Not Always a Saint

by Mary Jo Putney

  Repressing a sigh, he shook the hand of a man Kirkland had just introduced. The fellow was a member of Parliament from Yorkshire with a blunt, witty way of speaking. They exchanged a few words before moving in different directions, but Daniel was sure they’d meet again and speak at greater length. He mentally rated about 40 percent of the people he’d met as interesting and worth knowing better. This boded well for his future time in London.

  During a brief lull while both Kirkland and Laurel were chatting with another couple, Daniel scanned the room. Though his height meant he regularly banged his head when he visited patients in cramped hovels, being tall was an advantage in these circumstances.

  Was that Viscount Castlereagh, the foreign secretary, engaged in earnest conversation on the left side of the room? Kirkland would know, and would probably want to introduce them. Daniel was bemused by the fact that the most significant aspect of his unwanted inheritance was not money or property, but the political power that came with a seat in the House of Lords. In some circles, that was more valuable than rubies.

  He repressed a sigh. Estate management could be delegated to capable stewards, but not his political responsibilities. Britain needed reforming in many areas, and it was being driven home to him that he was in a position to make a difference.

  His gaze again shifted to the exit where people were trickling out. Most were probably heading to another entertainment.

  His eyes narrowed. Was that Alexander Randall from the Westerfield Academy? Randall had been a class ahead, but they’d sometimes been confused with each other because of similar height, build, and blond coloring.

  Given the uneven lighting in the drawing room, Daniel wasn’t sure of his identification, but if the man was Randall, he looked a lot happier now than in his student days. He’d planned to enter the army, and Daniel wondered how that had worked out. Kirkland was a classmate of Randall’s and presumably would invite the other man to the promised Westerfield dinner. Daniel looked forward to catching up on the lives of men he’d known when they were all boys.

  Daniel started to turn back to Laurel and Kirkland, then paused, his gaze caught by the profile of a woman standing near the exit, mostly surrounded by men. Her glossy dark hair was knotted up to reveal her graceful neck and the ivory perfection of her features. But there were other lovely women here. As he tried to analyze why she caught his attention, she turned a little, bringing her face into the warm light of a chandelier.

  Coup de foudre. A lightning strike burned through him, paralyzing every fiber of his being. She was truly beautiful, with striking light eyes edged in darkness and a lithe figure that would shatter a stone saint, but what made her stunning was more than physical beauty. She radiated mystery, sensuality—and danger. She looked like original sin—and he craved that promise of reckless passion as intensely as Adam had craved Eve’s apple.

  As his heart hammered in his chest, he knew that he was officially insane. How could the sight of a woman he’d never met affect him so? Then she turned her head farther as if she felt his stare, and their gazes locked.

  Lightning struck again, swift and fierce, setting his heart afire and searing through his veins. She was exactly the sort of flattered and cosseted woman he didn’t need, yet he wanted her.

  Insane.

  Chapter 7

  The woman’s expression shuttered and she spun around to disappear into a group of people leaving the room. Only then did Daniel realize that he’d started forcing his way through the crowd toward her. He’d probably alarmed her with his blatant stare, though with her beauty, he couldn’t be the first man to react in such a way.

  “Is something wrong?” Kirkland’s quiet voice said from behind his shoulder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Daniel took a deep breath and forced himself not to blurt out that he’d momentarily lost all claims to sanity. “I saw a woman who seemed familiar.”

  As he said the words, he realized they were true. Something about the lady was indeed familiar, though he’d be blessed if he knew what it was.

  “What does she look like?” Laurel asked. “If she’s from the Bristol area, perhaps I’ve met her.”

  “She looked like the kind of woman our parents warned us about,” Daniel said with wry honesty.

  “An interesting description, but not very specific.”

  Doing his best to sound sensible, Daniel said, “Her appearance was rather Welsh. Dark hair and a very fair complexion.”

  Which could describe at least a dozen women in this room. How could one be specific about “I did but see her passing by, And yet I love her till I die”?

  “Not as tall as you, Laurel. Mid-twenties, perhaps, and quite staggeringly beautiful. If we’ve met, I ought to remember her, but instead, I had only a vague sense of familiarity.”

  “She doesn’t sound familiar to me, but my idea of beautiful is probably different from a man’s,” Laurel observed. “Did you notice what she was wearing?”

  “Black.” Only now did he realize what that meant. “A mourning gown, I think. The cut was very modest, not evening décolleté like most of the female guests are wearing.” And yet the effect had been profoundly alluring.

  “Perhaps she’s related to someone you know,” Laurel said thoughtfully. “Someone who knows me would think you’re familiar and vice versa.”

  “Perhaps that’s it. I don’t recall seeing any women who were staggeringly beautiful other than Laurel,” Kirkland said with a fond glance at his wife. “But if she’s part of the beau monde, you’ll likely meet her in other places.”

  Daniel shrugged. “No matter. I was merely surprised by a brief sense of recognition.” Which was considerably less than the truth, but he couldn’t possibly explain that mad, flaring attraction. It meant nothing, and yet... “I did but see her passing by . . .”

  Daniel gave his head a sharp shake. He’d never been much for poetry, but for the first time he understood the romantic fervor of the anonymous poet who’d written those words centuries before. The fellow had clearly been suffering from temporary madness.

  If Daniel had actually met the woman in black, the reality of her would have had nothing to do with that brief fantasy. She would have been just a pretty woman, probably married, and not at all mysterious and dangerous. With her beauty, she might well be shallow and spoiled. The crowd of men surrounding her suggested as much. Better to bury that lightning bolt of reaction in the back of his mind. Even if she was unmarried, she did not look like wife material.

  Kirkland’s voice cut through his reverie. “Here’s a lady you’ll want to meet.”

  Daniel turned obediently and found himself face-to-face with Lady Agnes Westerfield, founder and headmistress of the Westerfield Academy. “Lady Agnes!” he exclaimed. “I had no idea you might be here!” He impulsively hugged her, remembering with a rush of affection how she’d shown him the tolerance and understanding that was so lacking in his parents.

  “I’m in town to interview several potential students. It’s about time you came to London, you rascal!” She laughed as she hugged back. “Best let me go now, though. People will think I’ve taken a young lover in my dotage.”

  “Dotage, indeed.” He surveyed Lady Agnes, who looked as tall and strong and capable as always. “Your students may have caused a few gray hairs in the last dozen years, but otherwise you haven’t aged a day. I suspect you’ve made a pact with the devil.”

  “Then you’ll just have to exorcise me.” She glanced at Kirkland and Laurel. “I’m taking Daniel outside so we can talk properly. Look for us when you’re ready to leave.”

  “Which won’t be long.” Laurel tucked her hand in the crook of her husband’s arm. “I’m beginning to tire.”

  Kirkland patted her hand. “We’ll go say hello to the Castlereaghs, then join you outside.” Which would give Daniel and Lady Agnes time to talk.

  Forceful as always, Lady Agnes took Daniel’s arm and towed him toward the exit door. The noise dropped sharply when they
stepped through into a corridor.

  “Blessed relief,” Lady Agnes said as she released Daniel’s arm.

  He’d locked memories of the Westerfield Academy away with so much of his youth, but now he remembered all the good times there. “I trust the school is flourishing? How are Miss Emily and the general?”

  “Emily and the general are well, and so is the school. It gets a little larger each year, but we won’t let it get so large that we can’t give each student as much personal attention as he needs.” She fixed him with a stern gaze. “Now explain to me how I sent you off to Oxford to train for holy orders, and now you’ve reappeared as the best surgeon in the West Country and a reluctant baron.”

  Startled and pleased, he asked, “How did you hear that?”

  Her smile was warm. “I keep track of all my boys.”

  Should he tell her the short version, or the longer one that had all the important parts? After a moment of considering, he said, “It’s a long story.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Then you’d better get started.”

  When she saw him, Jessie barely managed to keep herself from bolting from the drawing room. Had Dr. Herbert recognized her? She didn’t see how it was possible. She looked nothing like the way she had when they’d first met. But the way he’d stared . . .

  She’d felt safe for years, but the old terror flared as quick and hot as ever despite the time that had passed, leaving her shaking. She’d known there was some danger in leaving her quiet life to move into society, but that danger had seemed remote. She hadn’t expected to run into someone who could connect her with her past.

  But her reasons for entering society and seeking a husband were as powerful as ever. It was too late to retreat.

  As they walked down the quiet corridor that led to the street, Mariah said, “You look tired. Did you meet any good prospects among the men who flocked around you? If so, I’ll see if I can arrange for you to meet him again in quieter circumstances.”

  “There were one or two gentlemen with potential,” Jessie said, making her tone light. “But they tended to be crowded out by the young and randy. I hadn’t thought that wearing mourning would actually attract men.”

  “Only those of the wrong sort,” Julia said. “The kind who believe that a widow is in dire need of their services. Men can be such beasts.” She slid a teasing glance at her husband, whose arm she held. “Present company excepted, of course.”

  “I’m gratified to hear that,” Randall said, his tone dry but his eyes glinting with amusement. Since Mariah’s husband, the Duke of Ashton, had been busy elsewhere, Randall was escorting all three ladies.

  “Thank you for driving off the undesirables, Major Randall.” Jessie smiled a little. “One stern look from you and they faded away.”

  “An advantage of a military past.” He grinned. “I’m enough of a male beast that I enjoyed the envious glances from other men at my good fortune in escorting three such beautiful ladies.”

  Would his stern stare drive off Dr. Herbert? She doubted it. In his way, the good doctor was as formidable as the army officer.

  Randall added, his tone apologetic, “You should probably know they’re calling you the Black Widow.”

  She bit her lip. “Thank you for warning me. That doesn’t sound very good.”

  “It was said with interest and admiration, not condemnation,” Randall assured her.

  “A nickname earned so quickly means you’ve been accepted into London society,” Mariah said. “You may not have enjoyed the rout, but your dress and behavior were impeccable.” Her tone became ironic. “Now you are one of us.”

  Jessie’s companions were a better recommendation than the most impeccable gown, but Mariah and Julia had brushed aside her thanks since they assured her they were having a wonderful time. She asked, “What is our next social engagement?”

  “Dinner with the Kirklands,” Julia replied. “You’ll enjoy that. Lord Kirkland was a classmate of Ashton and Alex, and he’s inviting several Westerfield Academy graduates for a quiet evening. His wife is lovely, and very active with the Sisters Foundation. I doubt there will be any eligible older gentlemen, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself, and the Kirklands are good people to know.”

  “That sounds pleasant.” Jessie wryly admitted that while her head said she needed a husband, her heart was more interested in quiet evenings with good company.

  After returning to Ashton House, Jessie succumbed to temptation and climbed up to the nursery instead of retiring to her own room. Beth was her touchstone, the reason she was sailing in these uncharted waters. She needed to see her.

  Silently Jessie eased open the door to her daughter’s room. A dim lamp gave just enough light to reveal Beth’s small form in the bed, her soft cloth doll in her arms. Jessie had made the doll, giving it toffee brown hair the same shade as her daughter’s. Her little girl looked like a sleeping angel.

  Resisting the desire to wake her daughter up, Jesse settled for feasting her eyes on her, then blowing a silent kiss before she headed to her room. Beth was worth any risk. Even the risk of stirring the dangers that lurked in Jessie’s past.

  Chapter 8

  When they reached Kirkland House, Laurel and her husband retired to their rooms, though from the way they were looking at each other, Daniel suspected that they were not going to bed because his sister was overtired. What would it be like to retire to his own bedchamber with a wife who affected him like the woman in black . . . ?

  Daniel shut off that train of thought immediately. He needed a good wife, not a dangerous siren.

  Instead of heading to his room, he descended to the basement kitchen in search of a cup of tea. He liked knowing his way to the kitchen of any house he stayed in. One never knew when hunger might strike in the depths of night.

  It wasn’t particularly late, so he was unsurprised to find activity in the kitchen. A middle-aged woman with an air of authority glanced up from the dough she was kneading, her expression wary. “You’d be Lord Romayne.” She brushed a lock of hair back, leaving a trail of flour on her cheek. “There’s no need for you to come down here. You can ring for what you like.”

  The remark sounded like exasperation at having her territory invaded, but Daniel responded with a disarming smile. “I know. This household runs like a finely tuned clock. But I like kitchens, and I’m using the excuse of a cup of tea to explore. I think you must be Mrs. Simond? I’ve only been here a few days, but it’s clear why Lord and Lady Kirkland value you so highly.”

  Expression mollified, the cook nodded. “Aye, that’s me. Suzie, make his lordship a pot of tea. I could use a drop myself.” The kitchen maid at the far end of the room nodded and set a kettle of water to heat.

  Daniel said, “My sister says you have a very fine kitchen cat.”

  Mrs. Simond’s expression softened even more. “That would be Badger. He’s in that chair over there, hoping to benefit from me making beefsteak puddings.”

  Daniel followed her gesture and found Badger, a large black and white cat with huge green eyes and an expression of deep contentment on his furry face. He also had a rich, rumbling purr when his head was scratched.

  “A very fine fellow indeed,” Daniel said as the cat raised his chin to allow better neck scratching. “Every kitchen should have a cat.”

  “Your lady sister says the same,” the cook said as her strong hands resumed kneading. “They keep the vermin away, they do.”

  Daniel was about to reply when a great clatter, bang, and crash of breaking china sounded from behind a door at the other end of the kitchen. Suzie opened the door hastily to reveal a narrow servants’ staircase and a young footman moaning with pain at the bottom of the steps, broken china scattered around him.

  “Oh, Lester!” the cook exclaimed as she wiped flour from her hands. “Have you fallen over your feet again?”

  Daniel covered the length of the kitchen in half a dozen strides before Mrs. Simond even finished speaking. Lester was sprawled on his side
at the base of the stairs, his right arm twisted awkwardly and blood seeping from a cut on his forehead.

  “Don’t try to move yet.” Daniel knelt by the young man and ran experienced fingers over his skull. “Do you think you broke anything? Your head? Bones?”

  The questions helped Lester focus. “I’ll have some bloody big bruises, sir, but otherwise . . .” He started to push himself to a sitting position and gave a cry of agony when he moved his right arm.

  “Your right shoulder?” Daniel asked.

  “Y-yes.” Lester’s face was pale. “Banged it into the wall when I fell.”

  Daniel guessed a broken or dislocated shoulder. “Let me help you up so I can examine it. I’m a surgeon, and I’ll try not to make it feel worse than it already does.”

  He slid one arm around the young man’s waist and hauled him to his feet. Suzie had pulled a solid wooden chair near so Daniel settled Lester into it. The forehead laceration mostly stopped bleeding after it was washed clean. “Mrs. Simond, do you have some salve for minor kitchen injuries?”

  “I’ll get it, my lord.” Suzie scampered to a cabinet and brought back a small jar.

  Daniel applied the ointment to the young man’s forehead. Now for the arm. “Lester, I’ll have to cut your coat off so I can take a closer look at your shoulder.”

  “Don’t cut the coat!” Lester looked horrified. “It’s new and Mrs. Stratton’ll make me pay for another one!”

  Daniel doubted that Kirkland would require that, but maybe the housekeeper would. “Then I’ll take it off very carefully.”

  As Suzie swept up the broken china, Mrs. Simond returned to her kneading, but both kept a worried eye on the medical drama. Talking to distract Lester from his pain, Daniel remarked, “I see there’s no railing on that staircase. I’ll talk to Kirkland about having one installed.”

  Having peeled the coat off Lester’s left arm, Daniel eased the other sleeve down the right arm. Lester gasped involuntarily before biting down on the sound.