The Spurned Viscountess Part 25

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 ma.s.s, 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 a.s.sault 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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. Suns.h.i.+ne 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 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 s.h.i.+ning 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. h.e.l.l, 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 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 pa.s.sed 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?

A loud squeal 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," Mansfield 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 Mansfield's writhing emotions. "You'd shoot an innocent man? For no reason at all?"

"I have a lot at stake. One more life won't make any difference."

Rosalind pressed her lips together, stricken suddenly with grief for Mary. No doubt Mansfield was involved in her death too. Her attempt to escape would wait until they arrived at their destination then. She didn't want anyone else to die because of her actions.

They pa.s.sed the cart, the driver bowing his head in greeting.

"Good girl," Mansfield said. The team was breathing hard, their coats white with lather. He slowed them to a walk. "We'll change horses 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 suffer because he thought he'd failed another wife.

Another carriage approached.

"Put my cloak on and cover your head," Mansfield ordered. "Do it. Now."

"Or you'll shoot the driver and pa.s.sengers as well." Fury quivered in her voice and tense posture. "You can't shoot everyone, Mansfield."

"Put on the cloak." The words were like a whiplash.

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. Inwardly, she fumed. While she didn't understand the why, Mansfield 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.

The village of Whittlebury was larger than St. Clare. Rosalind had yet to visit the village, but Lady Augusta's friend Lady Pascoe lived hereabouts. Carriages, carts and a herd of cows filled the busy road. The chaise eased to a crawl, slow enough for her to leap off. Mansfield cracked the whip. The horses stirred restlessly as his hand whisked out to cover her knee, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Don't even consider jumping. Move it," he roared at the cart driver in front.

The driver of the cart turned to spit on the ground. "Keep yer s.h.i.+rt 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed up red apples, darting in front of horses and vehicles with scant regard for safety. The driver shouted abuse and threatened bodily harm if they touched his produce. Everyone ignored him.

Rosalind edged away from Mansfield. With the number of people around, she might have a chance of escape. He wouldn't shoot her, not in front of witnesses.

"Hold." Mansfield grabbed her forearm with a force she knew would leave a bruise. "We'll walk from here."

"To Rye?"

"Don't be obtuse. Slide over to me. I'll get down and help you from this side of the chaise."

With hope of an escape stifled, Rosalind sought a way to stay in the crowd, where it was safer. "You can't leave the horses here."

Mansfield snapped his fingers at a pa.s.sing urchin. "Boy, come here."

The urchin froze, slid a look over his shoulder, and took half a step in Mansfield's direction. Clear suspicion lined his grubby face.

"Do you want to earn a coin or not?" Mansfield demanded.

"Aye." The urchin approached with a streetwise wariness that tore at Rosalind's heart.

"Rosalind." With command implicit in his voice, she knew she'd have to obey.