The Saint

by Madeline Hunter

  He rubbed his face against her back and kissed down the length of her spine. The tantalizing stays had been discarded sometime during the night as too warm. His kisses trailed over her bottom and down her thigh to the stocking still gartered on one leg.

  She was not asleep, and she sighed in her contentment and shifted her legs, reassuming the position on the pillow with which this had begun, welcoming him to repeat the new intimate kisses he had taught her tonight.

  The fall of her arms around her head, the press of her cheek against the sheets, the arched offering of her body—to his amazement, the sensuality of her repose had him hardening yet again.

  “It will be dawn soon. I must go.” He rolled onto his back and pulled her into his arms. The beckoning day reminded him of the meeting he had arranged for this morning. He did not want to go to it, and not only because it meant leaving Bianca.

  She sighed petulantly, as if the revolution of the earth were an inconvenience designed only to limit their time together. “Will you come back tonight?”

  “No.”

  “No one will know. You stayed last night and—”

  “And if we are lucky, all will be well. Repeating this will only tempt fate. Nothing has changed, Bianca.”

  She did not like hearing that. She kissed him sadly. “It seems to me it would be difficult to tempt fate more than you just have.”

  “I decided that if I was going to hang, it may as well be for a pound as a penny.”

  He gently lifted her away and swung from the bed. She watched him dress with a sleepy expression. He tried not to reveal his distaste for this part of it. The watched time, the secret departure, the strangling discretion—it reminded him too much of visits to the kind of women who never became wives, and of how she fluttered like a moth around the flame of a life that often led in that direction.

  He stood beside the bed and looked down at her. Images of the night passed in their mutual gaze. He had taken liberties with her that many men never expect of their wives, further blurring how he should view this affair and his rights with her.

  He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. She was so lovely. So joyful and innocent in her passion. He had met women who could degrade the sensuality of a simple kiss. Bianca’s sense of wonder could turn the most exotic loveplay into a sacred ritual.

  “Do you mean it? When we make love, you cry out that you love me. Every time you have done so. Do you even know that you say it?” It surprised him to hear himself voicing the question out loud.

  “If I did not mean it, you would not be standing by my bed right now. I know what I risk. I would have never done any of this only for pleasure.”

  He supposed that he had known that. Still, it was nice to be sure. It gave him a bit more hope about how this would end, and love made a better rationale than lust if their behavior ended up destroying them both.

  “Well, if you think that you love me, I expect that I can wait a little longer, darling.”

  Her eyes glittered with affection and concern. No one had ever seen him as clearly as she did. “Wait for what, Laclere? To decide to give up on me, or to decide to love me back?”

  She could still astonish him. “Both, I suppose. It will probably have to be one or the other for me soon.”

  He stepped out into the dark corridor and silently closed her door behind him. Only the vaguest light penetrated from some lower windows. He found the banister and glided down the stairs, then crossed to the servants’ stairway. Down again, this time to the kitchen.

  He was less sure of his way in the lower chambers, and he felt his path along the walls. Near the spot where the door should be, he stumbled into another groping body.

  “What the . . . Who the hell . . .”

  “Damn! Watch where . . .”

  They both froze.

  “Witherby?”

  “Laclere!”

  “Arriving or departing, Witherby?”

  “Oh, God. Laclere. This is most awkward.”

  “Leaving, I assume at this hour. The door is over here.”

  “Of course. Jesus.” Cornell Witherby backed away a few steps and righted himself.

  “Are you coming? I think we should discuss this outside.”

  With the cold air came Witherby’s attempt at explanation. “I know how this must look.”

  “It looks as if you have initiated an affair with my sister, Penelope. It is Penelope, isn’t it? Because if it is Charlotte I will have to kill you, and I’d hate to do that to an old friend.”

  “Charlotte! Zeus, man, what do you take me for? As for Pen, I assure you that she has my deepest affection and admiration. A goddess could not be adored more than I do her. She possesses such a sweet, gracious, lovely soul, and—”

  “Yes, yes. The garden gate is over here, or do you know your way in the dark?”

  “I assure you that I have never before—”

  “I am sure that you understand that discretion is essential. If the earl discovered this affair, he would use it to remove her support, which is hardly substantial as it is.”

  Their boots kicked along the rocks, punctuating the silence.

  “You are being very understanding about this, Laclere. I am, of course, overjoyed that you approve, but we thought you to be less sympathetic.”

  Vergil paused where the alley met the road. “I would have preferred not knowing enough to approve or disapprove. My sister has had too little happiness in her life, however. If she wants you, I will not interfere.”

  Ever so subtly, the night had grown less dark. He could make out Witherby’s tall, slender form distinctly now, and even something of his expression. “This is not what we expected, Laclere. I daresay Pen will be as astounded as I.”

  Vergil turned to walk home. “Just make sure that I do not regret my liberal-mindedness.”

  “I will make her as happy as I am capable,” Witherby said. “And since you are so generous, I will refrain from wondering why you were departing from that house at the same time and through the same door as I was.”

  The pistol cracked the autumn day. The ball thwacked into the tree trunk in the woods behind the Chevalier Corbet’s fencing academy.

  “You haven’t been practicing enough,” Vergil said.

  Dante stood aside and began reloading. “It is only sport for some of us, Verg. I have no intention of killing a man in a duel.”

  Vergil sighted his aim. “And if some man intends to kill you?”

  “I daresay if no husband has challenged me by now, none ever will.”

  Vergil fired his own pistol. It hit dead center on the paper tacked to the tree.

  Dante whistled with appreciation. “You have been practicing, I can see.”

  “Anything worth doing, is worth doing well.”

  Dante laughed. “I agree. You and I just prefer to do different things.”

  He took his place again. Vergil watched his careless stance. It had only been by the grace of Providence that Dante had never needed this skill.

  The pistol fired. Dante moved aside. “You haven’t reloaded.”

  “No.”

  The word riveted Dante’s attention. The hand holding the pistol fell to his side. “You have that look on your face. What is it this time? Did someone come to dun you for one of my debts again?”

  “It is not that.”

  “Well, it is something, so out with it. You suggested we come and shoot, but I don’t think two balls justifies a ride to Hampstead, do you?”

  Vergil set his gun in the box. “I need to ask you about something. It is important that you answer me honestly.”

  Dante’s head cocked back and his lids lowered. “Then ask.”

  “I have been trying to discover the truth about Milton’s death. I have spent months doing so. I am convinced he was blackmailed.”

  “Blackmailed! What secrets could Milton have had? His politics were extreme, but he published his ideas in letters and such, and everyone knew he was really harmless.”

/>   “It was not politics. I think that I have discovered why and how he was blackmailed, but the details do not matter. There is a piece missing, however. I think that you can supply that piece.”

  “You think that I had a hand in this? That is a damnable thing to suggest. It would be a hell of a thing if the only time I challenged a man it was you, Vergil.”

  “I do not think that you had an intentional hand in it. Trust me, if I could avoid this conversation I would. I have avoided it, too long.”

  “Maybe you should continue doing so. You can’t bring him back.”

  “It goes beyond him.”

  “Hell.” Dante scowled and dropped his pistol into the box. “What do you need to know?”

  “I have been asking the servants about things. I am told that a year ago you brought a visitor to Laclere House in London. A woman of good breeding. Who was it?”

  “I do not discuss my women with other men, not even you.”

  “That is commendable, but this time you must. Did you ever have a woman in that house overnight?”

  Dante’s face assumed a mask of resentment. “If I did, you can be sure it was not an American virgin.”

  “This is not about our private failings, Dante. I want to know if someone besides a family member had access to Milton’s chamber and study prior to his death. Were you in the London house with a woman while he was down at Laclere Park?”

  “What are you implying? That she—”

  “That someone, somehow, procured letters to Milton. Letters from a lover. A woman went to the lover, claiming she was Pen, to confirm what she already suspected, and then found a way to get her hands on the evidence. Then she blackmailed Milton.”

  “Letters from a lover? Milton? He lived like a monk where women were concerned. Really, Verg—”

  “We are not boys anymore, Dante. Not children. Do not pretend that you are ignorant. Despite his care and discretion, I suspected. I think that you did too.”

  Dante glared at him. “If you are suggesting what I think—”

  “You know what I am suggesting. It was our brother’s tragedy to live in a world where even his family had to deny the man he was. He had to hide this part of himself even from us, and so, as we grew older, he retreated from us as from so much else.”

  Dante turned away and stared at the paper tacked on the tree. “Damn it. Enough. I do not want to talk about this.”

  “No one does. We would prefer that men blow their brains out when their secret is discovered and exposure is threatened. It is a sinful waste, and the silence and shame killed him as surely as that gun. I’ll hang before I will let the people who hounded him get away with it. Now, tell me, damn it. Who was she?”

  Dante shook his head in dismay. Anger and astonishment fought a battle over his expression. “A lark, she called it. She said she was always curious about the old pile, and had never seen the inside of the house. Well, there hadn’t been parties there for as long as I could remember. Asked if I would show her the interior.”

  “She stayed?”

  Dante smirked with disgust. At himself. “Of course.”

  “All night?”

  He nodded.

  “While you slept, perhaps she did not.”

  “I don’t believe it. I am sure that you are wrong.”

  “Are you? Truly?”

  Dante crossed his arms and looked to the ground.

  “Her name, Dante.”

  He sighed, and vaguely shook his head again. His jaw tightened and fury flared in his eyes. “If you are right, the bitch used me to destroy my own brother.”

  “You were unawares. Do not blame—”

  “Don’t,” Dante snarled. He furiously raised a hand to halt the excuses, and also in warning. “Just, don’t.”

  He dropped his hand, and his anger. Only pain remained in his expression.

  “It was Mrs. Gaston, Vergil.”

  chapter 19

  Nigel had said that he planned to go down to Woodleigh once again, so Bianca was surprised when he was announced several days after her secret debut.

  He entered the drawing room, wearing a serious countenance. He chatted with Pen and Charlotte for a short while, but it was obvious that an important mission distracted him. Finally he asked Pen if he could speak with Bianca alone. Bianca could tell that Pen feared Nigel intended to declare himself. Reluctantly she collected Charlotte and left.

  Nigel paced in front of Bianca. He looked more like a man set to scold than to propose. “I trust that you have not repeated your stage performance.”

  “Once more, the next night. No others are planned for some time.”

  “Siddel has been telling people. He frames it as a girl’s harmless caprice, but I fear that society will be shocked all the same.”

  “Do not concern yourself for my reputation, Nigel. I already have all of the Duclaircs doing that for me.”

  “It is precisely the Duclaircs’ management of your reputation that concerns me.” He faced her and took a deep breath. “What I am obliged to say cannot be discussed without some indelicacy. You are in the power of a man who is duplicitous and dangerous, and who has designs on you of the most dishonorable nature.”

  “I am? Of whom do you speak?”

  “Laclere, of course. I had suspected that he intended you for the brother, and that was disturbing enough. Dante would have only brought you unhappiness. But it was a feint, I realize now, to obscure a much more disgraceful plan. I curse myself for not seeing their game earlier and for letting things get as far as they have.”

  “This family has shown me only friendship and affection.”

  “You are not one of them. Not of their blood or world. The honor that they give their women does not extend to you. You are a foreigner of lower social station, and that makes you vulnerable.”

  “The viscount has never behaved in any way that I consider dishonorable.”

  “He played the role of a singer’s protector the other night. That he permitted you to be there and then called for you like his mistress—”

  “It is his duty to protect me. I am his ward.”

  “Which makes his misuse of you all the more reprehensible.” He resumed pacing. “I am your only relative here in England, Bianca. It falls to me to do what I can to prevent this. I had planned to wait until your birthday to ask, because I knew that Laclere would not approve. I think that it is essential for me to remove you from his influence at once, however. I think it best if we married now.”

  She was getting tired of men proposing like this. For the third time there had been some external coercion that required her reputation to be saved by hasty matrimony. Didn’t Englishmen know how to do it the usual way? Was it necessary for events to wrench the offer out of them?

  “Nigel, you are overwrought.”

  “Hear me out, Bianca. I am very fond of you, and I think that you care for me too. Furthermore, we have similar interests. I am sure that your grandfather saw the possibility for mutual sympathy and hoped that we would discover each other. It was the only reason to make Laclere your guardian instead of me. To leave the way free.”

  “You may be correct, Nigel, but we would be ill-advised to marry in order to fulfill a dead man’s wish.”

  He heard the overture of rejection in her response. It provoked a sharp look as he halted his pacing. “I think that you should seriously consider my offer, cousin. It is in your best interests.”

  Something in the way he looked at her frightened her. A little flurry of warning fluttered up her spine. “I will consider it, and I am flattered, but I am obliged to say that it is unlikely that I will accept.”

  His mouth twisted into a sneer. “It is because of him, isn’t it? You think you are in love with him, don’t you?”

  She wanted to deny that, but the lie died in her throat. His expression said that he would not believe her anyway.

  “I saw you. When he met you behind the stage, I was in the corridor. I saw you when you realized that he was the
re.” He stepped toward her and she instinctively tilted away. He cupped her chin and lifted her face so that he could inspect her. “I cannot permit it. He cannot have you as a lover. Or has he promised to marry you?”

  “I do not intend to marry anyone right now. I will be continuing my training.”

  “It is as I thought. He has already corrupted you. Damn the man. We must get you out at once.”

  “I am going nowhere, Nigel.”

  Her firm tone caught him up short. He studied her from beneath lowered lids. A thin smile formed, which made him appear reptilian.

  “I must insist. He will surely break your heart, Bianca. The best that you can hope for is that he keeps you like a caged bird who sings only for him. More likely he will coarsen you until you agree to sing for any with the right price or the right lies.”

  “You are the one being coarse, Nigel. I recognize gross insult when I hear it. I will not listen to you speak like this of him, or of me. I must ask you to leave now.”

  His agitation had transformed into a cool, sly swagger. “Do not get high-and-mighty with me, cousin. You are the great-grandchild of a man who began as a costermonger, same as me. Your father was a third-rate Latin scholar, and your mother sang in as many taverns as she did churches. You do not belong with Laclere, and he knows it, if you do not. If he offered marriage, it was out of the sentiment of the moment.” He flicked a bit of dust off his sleeve. “Now, as I see it, we should not go to Scotland. The Continent makes more sense. We can be married in France.”

  His proposal was preposterous, but the confidence with which he pursued it frightened her. He acted like a man holding more aces than the pack should contain. “I have no intention of marrying you in any country.”

  “You will not be bound by English law once you leave these shores. You are American, and Laclere’s authority ends at the coast. After France, we will go down to Italy if you like.”

  “I will not be going to Italy with you.”

  “I am afraid that I am part of the package, dear girl.”

  “Then I will stay here.”

  “If you do, I will destroy him. I will tell the world about him.”

  He made the threat so calmly, so normally, that he might have been observing that the weather promised to be fair today. She faced him down, but her throat tightened. He looked so sure of himself. Too sure.