The Spurned Viscountess Read Online Free PDF Page A

long-forgotten ancestors frowned down from the walls. She shot an uneasy glance over her shoulder.
    No, she was alone, yet her disquiet persisted.
    Ridiculous, she thought, and slowed, determined to prove there was nothing to be frightened of. There were no ghosts or specters with clanking chains and eerie wails, and although she’d heard mice, she’d yet to see one.
    She studied a tarnished old suit of armor standing against the wall and scanned the portrait of a woman who looked uncannily like Lady Augusta.
    A cough rattled noisily in a throat behind her, and Rosalind almost parted company with her shoes. She spun, her hand trembling at her breast, icy fear galloping through her veins until she focused and recognized the earl.
    “Rosalind, child. What are you doing skulking in the passage?”
    “Ah…” Did he know about her failure with her husband? Heat suffused her cheeks and, unable to bear pity or sympathy, she rushed into speech. “Good morning. I wanted to explore.”
    “Plenty of time for that later.” The earl offered his arm. “I expect you would like breakfast.”
    “Yes.” Rosalind doubted food would sit easily in her stomach but refrained from mentioning it because she didn’t want to raise embarrassing questions.
    “In you go.” The earl propelled her toward the breakfast room. “I need to speak with my secretary for a moment.”
    At the doorway, her steps faltered. The only other occupant was Hastings. She hesitated, her bravado from earlier vanishing as she studied the man she’d married the day before. He was huge. He towered over the earl and made her feel small and insignificant.
    She couldn’t stay out here all day. He was her husband. Determined to show poise, Rosalind forced herself to step inside the breakfast room. She had questions to ask. Had he entered her room earlier? Had he pushed her from her bed? Did he wish her ill?
    She stepped closer. “Good morning.”
    Hastings’s face was expressionless, his glance indifferent. Rosalind’s confidence plunged as every one of her questions tangled together like a ball of twine. A flicker of anxiety pierced her as she stared helplessly at her husband who wasn’t a husband. Where did she start?
    He’d tied his long hair back this morning, accentuating his dark eyes, his unfashionable tan and scar. His one glance sliced right through her, sensitizing her body and making her aware of the way her stays laced across her breasts. A pain in her chest reminded her to breathe. She wished he’d say something. Anything.
    But his face remained impassive and his gaze swept her from head to foot. He stood and turned, the light streaming into the breakfast room highlighting his scar with merciless attention to the jagged detail. He prowled to the chair at the far end of the table and pulled it out. One brow arched as he indicated silently she should sit.
    Rosalind walked toward him with caution. For an instant, her mind screamed to run, but she continued her approach until she stood before him.
    He seated her with brisk efficiency, but didn’t speak or touch her in any way. Her throat clogged with a knot of apprehension, the humiliation of his spurning. She swallowed rapidly and sucked in a deep breath. His sandalwood scent and a more subtle masculine note made her insides jolt with uneasy awareness. This was her husband.
    “Thank you,” she murmured, her questions whirring through her mind at breakneck speed. Now if only she could find the courage to state them out loud without fear of mangling her words. She cleared her throat. “I—”
    Hastings nodded, a hurried impersonal nod of farewell, and strode from the room without a word.
    Rosalind’s mouth dropped open. She stared after him, a sharp pain jabbing her heart. Tears pricked at her eyes, and her headache returned with vengeance.
    Hastings was her husband, but he acted as though he hated her.

Chapter Three
    Rosalind poured chocolate into a dainty porcelain cup and stared at the swirls