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reminding her of his edict. His highhandedness. “Why?”
    “The cliff top is unstable in places. It’s dangerous.”
    He’d spoken directly to her! Rosalind sniffed. “I want to walk on the beach.” Bother. Now she sounded like a sulky child.
    Hastings frowned, but he stared out to sea instead of looking at her. “You shouldn’t be alone, especially down in the cove.”
    “I wasn’t,” Rosalind snapped. He couldn’t bear to look her in the face. Hands curled to fists at her side, she burned to spit out angry words—words to wound as he’d wounded her. For an even-tempered person, she was finding it difficult to remain calm. Why wouldn’t he look at her? She knew she was no beauty, not like her cousin, Miranda, but she was by no means ugly or ill formed.
    Counseling patience and feminine serenity, Rosalind silently counted to five. It wouldn’t hurt her to try for politeness, especially if her attempt broke the strained, chilly atmosphere between them. “Thank you for warning me of the danger. I’ll make sure I keep well back from the edge.”
    There. He’d warned her, and she’d acknowledged the danger. That should be an end of it. Rosalind stepped off the path to give horse and rider room to move away. When they remained, she edged past, determined to continue her exploring. She was used to walking her uncle’s estate. No harm would befall her out here. At the thought of danger, her hand crept up to finger the bump on her head. Inside Castle St. Clare, however, was another matter.
    Lucien frowned at the English mouse sauntering away. His wife, he corrected himself. Oberon shifted uneasily beneath him, and he absently soothed his mount. The firm set of her mouth told him she was hell-bent on going down to the cove. And that was dangerous—too dangerous. Only last night, he’d witnessed smugglers landing cargo in the cove.
    He cursed under his breath. God knows what the smugglers had hidden in the caves that ran inland from the cove. They wouldn’t take kindly to people nosing about if they used the caves for storage. He frowned, not happy with the smuggler situation but knowing that many of the villagers relied on the income to make ends meet. They would suffer if he stamped his authority on the situation, and he couldn’t allow that. Until he had alternative methods of raising funds, the smugglers stayed. With the support they received from the local aristocracy, he’d have a battle to remove them anyway.
    There was no choice.
    He didn’t want to escort her.
    His gaze skittered down her back to the feminine sway of her hips, the flash of a stocking-clad ankle.
    Cursing inwardly, he leaped off Oberon and hurried after the woman, leading his horse behind him. “Wait!” He grabbed her upper arm with his free hand and spun her around to face him.
    Her chin jerked up and her pale blue eyes dared him to exert further force. “I’ll be careful, you can be sure. I don’t require watching like a child.” She enunciated carefully. Precisely. Her brows shot up, and she directed her gaze to his hand.
    “I’ll show you the path down to the beach.” Lucien released her and paused, shocked. That was not what he’d meant to say. He’d meant to order her to return home. “It’s not safe to wander on your own here. Take a footman next time or one of the stable lads.”
    “I’m used to wandering the estate at home. At will.”
    “This is your home now.” Lucien narrowed his eyes, and the scar on his cheek pulled as his facial muscles tensed. Francesca would have laughed and made him laugh in return until she got her own way. Pain lanced through his mind, pulsated in the region of his heart. “You will obey. Take a footman on your outings or you’ll stay at the castle.”
    The woman glared at him. Her light eyes darkened with an inner fire that underlined the stubbornness of her chin. Under her cloak, he saw the subtle rise and fall of her breasts. When he realized where he was looking, he