The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  Knox parried again, then thrust low— an illegal stroke, but one that Luke easily diverted with his own rapier. "If I cannot profit, neither shall you," he said. "Robbery sets a poor example as well, wouldn't you say, Saint?"

  If he expected the accusation to startle Luke into a mistake, he was disappointed. Luke waited his chance, then thrust high, forcing Knox back a pace as he parried.

  "Who is the more guilty?" Luke asked musingly. "A man who steals, or the murderer who drives him to it?" He was watching Knox's eyes now, as well as his chest. Both telegraphed his next move, a vicious lunge that would have impaled Luke through the heart had he not stepped aside at the last moment.

  "So you admit your guilt?" Knox demanded, his exertions now limiting him to shorter sentences.

  Luke was quick to take advantage of the older man's inferior conditioning. "I admit nothing," he replied, circling and feinting, forcing Knox to move more and more rapidly to avoid the tip of his blade. "However, it ill behooves a man who kills his brother and leaves his brother's wife and child for dead to show such belated concern for how that child made his way in an unfriendly world."

  "Concern? Hardly that." Knox was breathing heavily now, beads of sweat tricking down his brow. He attempted another vicious thrust, this time at Luke's throat, as his temper overcame his judgment.

  Luke brought his own blade across and down, nearly snapping the tip of Knox's sword as he forced it toward the ground. "No concern from my nearest relative? Uncle, you wound me."

  "I'll wound you and more." Knox took a pace back, then lunged forward, madness again raging in his eyes. "I spent twenty years and more building the name and fortune of Hardwyck to what it is now. No upstart street thief is going to destroy that."

  As he spoke, he drove his rapier straight at Luke's chest, ignoring everything else in his determination to kill the man he blamed for his humiliation. Unable to dodge, Luke brought his blade up, deflecting the deadly thrust even as Knox's own momentum drove Luke's sword home.

  Knox stared down in shock for a moment at the crimson stain spreading across his white shirt and embroidered waistcoat, then dropped to his knees. "Damn you, and damn your father before you," he gasped. "You're not worthy of the Hardwyck name."

  Luke withdrew his blade and watched impassively as his uncle crumpled to the ground. "No, you have damned yourself. My father and mother are finally avenged. I may not be worthy, but I am Hardwyck, and I will uphold the honor of that name for as long as I live." He spoke it as a vow, and was stunned to realize he meant every word.

  The surgeon hurried forward now, and Luke stepped back to allow him to do what he could. Marcus handed him a handkerchief, and he used it to wipe first his brow, then his blade. Finally he turned to Pearl, who still stood with one hand at her throat, so pale that he thought she might faint.

  "He's dead, my lords," the surgeon announced.

  "Is it true?" Marcus asked, glancing down at the fallen Knox, then back to Luke. "Did he actually kill your father?"

  Slowly, Luke nodded. "He did. And as you can see, he was unrepentant to the last."

  Marcus, of course, did not mention Knox's own accusations —nor did the others, to Luke's relief.

  "We'll have to notify someone, I suppose." Now that it was all over, Luke felt a wave of weariness wash over him, weighing his limbs and numbing his brain. He swayed, but Pearl was suddenly at his side, supporting him.

  "We'll go to my father," she suggested. "He will know what steps must be taken."

  No one had any objection to this plan, so leaving the surgeon to tend to the body and Lord Ribbleton to tend to Bellowsworth, Luke followed Pearl and Marcus to the horses.

  "Can you ride?" asked Pearl in obvious concern when they reached their mounts.

  Shaking off his weariness with an effort, Luke nodded. "I am unhurt. I won't deny that it has been a long morning, however." Nor was it over, by any means. The full implications of what had happened here had yet to be sorted out.

  Pearl smiled up at him, and he felt his strength returning. "Come then. Let's go home."

  * * *

  Riding back to Oakshire House, Pearl watched Luke anxiously. Whatever life he had led, whatever duels he had fought in the past, killing his own uncle must have affected him profoundly. She had never seen him look so weary as he had when the surgeon pronounced Knox dead.

  Now, however, he sat his horse well, handling the reins with perfect competence. By the time they halted, his color had returned and he looked much as he always did, if rather more serious than usual.

  The Duke was at home, to Pearl's relief. She had never had a chance to speak with him yet, as he had returned too late last night for an audience with her. This promised to be a lengthy interview —and a startling one, for her father. She hoped he would not be too upset.

  "Now, what is all this?" the Duke asked, joining them in the library after only a few minutes. "Upwood gave me to understand that there was a matter of some urgency?" He pinned Luke, Lord Marcus and Pearl alternately with his keen gray eyes.

  "Yes, Father, it's—" Pearl began, but Luke stood and silenced her with an upraised hand.

  "Your grace, I have just killed the man who previously styled himself Lord Hardwyck —my uncle." His voice was nearly emotionless, but Pearl, alert to his every nuance, could hear an undercurrent of sadness and resignation.

  "Indeed!" the Duke exclaimed. "Are you confessing to a murder, lad?"

  Pearl started to her feet, but again Luke waved her to silence. "There was a duel, your grace, and though its beginning was somewhat unconventional, it was conducted before the usual witnesses. Whether or not the circumstances exonerate me, I will leave it to you— and perhaps a jury —to decide."

  The Duke now turned his eye on Lord Marcus. "You were his second?" he asked.

  Marcus nodded. "I was, your grace, and I can state unequivocally that Knox gave Luke— Lord Hardwyck —no choice in the matter. He had already attempted murder on his own account, and threatened your daughter, the Lady Pearl, as well. Lord Hardwyck acted from the highest motives, to protect her as well as himself."

  "Is this true?" Her father regarded Pearl in obvious alarm. "Knox involved you in this?"

  "Yes, Father." She tried to speak calmly, but her voice trembled at the memory of those few terrifying moments. "Mr. Knox held me hostage with a pistol in an attempt to lure Luke close enough to murder him. Luke— Lord Hardwyck— goaded him into a challenge to induce him to release me unharmed."

  The Duke turned back to Luke. "Then I have much to thank you for, it appears. Not only have you rid the land of a dangerous criminal, something I'd have preferred to have done when the truth first came to light, but you have kept my most precious possession from harm. You have my gratitude, Lord Hardwyck, and I will do everything in my power for you."

  Luke still stood, facing him. "Everything, your grace?"

  "I have said so. What is it you wish me to do?"

  "Grant me your daughter's hand in marriage," he replied without hesitation, "should this current matter be settled to your satisfaction."

  The Duke blinked, looking from Luke to Pearl and back. "You have discussed this with her, I presume?"

  Though nearly as startled as the Duke, Pearl rose to stand beside Luke, placing her hand in his. "Yes, Father. It is my dearest wish as well."

  "I won't deny I have suspected a partiality for some time," the Duke conceded. "But what of Bellowsworth?"

  "He has relinquished his claim on my hand," Pearl replied. "He has no wish to make me unhappy by persisting in his suit. I know it will occasion some trouble, as well as much talk, as the papers have been drawn up and announcements published, but—"

  Her father waved that aside with one large hand. "Paperwork and gossip are of no consequence if your happiness is at stake, my dear. I only wish to be certain that it is what you really want."

  "It is," she assured him fervently. She squeezed Luke's hand, and he returned the pressure, sending a wave of warmth and se
curity through her.

  "Then let's settle this other matter as expeditiously as may be, so that we can move on to more cheerful concerns. Who were the other witnesses?"

  Luke replied, "In addition to Lord Marcus and Lady Pearl, there was a surgeon, Mr. Carter, as well as Lord Bellowsworth and Lord Ribbleton, who acted as his second."

  The Duke's heavy brows rose. "There is quite a tale connected with this, I perceive. Tell me all, from the beginning, and then we will summon the others to corroborate your story. If they are able to do so, I see no need to bring this before the magistrate.

  Luke and Pearl took their seats, and Luke proceeded to recount the chain of events leading up to Knox's death. He omitted only the circumstances that had led to his challenge of Bellowsworth, instead implying that his emotions had bested his judgement during an argument.

  By the end of the day, all was settled. Bellowsworth, who had suffered a mere scratch on his forearm, formally renounced his claims and fully corroborated Lord Hardwyck's story, as did the other witnesses. The Duke wrote everything down, including his opinion that the matter be considered closed.

  Before Luke took his leave late that afternoon, Pearl led him out into the garden for a few private words, though the day had become overcast.

  "A fit setting," Luke commented, looking around him at the roses. Then he took Pearl by the hand, his expression serious. "Well, my love, save for the formalities, it appears our future is all but assured. If you are having second thoughts about wedding a man with my history, now is the time to express them."

  "No second thoughts," she replied with a smile. "Unless, of course, you are only marrying me to buy my silence? Now that the others have given their statements, it appears I am the only one you need fear might identify you as the notorious Saint of Seven Dials." Though she spoke playfully, a tiny doubt, a remnant of earlier fears, arose as she spoke.

  It appeared he was aware of it. "I would turn myself in at once rather than risk you believing that, Pearl. Would you like me to confess it to your father?"

  His seriousness alarmed her. "No! Of course not." Not caring how brazen she appeared, she moved closer, putting her hands on his shoulders, tilting her face up to invite his kiss. "I know I have always sought to control everything in my sphere, to include you, Luke. But I want you to know that I am trying to reform. My recent attempts at control have had some rather disastrous consequences."

  He lowered his lips to hers for a lingering kiss that promised a lifetime of delights. "And some rather charming ones, as well," he reminded her a moment later. "I have no wish to change you, Pearl. Your strength of will and your quick mind are among the things I admire most about you."

  "How curious. I was about to say the same thing of you."

  Now he grinned. "As long as we share common goals, we should deal very well indeed, don't you think?"

  "I do. Right now, my goal is to be wed as soon as may be, so that we can pursue other, ah, goals freely. Dare I hope you share it?"

  He answered her with another kiss, demonstrating his desire in the only way he could, given their surroundings.

  * * *

  Nearly three weeks passed before Pearl and Luke exchanged vows in the ivy-covered chapel at Oakshire —the day after her twenty-first birthday. In drawing up the marriage settlements, Luke himself had insisted on the date, to safeguard Pearl's holdings. The Duke had been surprised at a second request he had made, but had agreed readily enough.

  Emerging from the chapel along a path strewn with rose petals, Pearl smiled up at Luke as he held her hand, encased in a white lace glove, close to his heart. A carriage, bedecked with flowers and greenery, waited to convey them back to the enormous manor house for a lavish wedding breakfast, but they paused before entering it to exchange a few words, first with Lord Marcus, and then with the Duke and Duchess of Oakshire.

  "Thank you, Father, for everything," said Pearl, kissing the Duke on the cheek. Then she turned to the Duchess, to kiss her as well. "And thank you too . . . Mother."

  The Duchess' eyes widened for a moment, but then she smiled. "I have always tried to do my best by you, Pearl, though I know we have had our differences. Perhaps we shall have a chance to become friends, now that we will not be under the same roof."

  "I do hope so." Pearl spoke with complete sincerity, whether she believed such an outcome likely or not.

  Luke now bent down to lift up the little boy standing next to the Duchess. "So, young Edward, have you given any thought to the succession as yet? You'll be choosing a wife for yourself before you know it."

  The child grinned at him and giggled, then glanced at his mother and sobered slightly. "Mother says people are supposed to call me Lord Morehaven —but you can call me Edward. We're brothers now, aren't we?"

  Luke tousled his hair before setting him back on his feet, ignoring the way the Duchess' mouth primmed at the exchange. "We are indeed, and I must say, I've always wanted a brother. I hope we'll have some capital times together."

  Finally, Luke handed Pearl into their carriage. Once the door was closed and the gravel crunching beneath their wheels as they made their way up the path, he turned to her.

  "Now that I have you secure, there is something you need to know," he told her ominously.

  Her eyes widened, though the love shining out of them never wavered. "More secrets? I thought we had done with those."

  "This will be the last, I promise you."

  Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out the document giving her complete control over Fairbourne. In it, he relinquished a husband's usual claim over a wife's property, ceding to her the management and ultimate disposition of the estate.

  She read through the paper, her mouth a small O of surprise, then gazed up at him, her eyes shining. "What a perfect wedding gift!" she exclaimed.

  He grinned down at her. "I thought if you had an estate to manage, you'd be less tempted to manage me."

  "That reminds me," Pearl said then, with a rather mischievous grin. "I have a gift for you, as well." From her reticule, she drew out a small stack of calling cards inked with a curious design: a number seven, capped by an oval halo. Luke recognized it at once.

  "I made them myself," she explained. "Should you choose to continue as the Saint of Seven Dials, I knew you would wish to leave these behind to, ah, tweak the conscience of Society."

  Luke chuckled. "And continue to set the ton on its collective ear!" Sobering, he met her eyes and saw the vague anxiety there, though she was clearly striving to hide it. She was making a great sacrifice under the guise of a jest— one he was glad would be unnecessary.

  "No, my sweet, you need not worry. My thieving days are over. We'll find other ways to help the poor unfortunates of Seven Dials. Thank you for the gift, however —and even more for the thought behind it." He tucked the cards in his pocket. Perhaps he would slip some of them to Marcus later, to see what use he might make of them.

  Pearl's anxiety vanished, though her smile held a trace of wistfulness. "I believe I may miss my roguish thief. He brought such excitement to my staid life."

  "I never promised to leave all wickedness behind," he said, stripping off one of her lace mittens, then one of his own kidskin gloves, to clasp her hand, flesh to flesh. "I intend to prove quite the opposite tonight."

  Her violet-blue eyes grew smoky with desire. "I can scarcely wait."

  To the delight of the onlookers running alongside the carriage, he took her in his arms. She responded eagerly to his kiss—so eagerly that they were both flushed with passion when the carriage finally rolled to a stop before the great house.

  "I will accept that as a down payment of your pledge," Pearl murmured as a footman opened the carriage door. "But I expect payment in full tonight."

  "And you shall have it," Luke promised, drinking in the sight and scent of her, this woman he loved with every fiber of his being. "I swear it, on my honor as a rogue."

  THE END

  Table of Contents

  NOBLE DECEPTION
S

  by

  Brenda Hiatt

  PROLOGUE

  Oakshire, England—June, 1816

  "How long before we'll see you in London again?" Lord Marcus Northrup, fifth son of the Duke of Marland, asked his good friend, Lord Hardwyck. "I imagine you'll have a stronger inducement than ever to escape from Society now." He nodded toward Luke's new bride, Lady Pearl Moreston—now Lady Hardwyck—where she stood chatting with her father, the Duke of Oakshire, near the doors of the great hall of the Duke's imposing country manor.

  "I will indeed," Luke replied, smiling in Pearl's direction with a degree of besottedness that made Marcus pity him.

  Not about to dampen his friend's spirits on his wedding day, however, Marcus broadened his smile. "Then I'll see you when I see you. The tour of your northern estates will doubtless take months, in any event. But I can't deny Town will be dashed dull without you."

  During Luke's past few weeks in London, Marcus had become closer than ever to his old school chum. He had discovered remarkable things about Luke, including the fact that for years he had been living a double life.

  Society knew Luke as a gentleman of fashion, recently elevated to the title of Lord Hardwyck, but he had also, secretly, acted as the Saint of Seven Dials, the legendary thief who stole from the rich to give to the poor.

  Being in on the secret had added welcome excitement to Marcus's dissipated existence. Now, the coming months stretched ahead with little promise of diversion beyond the same stale pleasures of Town he had pursued since he was a stripling in University.

  Luke clapped Marcus on the shoulder. "I'll be back, never fear. In the meantime, I don't doubt you'll find ample ways to fill your time." He punctuated his words with a wink.

  Marcus almost asked him what he meant, but just then a clamor arose, and Luke hurried to join his bride near the massive front doors. With smiles and farewells, the couple was swept out onto the broad front drive toward the waiting carriage that would bear them northward on the first leg of their wedding trip, to Lady Hardwyck's own estate of Fairbourne.