The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  "Oh! I'm not at all tired," she declared, turning back to him. "I'd love a chance to get to know Tempest better." And you, too, she added silently. Though she was becoming quite familiar with his body, she still knew little of the man within it.

  "I'll call for our mounts, then, while you change into your 'new' habit."

  She chuckled. "I must have a proper one made up soon. I won't be a moment." She ran lightly up the stairs, guilt and embarrassment forgotten in her eagerness to ride again.

  Refusing to allow Monette to do more than help her change and add a few pins to her hair, she hurried back down to find the horses already at the front door. The groom holding Tempest looked wary, as though the mare had already attempted to either bite or kick him.

  "Mind this 'un, milady. She's a bit snappish," he said, confirming her guess. "Needs to learn her manners, she does."

  "We'll learn our Society manners together, Tempest and I," Quinn replied, nodding to Marcus that she was ready to be tossed into the saddle.

  As she had yesterday, Tempest quieted at once the moment Quinn settled into proper riding posture and took up the reins. It was clear the mare had originally been well trained, even if recent poor handling had made her temperamental. Rather like Quinn herself, perhaps? She grinned at the thought.

  "You do like to ride, don't you?" Marcus commented, mounting his own horse with an answering grin. "There's something else we have in common."

  Together, they started off in the direction of Hyde Park at a gentle trot. "Something else?" Quinn echoed, riding easily at his side. "What was the first?"

  He slanted a look at her that made her face heat. "We both enjoyed the Egyptian Hall, did we not? But I confess I was thinking of more— active— pursuits."

  Eyes resolutely ahead, she tried to speak lightly. "Perhaps we can discover other, ah, amusements we both like. Or more intellectual pursuits. You like to read, I believe you said?"

  "Of course. Books are a suitably safe topic." There was a hint of laughter in his deep voice that stirred her blood despite the distance between them. "I can't claim to be a great reader, but I'm fond of Shakespeare and Milton, as well as several modern novelists whom most would call frivolous."

  That did surprise her. She'd have expected him to limit his reading to political or historical treatises, more in keeping with his sober bent.

  "I'm rather fond of novels myself," she confessed, "though I've had less time for reading than I'd have liked in recent years."

  Continuing to converse lightly about books, they reached the Park gates and turned in. The paths were fairly crowded, as it was the fashionable hour, and for a moment or two, Quinn had to focus her attention on Tempest, who was inclined to take exception to the other horses, sidestepping and trying to fling up her head. Keeping a firm grip on the reins without pulling, she spoke soothingly yet firmly, and the mare soon settled down again, allowing them to proceed.

  "My compliments on your horsemanship," Marcus said as they turned onto a less crowded path. "You handle her superbly."

  "She simply needs a light but firm hand." Again Quinn wondered if there was a parallel to her own situation. This time the thought did not amuse her particularly. "Harshness will spoil a horse as quickly as coddling will, I've found."

  "I agree."

  Glancing quickly at him, she wondered if he was drawing parallels of his own. Nettled, she changed the subject. "Look, here is a fairly deserted path, off to the right. Shall we try a canter?" Without waiting for his response, she set Tempest down the path at a near gallop, delighting in the smoothness of her paces, her brief irritation evaporating.

  "Hold up, hold up!" he called out, as she neared a turning in the path.

  Though she slowed her mare, she glanced at him quizzically. "Too fast for you?" she asked teasingly.

  "Not for me, but anything faster than a hand-canter is frowned on in the Park, particularly at this time of day. Not all riders are as skilled as you are, unfortunately."

  So she had unwittingly broken yet another rule, she thought with a resigned sigh. "It appears that Tempest is learning her Society manners more quickly than I am. I'm sorry."

  He shook his head. "My fault —I should have warned you. I keep forgetting that you haven't been accustomed to all of these silly strictures."

  "This one isn't silly," she admitted. "It makes sense from the standpoint of safety. Perhaps most of the other rules Society imposes have valid reasons as well, and I simply don't know what they are." She rather doubted that, however.

  "You— Hm. Perhaps."

  She wondered what he had started to say. Something critical of her, most likely, which he had broken off rather than risk an argument . . . or rather than risk hurting her feelings? Either way, she was grateful.

  "It's getting late," she said. "I suppose we should be getting back?"

  "Yes, let's. I'm famished." He seemed as desirous of dropping the discussion of rules as she.

  They had nearly reached the Park gates when a familiar blue phaeton entered, its lovely driver spotting them at once. She nudged the equally pretty girl at her side before trilling out a greeting.

  "Lord Marcus! Fancy you still in Town, when I read of your wedding only yesterday! Cecy and I were quite in the dismals at the prospect of losing you, and yet here you are. How delightful!"

  As before, her eyes were all for Marcus, Quinn noticed sourly, and the other lady was gazing at him just as dotingly. It was as though she weren't even present.

  "Good afternoon, Lady Regina, Lady Cecily." Marcus swept an elegant half-bow from the saddle. "Allow me to present my new bride, Lady Marcus. My lady, you remember Lady Regina Prescott, and this is her sister, Lady Cecily Prescott."

  "Dear, dear friends of your husband's," Lady Cecily added. "Delighted to meet you, Lady Marcus. What a lovely, er, habit." Both sisters tittered, staring at Quinn's modified gown before again gazing up at Marcus from under their lashes.

  His jaw tightened, Quinn noticed. "We are but acquaintances," he said dampeningly, his sensibilities no doubt offended by the ladies' blatant flirting.

  Quinn was more amused than jealous, though the comment about her habit stung a bit. A real shopping excursion was definitely in order —the sooner, the better.

  Lady Regina's next words distracted her from such plans. "That's not what you told Cecily last spring, when you stole a kiss from her at the Heathertons' ball. We were both rather hoping to discover whether you would live up to your reputation, but alas! It appears we shall not have the chance." She shot Quinn a glance of dislike. "Come, Cecy."

  They drove on, leaving Marcus to frown after them while Quinn regarded him curiously. Becoming aware of her gaze, he turned back to her with a shrug. "Lord Knottsford should keep a tighter rein on his daughters. Pray pay them no mind, my dear. They delight in stirring up trouble."

  Quinn managed a smile and nod, her momentary shock fading somewhat. "I suspected as much. They both seem quite as high-spirited as Tempest here." Of course, the sisters must have been merely teasing. It was patently absurd to imagine staid Marcus doing something as scandalous as stealing a kiss at a ball—not to mention having a "reputation!"

  But then, how well did she know him, really?

  * * *

  By the time they finished dinner, speaking primarily of their plans for the balloon ascension on the morrow, Marcus was fairly certain that Quinn had not taken the Prescott sisters' comments to heart. He'd never expected Cecily to tell her sister of their tryst at that ball, and even less that Regina would mention it publicly. Brazen hussies, both of them.

  He had once found them both alluring, though neither had affected him remotely the way Quinn did, for all that they were more classically beautiful. They lacked her wit, as well as her . . . he could only call it authenticity. There was something refreshingly real about Quinn.

  While he had to maintain this facade of propriety for now, he hoped she wouldn't take his hypocritical comments about Society rules too much to heart. It would be
a shame if she were to become conventional.

  "Will you join me for a brandy again?" he asked as the last course was removed. "It shouldn't make you cough this time, as you are no longer precisely a novice."

  She regarded him suspiciously, as though uncertain whether he referred only to the brandy. "Very well, I'll give it another try," she said after a slight hesitation.

  Preceding him into the library, she seated herself while he poured. She took one cautious sip, then another. No coughing.

  "Much more enjoyable, now that you've had some experience, is it not?" he asked with a grin, pulling the opposite chair close.

  Her glance showed that she definitely caught his double meaning this time. "Yes, it's actually rather pleasant. I could easily grow to look forward to it, I think." She took another tiny sip, then met his eyes, her own twinkling.

  "I'm delighted to hear it." He held her eyes, his pulse quickening, his body looking forward to pleasures other than brandy. Her expression changed from playful to aware, her lips parting slightly as her eyes turned smoky.

  "Are you?" The question escaped her like a sigh.

  "I am indeed." He scarcely recalled what they were talking about. Thoroughly aroused now, he leaned forward until his knee grazed hers. "In fact, everything about you delights me, Quinn. Though we've known each other such a short time, you've become very dear to me."

  A flicker of surprised stirred in her eyes, but she smiled. "That sounds dangerously like a declaration, my lord."

  Startled, he realized it did. Even more surprising, he felt no desire to retract it. Still, caution prevented him making it irrevocable. "I still have some work to do on this flirtation business, it seems. You did promise to help me."

  "I never claimed to be an expert. But since I already have you leg-shackled, surely you need not fear raising unreasonable expectations in my breast?" she said playfully.

  "And just what are you expecting in that lovely breast of yours?" he asked, moving even closer.

  She pinkened, but met his eye without flinching. "All of the experiences you promised me, my lord —and more. What less?"

  Taking her hand, he stood. "Come then. It is time we continued your education —or would that be entertainment?"

  "Both, I think." She rose, leaving her brandy nearly untouched, as was his. Her eyes strayed to his breeches, where his arousal must be quite apparent, then she smiled, her color deepening further.

  He found her mix of confusion and boldness adorable —and irresistible. Taking her by the hand, he led her up to his chamber, his anticipation growing. Drawing her into the room, he closed the door. "Now, what new experience did you have in mind?"

  With a throaty chuckle that inflamed him even further, she tipped her face up for his kiss. "How would I know, if it is new? I depend upon you to enlighten me."

  Over the next hour and more, they mutually explored some of the variety possible in the marriage bed. Experienced though Marcus was, the enthusiasm of his partner was a novelty, and one that added enormously to his own enjoyment, he found.

  Tasting, touching, moving from bed to chair to floor, Quinn was willing to follow his lead, trusting him to show her the heights of pleasure, and to show her how to please him as well. That very trust disturbed him now, as they lay entwined on the bed, resting from their exertions.

  Why could he not trust her as completely?

  Because he had secrets beyond his own to keep, he answered himself, and much as he wanted to tell her everything, he couldn't risk Luke, or the lads on the street, to the chance of an indiscreet word she might let fall to the wrong ears. In fact, she herself could be in danger should that happen.

  He looked down at her as she dozed, remarkably innocent in sleep, and smiled. No, he couldn't believe she would deliberately hurt him or the others, but discretion had not so far proved to be Quinn's strongest suit. Which meant he would have to slip away from the house tonight without her knowledge.

  Leaning down, he kissed her gently on the brow and watched as her eyes fluttered open.

  "Mmm. Are you not tired?" she murmured with a sleepy smile.

  "Indeed, you have quite worn me out, little vixen," he replied with a grin. "But having you here is so tempting, I fear I will get no sleep at all if you stay."

  She struggled to sit up, looking charmingly confused. "Oh. Do you wish me to return to my own room for the night, then?"

  "Perhaps it would be best, if we are to be well-rested for the balloon ascension tomorrow."

  He held his breath. If she wanted to stay, he'd simply have to get word to Gobby somehow, for he'd never find the willpower to leave her here, naked, in his bed.

  "Yes, I suppose you are right," she said reluctantly, and her very reluctance was another temptation. He forced himself not to respond, to touch her again, as he longed to. Instead, he helped her out of bed and into her shift before accompanying her to the dressing room door.

  "We'll have tomorrow night —and every night after," he reminded her—and himself —as she put a hand on the door handle. "Until then—"

  The kiss nearly broke his hard-won control, but he managed to keep his hands from straying, difficult as that was. Finally, with a little sigh, she pulled away from him.

  "If I am going to sleep in my own bed, I'd best go now. Good night, Marcus."

  "Good night, Quinn." He almost added, I love you, but caught himself, aghast, before the words could escape his lips. Shaken, he watched her disappear through the door, wondering how he could have come so close to saying such a thing.

  Could it, just possibly, be true?

  But then he glanced at the clock on his mantelpiece. He'd have to consider that unsettling question later. If he was going to make his promised meeting at ten o'clock, he needed to leave immediately.

  Letting himself softly out of the house a few minutes later, he finally understood why Luke had given up his calling as Saint once he'd married.

  CHAPTER 16

  Tired as she was, Quinn had a difficult time falling asleep. Monette had magically appeared to brush out her hair and help her into her nightgown, then had faded away again, leaving her alone with her thoughts in the big four-poster bed.

  Rolling onto her side, Quinn reflected again on the contrast Marcus presented. His concern for propriety had been evident when he cautioned her against staying too late in Bond Street, and again when she had foolishly galloped in the Park. But in the bedchamber, he seemed to have no such worries. There, he had appeared to throw caution to the winds —until now.

  She'd been embarrassed and hurt when he'd suggested she return to her room, but she'd been careful not to show it. Now she tried to convince herself she should be flattered that he found her such a distraction that she would keep him from much-needed sleep. But—

  A creak outside her door made her sit up, listening. Had that been a footstep? After a tense, silent moment, she lay back down. If so, it was doubtless Marcus's valet, leaving him for the night, or one of the maids, snuffing the candles in the hallway sconces. Nothing for her to worry about.

  Only one night in his bed, and now she couldn't sleep in her own? She chided herself, wondering if she were really as smitten as all that. If so, it would be too bad, since he could clearly do without her for a night.

  With a sigh, she reminded herself that she had always valued independence, that she had goals of her own, unconnected with Marcus. If she were wise, she would do well to guard her heart. But as she finally drifted off to sleep, she still hadn't suppressed the longing she felt for his touch, dangerous as she knew that could be to her future peace of mind.

  * * *

  Walking briskly toward Duke Street, Marcus found himself going back over his meeting with Mr. Paxton that afternoon. Immediately upon returning from White's, he had written and posted a letter warning Luke so that his friend would not return to Town unaware of the investigation.

  Still, if he was going to do what he'd planned to overset the crimps' operation, he needed to work quickly, before
Paxton had time to begin questioning more of the Seven Dials street urchins. He'd also need to alert his own group to the danger. If one of "his" lads was arrested as a result of his own activities, he would never forgive himself.

  Gobby, Stilt and Tig all awaited him at the corner he'd designated, looking rather pleased with themselves.

  "Gent's gone out, milord," Stilt whispered as soon as he reached them. "Two of the others on that list was with 'im, too. Renny's the best of us at tailing, so he's gone after 'em to see what they're up to."

  "I'm just as good," Tig protested, puffing out his thin chest. "But I was hoping I could help you here, like I did before at that other house."

  Marcus valiantly kept his expression serious. "And I appreciate that. I appreciate what all of you have done, in fact." Quickly, he told them the gist of his conversation with Mr. Paxton that afternoon, including the man's plan for catching the Saint through his cohorts.

  Gobby snorted indignantly. "There's some things brass can't buy, milord." The others nodded fiercely. "There are lads on the street who'd sell their own mothers for a few shillings, but the Saint always knew better than to trust 'em."

  "That's right, milord," Stilt agreed. "Still, it's good you warned us. It won't do for anyone to boast we've been helping the Saint through you, where the wrong ears might hear." He looked pointedly at Tig, who pretended not to notice.

  "That was my primary concern," Marcus told them. "I know how word can get around, and it would only take one lad putting profit over principle to land us all—and the Saint as well—in prison."

  They all nodded again, faces set and serious. Yes, he could trust them, Marcus thought with relief.

  "Now, on to tonight's work," he said then, and at once their eyes brightened. "We'll start here, at Captain McCarty's lodgings, but I hope to hit at least one of the others tonight as well." The sooner he could put a stop to this operation, the better. "You say he's gone out. How many servants?"

  "He just seems to have the one manservant, and he's gone out as well. His rooms are on the second story, left-hand side," Stilt told him.