. Rosalind closed her mouth and concentrated instead on a means of escape. Once again, she considered jumping from the moving chaise and she again rejected the idea. She’d have to wait until they reached a town or passed another carriage. All she’d need to do was scream for aid. She slid a glance at Mansfield. That was…unless he had a pistol?