Sainted

by Slade, Heather

  “You wouldn’t?”

  He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head before looking back at me. “Nor would I let anyone else do it. Never again.” He maneuvered around me and opened a door across the hallway. “Fetch your water and get some sleep,” he said before closing it behind him.

  I woke the next morning to the sound of Saint talking to someone. A woman’s voice answered. Oh no. Had Cherry come over last night after I went for a glass of water and returned to my room? I knew I’d fallen to sleep minutes after that.

  I got out of bed and went into the bathroom, where I could no longer hear them. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I crawled back in bed. I slunk under the covers, wondering if I could get more sleep, when I heard a knock at the door.

  “Miss Harper? Are you awake?” asked a woman whose voice sounded a lot like the cook on one of the British shows my mom liked to watch.

  “I am.”

  “Mr. St. Thomas has asked that I prepare your breakfast whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks. Um, I’ll be out shortly.”

  “Take your time, dear.”

  I got dressed, put on a pair of shoes, and walked out to the kitchen. “Hello,” I said, clearing my throat and hoping I wouldn’t startle the woman since it didn’t appear she’d heard me come in.

  “Oh! Good morning.”

  “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  “Not at all. Come in, come in.” She motioned to the table. “You can eat in here or the dining room, whichever you’d prefer.”

  “I’ll stay in here if you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? I’d love the company. It’s rare I’m not here on my own.”

  “Is, err, Mr. St. Thomas here?”

  “He’s gone to run an errand. He asked me to tell you he wouldn’t be gone long.” She dried her hands on a dish towel that was hanging from the waist of her apron. “Now, he said you might fancy coffee over tea. Was he right?”

  “If it isn’t any trouble.”

  “Trouble?” She responded like she had when I said I’d stay if she wouldn’t mind. “Nothing’s any trouble. Goodness knows I have a hard time keeping myself busy around here. One can only clean a room that’s sat empty for months so many times. Niven, though, he’ll never let me go, no matter how often I tell him I’m ready to retire.”

  I noted she hadn’t referred to him as Mr. St. Thomas as she had earlier. She must have seen it on my face.

  “Forgive my familiarity. I’ve known him since he was a wee boy.”

  “Please don’t apologize for anything on my account. Can I help?” I asked, pointing to the stove, where something had started to smoke.

  “Oh! The bacon!” She put a lid on the pan and moved it away from the heat. “Might be a little crisp,” she said with a wink. “Fancy some eggs and toast?”

  “If it’s no trouble,” I repeated.

  The woman wiped her hands again and walked over to where I sat, and set a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Just cream please. If it’s no—”

  She motioned to where it sat on the table. “That’s the last time I want to hear anything about trouble.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She patted my arm. “And no more apologizing. I’ve told you how happy I am to have company. Now, how do you like your eggs?”

  “Sunny side up, please?”

  “Same as Niven,” she murmured, smiling as she walked back over to the stove.

  “Ah, I see you and Miss Bardwell have gotten acquainted,” said Saint, coming into the kitchen and startling me like I must have done to her. “Good morning,” he said to me before walking over and kissing her cheek. “And good morning again to you.”

  “We’re right chipper, aren’t we?” She looked from me to him.

  He sat in the chair next to me. “It’s a beautiful day to explore London, isn’t it?”

  I looked out the window. “It does look like a beautiful day.”

  “I’ve all sorts of things for you to choose from.” He fanned several touristy-looking brochures on the table and rubbed his hands together when Miss Bardwell set a plate in front of each of us.

  “Wow. This is the best-looking bacon I’ve ever seen.”

  Miss Bardwell beamed. “I like her,” she said to Saint before going back to get another plate. I thought perhaps she’d join us, but she set the dish of biscuits between Saint and me. “Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll be off to make up your room.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  Saint put his hand on mine. “Let her. She’s thrilled to have something to do.”

  “She said you won’t let her retire.” I grinned.

  He laughed. “And if I did, she’d turn up here day after day anyway.” The smile left his face, and he leaned closer to me. “My apologies for last night.”

  I rested my fork on the edge of my plate. “I know I’m an intrusion. I plan to talk to my father today—I sent him a quick message last night—and work out getting a ticket home.”

  His face fell, and he looked out the window. “I knew I’d made you uncomfortable. I’m such a bloody wanker.”

  I was making such a mess of this. I was the one who should be apologizing, not him. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” I waited for him to look at me, but he continued staring at something outside. “Saint?”

  He slowly turned in my direction.

  “You gave a perfect stranger a place to stay for the night. It was kind and generous of you.”

  “Perfect, yes. A stranger, no.” He spoke the words so softly I could hardly hear him.

  “I just can’t take advantage of your hospitality any longer.”

  “What’s this?” said Miss Bardwell, sweeping back into the kitchen. “I thought you said she’d be staying on?”

  “What I said is that I hoped she’d be staying on.”

  The two of them looked at me. Did I dare think a man like Saint could be interested in me? Maybe it was just how hospitable he was that made me feel so much more comfortable than I ever did with Dave or his family.

  “I feel like such a bother.”

  “You aren’t. Not in the least. Is she?” The woman smacked Saint’s arm.

  “Couldn’t be further from.”

  “See? Now finish your breakfast without any more talk of leaving.” She topped off my coffee and left the room a second time.

  “You’re very kind—”

  “You heard her. No more talk of leaving.” Saint pointed to my plate. “Eat up.”

  Before I could take my dishes to the sink, Miss Bardwell swept back in and took them from my hands.

  “I can—”

  When she turned around and glared at me, I stopped talking. Saint pushed away from the table, stood, took my hand, and led me out of the kitchen. “It’s a wonder she didn’t smack you.”

  My eyes opened wide.

  He laughed. “I’m kidding. She wouldn’t have actually laid a hand on you.”

  “It kind of looked like she might.”

  “I’d never allow it.”

  I studied him when his tone turned serious. “Saint, I was kidding too.”

  “I meant what I said last night, Harper, about not allowing anyone to hurt you ever again.” His gaze was so intent, so penetrating, I had to believe him, no matter how crazy it might seem.

  Later, when I logged into my laptop and read the email my father sent, I prayed Saint truly did mean it.

  10

  Saint

  Harper probably thought I was daft, but I meant every word I’d said about not allowing anyone to hurt her again, particularly the dumbfuck.

  My main reason for going out earlier this morning was to get in touch with a man I knew would be able to track the whereabouts of her ex-boyfriend far faster than I could. Once tweedle dumber was located, the same man would ensure he returned every bit of Harper’s money, even if it meant wringing it out of him.

  If asked, I wouldn’t be able to expl
ain my fixation, perhaps obsession, with looking out for the young woman who had invaded my thoughts to the point I wondered if I had truly gone mad.

  As I’d told Miss Bardwell, Harper was an innocent who had been heartbreakingly wronged. In fact, when she pressed me to tell the whole story, the woman I’d seen break down and cry only twice, when each of my parents died, shed a tear.

  “Is it possible for someone who is visiting, to get a job in England?” Harper asked a couple of hours later as we walked the mile from my flat to Buckingham Palace, our first stop of the day.

  “Are you asking for yourself?”

  “Yes,” she answered, cheeks pink, eyes downcast in that way that made me dizzy with desire.

  “I’m afraid not. At least not in the regular sense.”

  She stopped walking. “What do you mean?”

  “I suppose it might be possible to get a job as a nanny or perhaps a housekeeper of some kind that would pay off the books.”

  When Harper nodded and her tongue snaked from her mouth to lick her dry lips, I wanted to turn her into the alley we’d just passed and do it for her. Not just her lips. Her mouth, her neck, the breasts straining against her jumper. I closed my eyes and did what I’d done the night before to ease the ache I felt for her—I imagined Harper dressed as a vicar. And not a sexy one.

  As we continued our walk, I scanned the surrounding area. It was a habit far too ingrained for me to ever change it. When the sunlight caught what appeared to be a camera lens, I quickly got on the other side of Harper with my back to the guy to keep both of us from being photographed.

  What in the bloody hell was that about anyway? While my family was prominent, the press had always respected my privacy due to my association with MI6. It was an unspoken rule I would soon speak up about if I saw it happening again. There was no way anyone outside the whole of SIS would have any way of knowing about my recent separation from the agency. Once an agent for Her Majesty, you were for life, regardless of employment status.

  “Is everything okay?” Harper asked.

  “Yes. Fine.”

  Her eyes met mine, and I wondered if she could read my mistruth so easily.

  I discreetly nodded in the direction of the reflection I’d seen. “Paparazzi.”

  Her eyes opened wide.

  “Not interested in us, I assure you. I’d just prefer not to be a photobomb.” When her gaze penetrated mine, I shook my head. “Everything you’re thinking is evident in your eyes.”

  Harper smiled. “What am I thinking?”

  “You’re wondering if I’m being forthright.”

  “Are you?”

  I chuckled, put my arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close to me. “You are a delight, Miss Godfrey.”

  “Flattery will not distract me,” she teased, but didn’t pull away. Until she did, neither would I.

  While Buckingham Palace was typically open to visitors from July to September, I’d made arrangements for a private tour anyway, so we were not limited to that which a normal tourist might be. Seeing the place I had frequented more times than I could remember through Harper’s eyes, was an unexpected pleasure. As I was learning, so many things were. She had an infectious childlike wonderment about her.

  We were leaving the last of the King and Queen’s State Rooms when the sound of my uncle’s voice made me cringe.

  “Niven? I’d heard you’d be visiting the palace today. I’m so happy I was able to catch you.”

  “Hello, Uncle. May I present Miss Harper Godfrey, a friend visiting from the States.”

  “A friend, you say?”

  “It’s very nice to meet you. Niven has spoken of you to me.” Harper’s manners put Nigel’s to shame.

  I couldn’t help but look at her adoringly. “Miss Godfrey, this is my uncle, Nigel Fox.”

  When he studied her, Harper stood her ground, meeting his gaze in the same way she often did mine.

  “What brings you to the UK, Miss Godfrey?”

  I put my hand on the small of her back when her cheeks flushed. “She’s considering relocation, and I offered to show her around.”

  His eyes scrunched. “What is your background?”

  Harper’s chin rose, and I knew better than to answer on her behalf a second time.

  “I attended a Christian university, sir. I’d hoped to one day be a member of the clergy.”

  When my uncle looked from her to me, I found myself hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t disparage Harper in any way, particularly due to my sullied past.

  “The clergy? Did I hear that correctly?”

  Again, Harper spoke out before I could. “You did.”

  “Where? Here? In England?”

  “It is my understanding that women have played an active role in the Anglican Church for more than thirty years.”

  Nigel cleared his throat. “While that may be true—”

  “Your nephew has encouraged and supported me so kindly in my endeavor. It would be a dream come true to one day have a small parish of my own.”

  “In England?” Nigel repeated, appearing increasingly stunned.

  Harper dropped her gaze in that way that made my every carnal desire roar to the forefront of both my brain and body.

  “Yes. In England,” she responded, looking up at me. I had no idea if that was truly a dream of hers she hadn’t yet mentioned or if everything she said was for my uncle’s benefit. Either way, I found myself proud of her.

  “Perhaps you would both like to join your aunt and me for dinner.”

  “That would be very nice,” Harper said before I could decline the invitation.

  “I’ll ring you later, Niven.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I look forward to getting to know your lady friend better,” he said, effectively dismissing her.

  I almost laughed out loud when I heard her say, “And I, you.”

  “This way,” I said, motioning to the corridor that would lead out to the palace’s gardens. Once we were a good distance from where we’d left my uncle, I stopped walking and folded my arms.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “That was quite a performance.” I smiled and winked.

  “That was the uncle who stands between you and getting your job back, wasn’t it?”

  “He is, you little minx.”

  “I didn’t lie, Saint.”

  “You haven’t mentioned an interest in pursuing a parish in our previous conversations.”

  “I didn’t think of it until this morning.”

  “Are you serious, then?” Good God, she truly did want to be in ministry. And here I was, wishing I could pull her into my arms and kiss her followed by ravishing her body the minute we returned to my flat. I doubted I was ever more ashamed of my inability to resist the opposite sex.

  “It is merely one of endless possibilities,” she responded with a wink.

  “You understand that if I accept my uncle’s invitation to dinner, you may find yourself answering a great many questions.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  The smug look on her face told me she certainly would.

  As we walked the two and a half miles of gravel paths that led us through the forty-two acres officially known as The Garden at Buckingham Palace, the conversations I’d had with my uncle over the course of the last few days rolled over in my mind.

  It would be a logical assumption on his part that I’d paid heed to his suggestions and had found myself a “nice young lady.” While Harper was that, I certainly hadn’t gone in search of her.

  When she’d walked from the hallway into the living room at the precise moment Nigel uttered those words, I had to admit, I momentarily considered our meeting fortuitous. If only to get Nigel off my back and working to get my job reinstated.

  However, I’d immediately quashed the idea, knowing that using her in such a way would mean I was no better than her dookie of an ex.

  I resolved to beg off the dinner with my mother’s only brother and his wi
fe, in fear the man would say something that would lead Harper to believe I was, in fact, using her.

  That notion would be too easy for her to accept, given my inability to explain to her—or myself—why I was obsessed with her staying in London. One word from Nigel and the proverbial light bulb would go off, shortly followed by her returning to the States by any means possible.

  “What’s over there?” Harper asked, breaking me out of my reverie.

  I looked to where she pointed. “Those are the Queen’s private gardens.” When I put my hand on the small of her back to walk in that direction, her breath hitched and her eyes met mine. “What is it?” I asked.

  Her gaze dropped to the grass beneath our feet, and her cheeks pinkened. I put my fingers beneath her chin and raised her head. “When you do that…”

  “Do what?”

  “Put your hand on me,” she whispered.

  “Yes, well, when you look that way…”

  “What about it?”

  “It makes me want to…” God, I couldn’t allow myself to say it. In the same way, I had to stop myself from envisioning Harper naked and spread out before me like a delectable feast.

  The last thing she should do was exactly what she did. Harper took a step closer to me. Close enough that had it been any other woman, I would’ve reached out and encircled her hardened nipples with my fingertips.

  “What does it make you want to do?” she asked in a voice so breathy I was tempted to lead her around the row of hedges that would shield us from the view of the public garden’s other visitors, and suck all that breath out of her when I brought my lips to hers for the very first time.

  I stared into her eyes, unable to stop my hand from cupping her cheek. “I’ve warned you I am a cad.”

  “Rake.”

  “Both.”

  “And?”

  “Miss Godfrey, you test my resolve every time your cheeks blush the most beguiling shade of pink and you lower your gaze in a way that drives me mad. There is much about you that tempts me, but that in particular.”

  “I tempt you?” Her bourbon-and-coke eyes, even shrouded by her glasses, drew me into their depths. When she absently worried her lower lip between her teeth, I found myself wanting its plumpness between mine instead.