The Saint

by Madeline Hunter

  “I have already put honor aside, and now it is time to take it up again. Are you so jaded that you cannot see the truth of what happened here? Her character was unblemished before she met me. She entered this manor an innocent and I deliberately seduced her even though I knew that.”

  He swung away from Dante’s gape-mouthed shock and strode down to the hall. Pen sat in front of the hearth, looking tired and spent.

  “Where is Bianca?”

  “In the library.” She held out a hand and he took it between his in a gesture of reassurance. “This had been a tremendous shock, Vergil. Even with Dante one would not expect . . . but you. I do not even begin to know what to do.”

  “Just promise to be a friend to her, no matter what happens. Will you give me that?”

  “Of course.” She looked up with a faltering smile. “Are you going to marry her?”

  “Yes, if she will have me.”

  “Thank goodness. Of course you would do the right thing, especially after being discovered like this.”

  “It is the right thing, Pen, but not because honor dictates it, nor because you and Dante discovered us.”

  She paced the edges of the library, gazing at the chair where he had sat that first night. She could feel again the exciting anticipation that had pulsed between them, and then the bonds of intimacy that he had forged later on the floor. She blinked the heartrending memories away.

  She had known when she woke that their dream world was dying. She had felt it in the empty space where Vergil’s body should have been. Then she had seen him, dressed already, proud and tall and thoughtful. Nobility clothed him as surely as the frock coat and impeccably tied cravat. It imbued his casual stance with the magnetic self-confidence born of generations of privilege. The Viscount Laclere, her heart had whispered. Neither Mr. Clark nor Vergil her lover had smiled at her, but a peer of the realm.

  She had looked at him and known that the freedom of their passion had ended with the night. He had said that they would decide what to do about the waiting world this morning. That waiting world was the viscount’s world, and with the dawn he had left her side and dressed to meet it.

  But the world had not waited after all. It had crashed in the door and robbed them of whatever soft moments were left. And the very honorable viscount had almost invited his family’s censure in order to spare her a small fraction of the scorn, as if the circumstances that brought her to this manor and to his bed made any difference at all.

  She could not remember ever feeling this wistful. Her heart ached, for reasons she could not name. It reminded her too much of grief’s nostalgia over losing something important forever.

  The door opened. It was not Dante or Pen, but Vergil. She should be relieved, but instead that pang throbbed again.

  “You look very lonely, Bianca. May I join you?” He offered his hand. “Will you come and sit with me, darling?”

  She let him guide her to the settee, where he enclosed her in a gentle embrace. She rested her head against his chest and went boneless in the sweet security of his strength. For these precious moments she would pretend that he could make everything right and perfect and would carry her off to a secluded world where rules and shame never intruded. For this brief spell of quiet peace she would close her mind to everything but the reality of him, and his closeness and comfort and soft kisses pressed to her hair.

  “I am very sorry that Penelope and Dante arrived as they did, Bianca. If I could undo the last hour I would, not because I want to hide what has occurred, but to spare you any embarrassment. I must be honest, however, and confess that I cannot find it in me to want to undo anything else about these last three days.”

  She had to grit her teeth to keep from weeping. He had spoken the only words that she wanted to hear. The slightest reference to regrets would have been horrible.

  He looked so serious. Every crease of his concern was for her, not himself. Gratitude that he worried for her crashed headlong into panic over how he would try to save her.

  “If they had to arrive today, I think when they did was much preferable to an hour earlier. I would rather have Pen discover me dripping wet in your robe than have Dante find me stark naked in your bed.”

  He smiled and caressed her cheek. “You are still astonishing. Your composure surpasses mine this morning. Most women would be in hysterics.”

  She did not move her head. Not even a fraction. She wanted and needed the warmth of his hand. She was desperate for any connection to him right now, because she was holding on to her much-lauded composure by a very thin thread of pride. Her heart cringed because she knew where this gentle conversation must inevitably lead.

  He had come to offer more than apologies and warmth. He was an honorable man. This could only end one way now.

  The wrong way, to her mind. For the wrong reasons.

  “Are you disappointed that I am not in hysterics?”

  “Well, I might find reason in your overwrought condition to thrash my brother, who certainly has it coming.”

  “I did not like hearing what he said, but considering what he discovered and how I behaved in the past, I cannot blame him.”

  “I have warned him to display only respect for you in the future. If he ever insults you, even subtly, you must tell me.”

  He dropped his hand down to hold hers. He thoughtfully watched his thumb caress the back of her palm. “I would not undo anything about these last days, but I would add a few things. Words that should have been said and offers that should have been made. Pen and Dante interrupted my efforts to say it when you woke. Now I wonder if you will believe that I am not coerced.” He kissed the inside of her wrist. “I would like us to be wed at once. You believe that, don’t you? That I speak with sincerity? Will you marry me?”

  So there it was. Of course. What else could he do?

  His words unleashed a battle in her heart. Pride and love clashed with confusion and fear. She hung her head, wishing the love did not fight with those other tumultuous emotions.

  “Not entirely,” she said.

  “Not entirely? An odd answer. You do not entirely believe that I speak without coercion, or you will marry me, but not entirely?” He teased, but cautiously.

  “The former. Although, if I could manage it, I should like the latter. That would settle things in an ideal manner.”

  “You think it would be ideal to find a way to be married to me, but not entirely so?”

  “If you think about it, you would agree. We could go on as we have been here the last few days. We could both be free to live however we want, and still be faithful lovers with no scandal attached. We would be married and thus acceptable and proper, but not married.”

  “I do not agree that would be ideal. I want to be married. Entirely so. In fact, I would like to be more married than most couples are.” He sounded a bit like Laclere the autocrat. Two days of passion did not change a person completely, of course. Considering the declaration being announced, she found his tone more charming than exasperating.

  The sweet happiness of love wanted to obscure her confusion. She yearned so much to submit, it pained her. But her glowing heart also knew that this offer contained serious consequences. The shadows of what he gained and what she lost with this marriage crept around the edges of her love.

  “I expect that maybe you would enjoy being very married. No matter how married we were, you could still do whatever you want and continue much as you do now. I am the one for whom everything changes. Which is why I wish Pen and Dante had not arrived today. If they had not, I think that you would have agreed to being not entirely married, or even not quite married.”

  One eyebrow rose suspiciously. “Not quite married, now.”

  “Two nights ago I specifically asked what making love meant, and you only demanded fidelity. If you had expected marriage, you could have said so then. That is why I do not entirely believe that you are not coerced by propriety now.”

  “I admit that the honest course would hav
e been to state my intentions right then when you asked. However, I did not want to surprise you with the idea at that particular moment.”

  “I understand completely. You did not want to risk scaring me off and being left unsatisfied. I truly do understand, because, you see, at that moment, right then by the bookshelves, if you had said that making love meant marriage, I was in no condition to negotiate or walk away.”

  His lids lowered. “You would have agreed?”

  “Undoubtedly. I had already lost my senses.”

  “And subsequently, if I had started making love and then made continuing contingent upon an agreement of marriage—”

  “I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Which is why I do not really think that in your heart you want to marry me.”

  “Bianca, men do not trick women into marriage that way. We are almost physically incapable of doing so.”

  “Then how do you trick women into marriage? By intoxicating them with pleasure and trusting they will come back for more?”

  He exhaled heavily and looked away in that exasperated way he had used with her from the beginning. “Bianca, this is me, the Viscount Laclere. If you have seen below the surface these last days, that does not mean the surface is entirely false. You must have realized that I would never have touched you while you were in this house if I did not intend to marry you. You cannot think me such a scoundrel as to seduce an innocent and then cast her aside. You must have understood what making love would mean, what that question meant, even if I did not spell it out.”

  Maybe she had understood. Possibly she had chosen to ignore the inconvenient truth in order to have him for a while. “Perhaps it would be best if you spelled it out now. What this marriage means, that is.”

  He did not respond at once. He knew what she was asking. “What it usually means, Bianca,” he finally said.

  “And my singing?”

  “I do not want to keep you from what you love. You can train. We will bring the best voice tutor in Italy here for you. You can perform for our guests, and the ladies of the ton will often ask you to sing.”

  “But I will not perform in an opera house, in a full performance, with full accompaniment. I will not be known for my art, but only as your accomplished wife. I will not be respected by my equals in music, because they will not know me as a professional.”

  “You speak as though I am asking you to give up your soul. Would marrying me be nothing but sacrifice for you?”

  “Hardly, darling. Marrying you has enormous appeal. I would have never permitted this intimacy if I did not feel that it was natural and inevitable to lie in your arms. So I face this choice with a heavy heart, because, no matter what I decide, it means giving up half of what I want, and, yes, half of my soul.”

  “You astonish me more than you ever have before, Bianca. You overjoy me by speaking of profound affection, and then dismay me by speaking of loss. You make me feel more of a scoundrel in offering marriage than if I had raped you and left you by the side of the road.”

  “You should not feel like a scoundrel at all. I wanted this. I came down to you that night. But I did not agree to marriage in doing so.”

  “So you ruthlessly used me for your pleasure, and now refuse to do the right thing by me.” A wry smile played on his lips, but the lights in his eyes burned deeply.

  “I have not refused you anything yet. I want you to understand why I do not fall into your arms at this offer. I do not want you to think that I played you false these last few days. My happiness was no act. If I marry you, I do not want to regret my decision, however, nor would you want the misery for us both if I did. I do not think that I should have to make this choice right now, with disaster raining down around us.”

  He did not like it. “And if I require that you do?”

  “I would probably wonder about your motivations in forcing me to make a decision when I am at a disadvantage.”

  “My motivations?” An edge of ice sharpened his tone.

  “Can you honestly say that my partnership in the mill does not enhance my appeal as a wife?”

  He rose and paced to the hearth. “Have you concluded that this was all about the mill? Do you think me capable of such a cynical pretense of affection?”

  “I have drawn no such conclusion. I do not really think—”

  “You may have as long as you need to decide, of course.” He spoke brusquely. “Since you will remain in England until your birthday, perhaps I can hope for a decision by then, if not before.”

  She did not think the mill had been his primary motivation, but it must have entered his head. His sternness now hid guilt as well as insult.

  “I will speak with Pen and ask that you live with her. She will help you to procure a tutor in London until we invite a voice master to come from Milan. Staying in England until next June will not interfere with your plans, nor delay your development. I hope that you will forgive me this last exercise of my authority, Bianca. I will not let you leave until I must.”

  She went to him and slid her arms around his waist until her palms rested on his abdomen and her head pressed against his back. “I had no intention of demanding to leave right away. I think that I would like to stay in England until June. Living with Pen will suit me fine, and make it easier for us.”

  He turned in her embrace and cupped her chin. “Do you think that I am making these arrangements because they will facilitate an affair with you? Pen will hardly countenance such a thing, no matter what my intentions toward you. Nor would I risk your reputation in that way.”

  “But I thought—”

  “That your choice was between marriage or a love affair. Not quite married, as you put it before? It is out of the question, darling. You are not a woman of mature years and experience, but an unmarried girl. All of the discretion in the world would not save us if anyone guessed.”

  “Yesterday . . . last night you spoke as though . . .”

  “I referred to the marriage that I have just offered you, Bianca, not a sordid affair.”

  “Sordid? Is that what you think this has been? What you think I have been?”

  “Never. But the world will make it so, and we will both feel it. I will not live the way required to hide such a liaison, pretending indifference in public, slipping in your back door in the dead of night. It would debase what we have shared here, and ultimately smother it. Continuing what began here is no more practical for you outside of marriage than within it. I may well get you with child. For all we know, I already have, despite my efforts to protect you.”

  She had dreaded that he would take this stand. Her heart began tearing with a sharpness that left her physically pained. The tight burn of suppressed tears strangled her.

  He pulled her into a comforting embrace. She buried her face in his chest. “Why did you protect me? If you wanted marriage, why did you always . . .”

  Strong arms surrounded her and those firm, gentle hands stroked her back. She savored every detail, knowing it might be the last feel of him.

  “I told you why. It was never my intention to trap you into something that you did not want, Bianca.”

  Vergil handed Bianca up into Pen’s carriage. His sister smiled feebly from the other seat and then turned her confusion toward the girl who was proving oddly obstinate about having the right thing done by her.

  Dante stood in the manor doorway with an expression of barely suppressed shock. Learning that his brother had seduced a virgin had undone him. That the virgin then refused to be redeemed by her seducer, who had the good fortune to be a landed lord of the realm . . . Dante was making it clear that the entire development struck him as madness at best and highly suspicious at worst.

  Vergil leaned in the coach and pulled Bianca toward him for a long kiss that demonstrated to his two siblings that this sinner regretted his behavior not one whit.

  He let it linger, absorbing her breath. Her spirit rose into it, a small reminder of the abandon of her passion, to add torture to the farewell. He to
re himself away and closed the door. The wheels began to roll.

  Vergil watched until the coach completely disappeared. That kiss might have to last him a very long time. Quite possibly the rest of his life.

  Dante came down from the house to join him in staring at the empty drive. “None of this makes any sense, Verg.”

  It made perfect sense. He had interfered with Bianca’s plans and proposed a different life than she expected. She understandably wanted to think before replying. Contrary to most girls, her dream had not been one of marriage and family. In fact, she had accepted that as impossible if she pursued her art. Even if she had swooned with happiness when he proposed, the excitement would not have lasted long before she debated the consequences.

  What would she see when she stepped back from the passion and weighed his worth? She did not need his money, which was hardly plentiful, and his position meant nothing to her. She required no financial protection, and very little of any other kind. Her piece of the mill tainted the purity of his intentions.

  He was in the position with her that Dante had once described for himself. He had nothing to offer the girl except pleasure.

  It appeared that might not be enough.

  chapter 17

  The cool garden outside Daniel St. John’s London house beckoned Vergil. So did Adrian Burchard.

  He had been avoiding Adrian, but could no longer. Nor did he want to anymore. He needed to speak with someone about the things occupying his mind.

  Not all the things. Not Bianca. If he ever confided to another man about that, it would not be Burchard. Daniel St. John, maybe. St. John’s marriage had been preceded by an affair, Vergil was almost sure.

  Vergil remembered how disapproving he had been when he suspected that. He had considered ending his friendship with St. John over the matter. It had seemed unforgivable for a man to seduce a young cousin who lived in his house and for whom he was responsible. That he now knew Diane was not really St. John’s cousin did not change matters.