The Spurned Viscountess Read Online Free PDF

in the dark liquid. A sigh that was almost a sob escaped. The sound seemed to hang in the breakfast room before it faded to nothing. She bit her bottom lip; she swallowed. Steam drifted off the chocolate. She reached out to pick up her cup, but her hand shook so badly she gave up. Instead, she stared in the direction Hastings had disappeared.
    Alone.
    She’d never felt so isolated in all her life, not even when her grandmother had died. Nothing had prepared her for this situation. Nothing.
    She swiped away a bothersome tear with the back of her hand. When the slap-slap of footsteps heralded an arrival, she snatched up a napkin and rapidly dabbed her eyes. Then she reached for her chocolate and hoped she wouldn’t spill it.
    “There you be, miss.” Exasperation colored Mary’s terse words. “I’ve searched everywhere for you. There be too many rooms in this pile of stones.”
    “I decided to come down for breakfast.” Rosalind fixed her attention on her chocolate again, feeling the full weight of Mary’s disapproval. Don’t cry. She stared so hard her eyes ached. Thank goodness it was Mary and not the earl or Charles—or even worse, Lady Augusta. Maybe Mary wouldn’t notice the tears and interrogate her, because she had no intention of discussing her marriage. Her feelings for Hastings were personal. Private.
    Mary stomped up to the table and planted her hands firmly on her rounded hips. “You be acting like a child. You might have told me before I hiked to the kitchens and back.”
    Rosalind’s mouth firmed, but she admitted to her poor behavior. It was only right. “I’m sorry, Mary. Would you like to go for a walk?” It was an apology, but a double-edged one. Mary hated walking.
    Her maid huffed. “I’ll fetch your cloak. It be cold outdoors.”
    “You’re coming with me?”
    “I don’t like this pile of stones.” Mary glanced over her shoulder as if she expected someone to leap out at her. “A body be much safer outdoors.”
    Rosalind gaped. Her maid habitually wore a grin while her eyes sparkled with life. This doom and gloom was an uncharacteristic change. Mary departed before she could form a question, leaving her alone with her puzzlement. At the first opportunity she’d ask Mary what she meant.
    Five minutes later, wrapped warmly against the biting wind, they walked past the crumbling North Tower. Ivy covered the part still standing, the green leaves a bright contrast to the weathered gray stone.
    Rosalind slowed. “Have you heard anything about the tower?”
    “Aye.” Mary grabbed Rosalind’s arm and forced her to walk faster. She darted a glance over her shoulder and made the sign of a cross with her free hand. “It be haunted.”
    Doubt made Rosalind frown again, but curiosity overcame her. “By whom?”
    “A St. Clare ancestor. Lady Margaret. They say her betrothed ran off with another. Went mad, she did. Retired to the North Tower and never came out.”
    “Hmmm.”
    “The maids have heard her. They say her screams foretell bad luck. Of a death to come.” Mary shifted uneasily. “She screamed last night.”
    Rosalind studied the decaying tower for a brief moment then jerked her gaze away. There were enough strange noises and unexplained happenings at Castle St. Clare without letting Mary fill her head with more nonsense. “Make haste, Mary. I want to leave before Lady Augusta catches me.”
    “This be a fearsome place,” Mary declared, seeming to read her mind and sense her disquiet. “Ghosts, strange noises and the sort.”
    They walked through the gate and Rosalind glanced up. The spikes of the portcullis glinted, dangerous and as deadly as the day of their installation. She shuddered at the thought of the spikes piercing her skin, spearing through body and crushing limbs, and hastened her steps to a path that ran along the cliff.
    Mary was right about one thing. There was something strange about Castle St. Clare. And Hastings seemed right in the thick of the mystery. A