The Spurned Viscountess by Shelley Munro Page A

awkward. The woman looked as prickly as the hedgehog he’d surprised during his midnight rambling last night. And he’d discovered something. To make sure she kept her distance, all he needed was Oberon at his side.
    The walk back to Castle St. Clare took half the time the outward journey had. The woman marched briskly up the path in front of him, clutching the kitten protectively and not attempting a word of chatter. She crooned to the creature but, apart from that, they undertook the journey in silence. In the outer courtyard they parted ways. Lucien led Oberon to the stables, and the woman disappeared inside the castle.
    Lucien paused. She hadn’t cast him a second look. Not one. Oberon nudged him in the back and, with an impatient snort, sent him lurching forward.
    “All right.” Lucien pushed the woman to the back of his mind and smoothed a hand over his mount’s withers. The woman was of no importance anyway.
    ***
    Tickell, the St. Clare butler, opened the heavy oak door a second before Rosalind grasped the head of the brass lion knocker. She smiled her thanks and rushed past, eager to get to her chamber.
    “Where have you been?”
    The stern feminine screech echoed through the Great Hall and stopped Rosalind dead. A log resettled in the grate, sending a shower of sparks sailing upward into the chimney. She used the brief distraction to take a deep breath before turning slowly to face Lady Augusta. One look at Lady Augusta’s pinched face told her she was in for a tongue-lashing, no matter what excuse she offered.
    Forcing her mouth to curve into a polite smile, she said, “I’ve been for a walk, my lady.”
    Lady Augusta stared down her long nose, her gaze imperious. “A walk? I expected you here.” The elderly woman swished her fan through the air in a manner that made Rosalind’s knuckles tingle. “A household this size does not run by itself.”
    Nothing like starting off wrong-footed. She hadn’t realized Lady Augusta wanted to oversee her in the household duties. That wasn’t the impression the elderly woman had given yesterday. Rosalind sighed inwardly and wondered how to proceed. She’d have to apologize. The kitten stirred in her hands and let out a weak mew. “I’m sorry—”
    “What have you there?” Lady Augusta thrust her face closer and let out a hiss. “A cat! It looks diseased. Remove it at once. I won’t have it in my castle. Filthy beast.”
    A nervous tremor raced down her body, but instinct told her if she let Lady Augusta win this round, she was doomed. Determined to hold fast, she straightened and prepared for battle. The kitten depended on her.
    The wooden door at their backs burst open. A flurry of breeze stirred the tapestries on the far wall before Tickell closed the door after Hastings. The fire hissed with renewed life, sending up a sullen plume of smoke.
    “Aunt.” He inclined his head in a respectful nod.
    “Tell her to remove that vermin from my castle,” Lady Augusta demanded, her voice high and querulous. “It’s unlucky to have a black cat indoors. Witch’s beast!” she ended with a hiss.
    Rosalind backed up at the vehement tone but kept her gaze on Lady Augusta. The elderly woman quivered with anger, the ribbons on her bonnet rattling and echoing the sentiment.
    “Take the cat to your room and keep it there,” Hastings said without looking directly at her.
    Lady Augusta swelled with indignation. “But—”
    “Go, Rosalind.”
    She hurried off before Lady Augusta changed Hastings’s mind. But she couldn’t resist a quick look over her shoulder before she left. Hastings was watching her. She felt a strange warmth inside as she ducked through the door and out of his sight.
    He’d called her by her given name.
    Perhaps there was hope for the future after all.
    Rosalind dashed down the same dimly lit passageway she’d walked this morning. A smile flitted across her mouth as she skipped to the end of the corridor. Not only had Hastings called her by