Hastings snorted. "I suggest you return to the castle. We'll discuss your punishment when I return."

He discounted everything she told him. "But what about Mary?" she asked.

"I will search for your maid."

"But..." His irritated expression halted her objection. St. Bridget's nose! She couldn't let him go without trying to warn him. "Be careful. You can't trust-"

"Where is your escort?"

"I don't have one."

"Return to the castle now. I'll deal with you when I return. Go now." He waited until she reached the garden before he wheeled Oberon about and galloped away.

Rosalind winced. He didn't believe her. What was she going to do? She couldn't tell him how she knew so much. Her gift. Her visions. He'd start treating her like a circus freak, if he didn't call her witch first or commit her to Bedlam, just as her aunt had constantly threatened.

Rosalind's uneasiness increased when Hastings failed to appear for the evening meal.

"Where is Hastings?" Lady Augusta demanded of Charles.

"I have no idea." He turned to Mansfield, who had joined the family for dinner. "Did you see him on the way here?"

Mansfield shrugged and toyed with his gla.s.s of wine. "I haven't seen him. I've been otherwise engaged."

"Dallying with the widow on the road to Dover, no doubt," Lady Augusta snapped. "He's a bad influence on you, Charles. You'll never wed if you carry on like Mansfield."

"We're not children any longer, Aunt," Charles said in a mild voice. "Besides, you enjoy Mansfield's tales of life in the sultan's court. You can't call them children's stories."

"I could tell you about the harem," Mansfield said slyly, winking at Rosalind.

"Humph," Lady Augusta said, pretending offence, but Rosalind caught the clear curiosity on her lined face.

St. Clare chimed in. "Lucien told me he wanted to check the roofing work on the cottages in the village. That was hours ago."

Worry killed Rosalind's appet.i.te and she stopped pretending to eat. Something had happened. She just knew it. If the stubborn man had listened to her...

"That sounds like Hastings now," Charles said when they heard a commotion from the direction of the Great Hall.

"Thoughtless man," Lady Augusta said. "We've already finished our soup. I refuse to wait while Hastings eats his soup."

Tickell entered the dining room. "Lady Rosalind-"

Rosalind bounded to her feet before the butler finished. "Where is he?"

"In his chamber. He asked for you to attend him there."

Rosalind flew down the pa.s.sages and up the stairs, barely registering her surroundings. Hastings was hurt. The words pounded through her brain. She burst into his chamber, her breath coming in gasps.

"I told Tickell not to bother you."

"You're bleeding." Rosalind sought the source of the blood on his face. "Let me get my bag."

"It's nothing."

"Then let me see." Before he could argue, she moved closer, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. She swallowed a laugh, turning it into a choking gasp at the last moment. "Is the rebuilding on schedule?"

His eyes narrowed as his gaze fastened on her face. "Everything is fine."

"I have salve in my bag that will help the cut heal."

"All right," he growled. "If you must, but it's not necessary."

Rosalind nodded and hastened away. Her smile bloomed. He'd tripped over a log while playing with two children and was too embarra.s.sed to admit his clumsiness. Still grinning, she burst into her chamber. The grin died a quick death.

"No!"

Her belongings were strewn over the floor, her linens ripped from the bed. Slowly, Rosalind made her way through the path of destruction. Her new silk gowns were tossed carelessly on the floor. Someone had shredded them beyond repair. She scooped up the broken remains of her hairbrush, the last remaining memento she had of her mother. Tears stung her eyes. Why? The wanton destruction seemed so senseless, as if the person had destroyed her belongings in a jealous rage.

"Noir?" His plaintive meow started a frantic search. "Noir, where are you?"

Another meow sounded, and a small black head poked from under a pile of bed linens. Rosalind scooped him up, hugging the kitten to her chest. "Thank goodness you're all right. I bet you saw who did this." She stroked a finger over his head until he started to purr.

Sighing, she placed Noir on the bare feather mattress and searched for the bell to ring for help. The maid announced her arrival with a brief knock on the door.

"Come in," Rosalind called.

Janet slipped through the door and came to a stunned halt. "Lady Hastings, what happened?"

"My room was like this when I arrived."

"I'll call another maid to help clean up. You'll want fresh linens for the bed too." Janet turned to the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Rosalind sighed as she started to pick up her treasured knickknacks-a small china shepherdess with her head broken off, a gla.s.s vase and the selection of flowers it had once contained, and several mismatched shoes.

Janet returned with another maid sauntering in her wake. The maid's ample chest heaved with a put-upon sigh when she saw the mess to clear.

"I checked with the other maids," Janet said. "None of them saw anyone enter your chamber. And Beth turned down your bed."

"I did. Everything was in order when I left." Beth circled the room in a slow, leisurely gait. "You've got enemies, you has."

Rosalind bit back a retort. The woman had to state the obvious. "If you would make my bed, I'll help Janet sweep the floor. Make sure you shake the linens well before you take them away. A little more gla.s.s and broken china on my floor won't do any harm. Here, I'll shift Noir for you so you can make the bed." She put the kitten in a corner, gave him a sc.r.a.p of ribbon to play with, and told him sternly to stay out of the way.

The cleanup took two hours and, by the time they finished, Rosalind's back ached. Thankful they were done, she smiled at Janet and Beth. "Thank you."

"'Tis no trouble, my lady," Janet murmured. "Sleep well."

The maid's comment made Rosalind realize how late it was. Oh, goodness! She'd completely forgotten about the salve for Hastings. She hesitated before deciding against returning. Hastings hadn't wanted her to fuss over him. Perhaps tomorrow. A yawn escaped before she could contain it. Although she wished she could sink onto her bed and drift to sleep, she had things to do. Determination solidified inside as she ushered the maids out. If it took her the rest of the night, she intended to discover the secret pa.s.sage that led from her room. It was the obvious and only answer to the clandestine comings and goings from her chamber.

Rosalind started at her door and worked her way around to her bed. She examined each portion of the wall in minute detail. She tapped the walls, listening for a telltale hollowness. Even though logic told her she'd find the pa.s.sage low, she dragged a chair over to the wall and stood on tiptoes to tap above her head. Nothing. Rosalind doggedly continued her search, climbing up on the chair, scrambling back off. Still nothing. She bit her bottom lip in vexation. Her knuckles throbbed from the constant tapping, but she continued. There was a pa.s.sage here. She knew it. There was no other way for someone to gain such easy access to her room. She paused mid-tap. Unless one of the maids was the culprit?

Rosalind rocked back on her heels, considered the possibility and discarded it. It would be difficult for one of the maids to spirit her clothes away and destroy her belongings without others seeing or taking part in the mischief.

The search continued, Rosalind working while her mind twisted the puzzle, probing for answers.

The dull, echoing thud didn't register at first. She stopped in front of a bureau. It looked heavy and unwieldy, but determination bade she make her search a thorough one. With a loud, unladylike grunt, she yanked the bureau. It moved surprisingly easily considering the size. She paused to take a deep breath, grasped the corners firmly, and tugged again. Small rollers attached to the bottom of the furniture aided its quick and effortless movement. A draft, a whisper of wind ran across her face, tugging tendrils of her hair. Rosalind gasped. Excitement pulsed through her veins. Tiredness dropped away as she held a candle aloft to study the gaping hole in the wall where the bureau had stood.

"Yes." The grin of success spread across her face. The bureau was part of the wall, and the rollers on the bottom allowed easy, almost noiseless entry to her chamber. On the rear, there was a st.u.r.dy handle to help the person exiting her chamber pull the bureau back into place with ease.

"I knew it." A job well done. She turned, picked up her candle, and plunged inside the black hole.

Lucien turned on his side, trying to find a comfortable spot. His head ached as if someone was jabbing a dozen needles into his forehead. Although he'd told Rosalind not to bother with the salve, he could do with something to ease the pain now. He grunted. Who would have thought a simple fall would cause so much discomfort?

He flopped over on his other side, sending the covers flying from the bed, and stared up at the playful nymphs that cavorted on the painting above his bed. He cursed low and soft with frustration. The curvy blonde nymphs reminded him of Rosalind.

A soft, insistent tap jerked him from the dangerous thoughts. He sat up, listening intently. He'd almost decided the noise had been his imagination when it sounded again. The noise was coming from inside the wall.

Lucien slid from bed and pulled on a pair of breeches. The noise sounded again, but farther away. Gradually the tapping receded. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up a candle, fumbled for a tinderbox, lit the candle and slipped from his room. He paused to listen. Yes. There it was again. Maybe Rosalind was right. It seemed as if there was someone behind the wall. It could be a person or a creature of some sort. Either way, he intended to learn their ident.i.ty.

He stalked the length of the dimly lit corridor, following the progress of the m.u.f.fled thumps and thuds. Holding the candle aloft, he studied the wall closely. He was unable to discern anything out of the ordinary. The wall appeared the same all the way along.

He tapped the wall lightly with one knuckle. A m.u.f.fled shriek rent the air, followed by a mighty crash. The wall where he was standing flew open. An apparition in white flew at him, arms outstretched. The ghostly scream made the hair at the back of his neck lift. Lucien took an instinctive step back.

"Hastings!" the creature cried.

Lucien peered closer. "Rosalind?"

"Oh, you gave me a start! Never mind, I intended to find you anyway. Look what I've found." She gestured at the black hole behind her.

They both heard footsteps from a lower level at the same time.

"Quick. Come out of there and we'll shut the door." Lucien made rapid work of placing the wall back, before he hustled Rosalind farther down the pa.s.sage.

Rosalind looked back over her shoulder. "Who is it?" she whispered.

"I don't know, but whoever it is, I think we should keep our discovery to ourselves." He urged her down the pa.s.sage.

Rosalind dug in her heels. "Whose discovery?"

Lucien took one look at her indignant face and wanted to laugh. Her blond hair, which was usually immaculate, stood up in all directions. A cobweb covered her face and her nightgown was gray with dust.

The hollow echo of footsteps on the wooden floor came closer. Lucien frowned. They wouldn't make it back to his chamber in time. The unknown person would pa.s.s them in a few moments. And Lucien would bet they, whoever they were, would have endless questions about Rosalind's appearance.

Acting quickly, he pressed Rosalind against the wall. He ignored her squeak, holding his candle up to survey her face. He wiped a smudge of dirt off her cheek with his free hand. Despite the gray tinge of dust, the gown glowed like a signal fire, giving away exactly what she'd been up to. A good thing she was so tiny. If he kept them out of direct candlelight they might pa.s.s inspection. His larger frame would hide most of the dust on her nightgown. His breath hissed out as he saw something else illuminated by the candlelight.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Lucien squeezed his eyes shut but the vision remained imprinted in his mind. "h.e.l.l," he muttered. He placed his candle on the floor and stepped away from her intoxicating scent. The floral perfume was driving him crazy, making him think things he had no right to think.

"What is it?" she whispered, closing the gap between them.

Lucien groaned under his breath. "Nothing. Be quiet. I'm trying to listen."

The footsteps came closer. d.a.m.n. He'd have to...

The person paused, probably when whoever it was saw them. Lucien looked down at Rosalind. Her face was barely discernible in the dim light, but his mind filled in the details. Rosalind had eyes the color of a pale blue forget-me-not, lips rosy as a freshly picked apple, and a determined chin and heart-stirring smile.

His head lowered. He heard her small gasp and smelled the warm womanly scent of her. Then his lips covered hers. He drank in her second gasp of surprise, his hand curving behind her head to draw her closer. Just one taste while they let their silent watcher draw his or her own conclusions. But one taste only fed his growing hunger. One more kiss, and then he'd stop.

"Cuz, don't you know they have bedrooms for that sort of thing?" Warm amus.e.m.e.nt colored Charles's voice.

Lucien loosened his hold on Rosalind. Blood thrummed through his veins. He hadn't felt so alive for months, and the realization galled him. He took a step back before he allowed himself to glance at Rosalind. Even though she'd managed an impa.s.sive face, he sensed the yearning, the need to take the kiss a step further. He forced himself to think of Francesca and his plans to find her killer before returning to his estates in Italy.

"Am I interrupting?" Charles c.o.c.ked a brow and puffed on his pipe, sending a cloud of smoke into the air.

Irritation and a dose of self-recrimination bubbled inside Lucien. Of course he was, and Charles knew it. Lucien bit back a curse, knowing he should feel thankful his cousin had come along to interrupt what would've been an irretrievable step. He frowned. Still, d.a.m.ned odd that Charles had appeared at that exact moment, especially since his chambers were in the opposite wing.

Lucien picked up his candle and shone it in Charles's direction. "What are you doing here?"

Charles glanced at Rosalind and visibly hesitated.

"Well?"

"I've been...visiting," Charles said in a low voice.

"Visiting whom?" Rosalind piped up.

Lucien's anger abated as he smothered a laugh. Charles had come from the direction of the servants' quarters and no doubt a warm bed. A simple explanation.

Lucien decided to take pity on him. "Charles is friendly with some of the servants. Sometimes they play cards or the dice."

"Oh," Rosalind said.

"What are you doing up so late?" Charles asked.

"We couldn't sleep so we went for a walk in the gardens." He curled an arm around Rosalind's waist and drew her against his side, taking care to keep her from Charles's full scrutiny. Touching her felt natural. Right. Think of Francesca, he told himself with a surge of panic. He pictured her face easily enough, but the look of approval on her smiling face threw him.

"I'll bid you good night then." With a bow, Charles sauntered away.

"What do you think?" Rosalind whispered.

Lucien looked down at her intent face. So, she'd thought Charles's explanation strange too. The woman was astute as well as persistent. And a menace to his mission. "I'm not sure," he said slowly. "The servants' rooms are in the direction he came from."

"But you don't know for sure. We should check in the morning. Ask a few questions."

She was right. But he didn't see Charles as a killer. The man seemed foppish with his love of lace and cosmetics. "Come," he said. "It's late. I'll escort you to your chamber."