The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  Peter shook his head, sternly suppressing a most inappropriate urge to smile. "I would not. Particularly since I heard earlier this evening that Miss Cheevers discovered one of the Saint's calling cards in her reticule last night, upon her return home. May I assume that the Llewellyns will find one as well?"

  "Yes," she admitted after another long hesitation. "But I'm . . . I'm not actually the Saint of Seven Dials, you know."

  "No, I don't see how you can be. The authorities, however, now seem convinced that their earlier guess was wrong and that the Saint is indeed back in business."

  To his surprise, Sarah actually smiled. "They do? Good."

  He regarded her questioningly and her expression changed, became more guarded.

  "I mean, as long as they are looking for the real Saint, they are unlikely to suspect me," she explained, a little too glibly. He was certain this was not the real reason for her relief.

  "You must remember, however, what I told you. Though it appears the Runners do not know of the link between the Saint and the traitor, you can be assured that certain men in government do. Believe me, Sarah, you do not want your name brought into that."

  She swallowed visibly. "No, of course not. But surely there is little risk of that? I can prove that I was not in London at the time of the last thefts, or during the traitor's activities."

  "True. But now, I'd very much like to know why you are stealing in the first place. Is someone demanding money of you?"

  She appeared to think for a moment, then shook her head. "I am merely trying to lay a bit by, against the inevitable day when Lady Mountheath finally turns me out."

  "Ah. Then it's nothing to do with your, ah, friend's brother, the boy you were looking for earlier?"

  Her blue eyes went wide and worried. "What do you—? No, no, of course not."

  Peter merely looked at her, for her reaction had answered his question clearly enough. She seemed to realize it.

  "I told you that after I was orphaned, I lived in London," she continued after a moment. "It happens that I still have a few friends from that time— friends who are in need."

  "So the story you told me of your friend's brother was entirely fictitious? That lad, Flute, was really one of these 'friends' you were attempting to locate?"

  Again alarm flared in her eyes, but she nodded, slowly. "One of them, yes. He's just a boy, of course," she added. "He knows nothing of what I've done."

  "I see." She seemed quite anxious to protect these "friends." "Surely there must be a safer way for you to acquire money?" he asked then. "Why stealing?"

  The look she gave him was far too cynical for her young face. "I have tried to get employment, if you recall. I intend to keep trying, but everyone tells me I have little chance of success. It may be difficult for a man to understand, but a young woman alone in the world has few options —and even fewer respectable ones."

  He blinked, surprised to realize that not only was she right, but that he'd never really thought about it before. Where a boy or young man might put his muscles to work if his brain would not serve, a female had few choices. Sarah was too young to be employed as a companion and too pretty to easily get a position as governess —and those comprised the extent of respectable positions for an educated woman. That, and—

  "There is always marriage." The words seemed to escape without his volition.

  "So the Duke of Wickburn suggested to Lady Mountheath," she replied. Though she continued to meet his eyes, her color deepened slightly. "But given my . . . situation, that seems more dishonest than stealing. Am I to persuade some man to take a pig in the poke simply to escape the Mountheaths' tender care?"

  "You are no 'pig in the poke,' Sarah, but an intelligent and exceptionally beautiful young lady," Peter said, leaning forward to take her hand in his. "And I know of one man, at least, who would need no persuasion at all."

  She stared, the rosy hue abruptly leaving her cheeks. "Is that an offer of marriage, my lord?"

  "Not very eloquent, eh? But I would be greatly honored if you would become my wife, Miss Killian. I—"

  But she was already shaking her head. "I know, both from my own experience and from what others have said about you, that you are exceedingly kind and often rescue those in trouble. While I am most grateful for your gallant offer, I fear I could never —that is—" She choked on something suspiciously like a sob.

  To his dismay, he saw tears shimmering in her lovely blue eyes. At once he was beside her, his arms enfolding her, desperate to ease her pain. "Please believe me, Sarah, that I do not offer out of pity, but because I truly believe we could be happy together. Do you not believe so as well?"

  She managed a watery smile. "I can scarcely deny I'd be far happier as your wife than as Lady Mountheath's ward —as you must know. But I could not live with myself if I allowed you to make such a sacrifice on my behalf."

  "Sacrifice!"

  Even now, it seemed, she was unwilling to put her own interests ahead of his. "Does this seem like sacrifice to you?" Peter covered her lips with his and began to show her in the most direct way possible just what she meant to him.

  After a stunned moment, Sarah melted into the kiss, feeling for an instant that she'd found heaven. For a few blissful seconds she felt loved, cherished, protected —but then grim reality intruded, even as Lord Peter's lips thrilled her senses.

  He desired her, yes, but she already knew that. Desire alone could never sustain the sort of union he proposed, unequal in every way. He had social position, a noble lineage, and enough money, at least, to live comfortably. She had nothing— nothing but the beauty she had almost come to regard as a curse.

  And now it threatened to curse Lord Peter as well— the only person other than Mrs. Hounslow who had ever been kind to her. She could think of only one way to repay him, to prevent him from ruining his life for her sake.

  Tilting her head back, she allowed him to rain kisses on her throat as she undid the top buttons of her dowdy gray gown. With a throaty growl, he followed her fingers with his lips, trailing fire down her chest, to the cleft between her breasts.

  Quickly, her heart pounding, she undid the rest of her bodice, baring herself to the waist except for her sheer chemise. Perhaps this would be no sacrifice after all! With shaking fingers, she untied the strings at the top of the chemise.

  His hands roved over her bare shoulders, her upper back, while his lips caressed the upper swells of her breasts. Sarah felt her breath coming in quick gasps, ready and more than ready for whatever might follow.

  Then, suddenly, he stilled. "What . . . what are you— what are we doing? There will be time enough for this once we are wed. I'll procure a special license tomorrow, and then—"

  Smiling, Sarah shook her head. "There is no need. Don't you see? You need not marry me. I am willing to give myself to you with no strings attached."

  Instead of the delighted surprise she expected, he looked shocked. Pulling away from her, he said, "I'm not sure I understand. You are offering . . . what? A night of pleasure in payment for my help tonight —and my silence?"

  Put like that, it sounded sordid, even mercenary. She put out a hand, hoping to somehow recapture the passion that had been growing between them only moments ago. "No! I simply want—" You, she nearly said aloud. "—to make you happy," she continued. "You have been so kind to me, even knowing—"

  "What will make me happy is to know that you are safe. I'm not certain you realize the danger you are in, Sarah. We cannot know that no one else saw you stealing from Miss Cheevers' reticule last night. Now that the alarm has been raised, rewards will be posted again for the capture of the Saint. As your husband, I can protect you."

  The concern in his eyes melted Sarah's heart. To be Lord Peter's wife would be the fulfilment of every fairy-tale fantasy she had ever entertained. But at what price?

  Sadly, she shook her head again. "You cannot have thought, my lord. What would your family say were you to marry someone like me?"

  "Do you t
hink I care—" he began, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips.

  "Apart from my lack of family or fortune," she continued, "there is the very risk you mention. Should I be suspect as the Saint of Seven Dials, that suspicion might well reflect upon you as well. That would be a fine way to repay your generosity to me, would it not?"

  He scowled at her. "Don't you see that I care nothing for that?" he demanded.

  "But I do," she said quietly. "I would not be able to abide myself if I brought any sort of harm to you—or to your name."

  For a moment he stared at her, an arrested expression in his eyes, then he seemed to relax slightly. "Will you at least promise me not to steal again?"

  She thought for a moment. If the pursuit was really as hot as he said, she wasn't sure she dared attempt another robbery. Besides, if she refused, he would undoubtedly resume his insistance that she marry him, whatever price he might eventually have to pay. She wasn't sure she could hold out against him much longer. Her unselfishness had its limits.

  "I promise. In fact, here are my remaining Saint cards, as surety." She pulled the last five cards from her pocket and handed them to him. "Please, though, let me dispose of this last package as I see fit."

  Taking the cards from her, he nodded, and she felt an irrational pang of disappointment. "I'll see you home," he said.

  Home. To think, had she chosen, her home might have been with him instead of the odious Mountheaths! Had she been unconscionably stupid to refuse his offer? Lady Mountheath and others of her ilk would certainly say so.

  At one time she'd thought she would do anything short of sacrificing her virtue to take care of her brother. Tonight had shown her how wrong she was. Her virtue she had been ready to give away, even without material advantage. But the one thing she would not do was allow this kind man— this man she had grown to love —to give up everything for her sake, or even for William's.

  Taking his arm, she regretfully let her brief, beautiful fantasy dissipate into nothingness, resolved to take what satisfaction she could from knowing she had done the right thing.

  * * *

  Peter glanced down at the amazing girl by his side as they made their way along the mews behind Berkley Square. What a gallant spirit she had! Even now, with the authorities practically on her heels and no real prospects, she sought to protect others before herself.

  Whether or not young Flute was her brother, Peter couldn't help admiring the determined way she had insisted he was not involved in her crimes. She must be stealing to provide for him, and perhaps others, but not for herself. Understandable, he supposed, that she would be so protective of youngsters living on the streets the way she had once lived herself.

  But she was also trying to protect him, Peter. He was amused, but even more, he was humbled. Surely, he had done nothing to deserve such selfless sacrifice on Sarah's part? Nor, of course, could he allow it. Not when it was in his power to save her from her generous folly.

  "Here we are," he murmured as they reached the Mountheaths' back gate. "Again. Really, we seem almost to be making a habit of this."

  She dimpled up at him in the darkness. "You are very kind to me, my lord. Thank you."

  A lance of desire went through him but he restrained it. By this time tomorrow, he would have her agreement to marry him. "Surely you know me well enough now to call me Peter? You have been 'Sarah' in my thoughts for several days now."

  "Peter, then," she whispered —a seductive sound.

  "Good night, Sarah." It seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms for a farewell kiss, nor did she hesitate this time in returning it.

  He released her before he could lose himself in her sweetness. For that, he was willing to wait— though not very long. As before, he watched her into the house, a smile curving his lips. Then he turned his steps toward home. Tomorrow promised to be a big day. And the day after, the biggest of his life.

  * * *

  Despite her conflicted emotions, Sarah slept well —too well. Though she'd intended to rise early and slip away to deliver her package of purloined goods to Paddy before the family was astir, she was roused by Fanny's maid, Libby, touching her shoulder.

  "Her ladyship wants that you should help me refurbish Miss Fanny's bonnets this morning before the ladies go out shopping," Libby told her, setting coffee and a bun on Sarah's dressing table. "I thought we should start directly, once you've had a bite. I'll wait in the servants' hall with the bonnets and trimmings."

  "Thank you, Libby."

  Sarah wiped the sleep from her eyes and took a fortifying sip of the lukewarm coffee, cursing her sluggishness. At least retrimming bonnets would be less odious than polishing brasses, and she had both her bittersweet memories of last night and planning for her necessary escape to keep her thoughts occupied.

  Guessing that she would not be allowed into the parlor at all today lest she practice her evil wiles on any male visitors, Sarah dressed in one of her old gowns. Then, picking up her sewing things, she headed down the servants' stairs.

  As before when she'd been belowstairs, the servants seemed not to know how to act toward her. She couldn't blame them. Lady Mountheath's inconsistency made Sarah neither fish nor fowl. So, though they didn't include her in their conversations, they seemed willing enough to talk in front of her.

  "Fair landed on his feet, young Woodruff has," Mrs. Mann, the head cook's assistant was saying. "Sully was sayin' how he's lordin' it over Hardwyck Hall. Fancy, a stripling like him playing at bein' a butler!"

  "Aye, I'll bet Miss Fanny'd never have had her ladyship turn him off if she'd known how well he'd end up," said one of the footmen with a chuckle. "Wish it'd been me she blamed when she broke her fan, instead. Think you Lord Hardwyck is still hirin' on staff?"

  Libby, sewing next to Sarah, gasped aloud. "Hush now, Thomas! If word gets back to her ladyship you're talkin' like that, you'll find yourself in the street right enough." A sullen murmer of agreement followed this statement.

  Clearly, Sarah reflected, being of lower class didn't guarantee happiness any more than did exalted status. It all depended on one's outlook, and one's situation relative to one's peers. But who were her own peers now? She wasn't sure she knew.

  Had she accepted Lord Peter's offer —but no. She mustn't think along those lines, for that way lay regret and unhappiness. He had at least saved her from her momentary weakness, during which she'd come close to fulfilling Lady Mountheath's dire prophecies about her prospects. There was still the respectable alternative of governessing.

  Why that thought should depress her so, she wasn't certain.

  When she had been sewing for nearly two hours and was finishing the last bonnet, a footman approached her. "Miss Killian?" His tentative expression underscored her uncertain status.

  "Yes, Casper?" She smiled kindly at the young man, feeling a need to do all in her power to cheer this cheerless lot.

  "There's a gentleman upstairs askin' for you, miss," he said softly. "For you specially. Her ladyship is putting 'im off, but he seems mighty determined. I . . . I thought you should know."

  Sarah's heart began to pound. It must be Peter, but why should he be so insistent today? She had refused him in no uncertain terms last night. Had he discovered something else about the authorities' pursuit of the Saint?

  "Thank you, Casper." A quick glance showed that none of the other servants seemed to have overheard them. "If you can, tell him I'll be up directly."

  Casper nodded, tugging his forelock, then left. Sarah finished attaching the sprig of artificial flowers she'd been working on, laid the bonnet aside and stood.

  "I'll be back in a few minutes, Libby," she said to the maid's questioning look. "I've, ah, forgotten something upstairs."

  She wished now she'd worn something more attractive, but there was no time to go up to her room and change. Smoothing her hair with her fingers, her nerves humming with anticipation, she made her way up the back stairs to the first floor, then tiptoed to the
parlor door.

  "Should Miss Killian not have received my message by now, my lady?" Peter was saying.

  "No doubt," Lady Mountheath replied. "Likely she is composing a reply, saying that she does not feel equal to coming downstairs —just as I've been telling you."

  Smiling, Sarah entered the room. "How good of you to inquire after me, Lord Peter. I am feeling much more the thing now, my lady, but I thank you for your concern."

  Flushing, Lady Mountheath opened her mouth then shut it again, apparently realizing that to order Sarah from the room would be to contradict whatever tale she had concocted to account for her absence.

  "I'm delighted to see you so well, Miss Killian," said Peter, springing to his feet. "And what a fetching gown that is."

  Sarah glanced down at her old gray homespun, then back up, to see his eyes dancing. She nearly laughed aloud, but caught herself in time.

  "You are too kind, my lord," she said with only the smallest tremor to her voice. She dropped a small curtsey and he took her hand as she rose.

  "Not at all. It is perfectly proper to compliment the woman I hope to make my wife."

  A stunned silence greeted his words. The Mountheath ladies all gaped, while Sarah herself felt the color drain from her face. How could he do this, after she had unequivocally refused last night to marry him?

  "I . . . I beg your pardon, my lord?" she finally managed to gasp, risking a quick glance at Lady Mountheath, who was opening and closing her mouth, not unlike a codfish.

  He kept his hold on her hand, the warmth of his fingers penetrating his glove. "I am asking you to marry me, Miss Killian." Though he still smiled, there was a determination behind his twinkling brown eyes that told her he knew exactly what he was doing.

  Helplessly, Sarah began to shake her head. "I told you— that is, I cannot—"

  "Of course she cannot," Lady Mountheath exclaimed, abruptly finding her voice. "She knows full well that you have been courting my Lucy, Lord Peter. What sort of perfidy is this?"

  He turned, his expression unruffled. "With all due apology, my lady, I have been doing no such thing. Can either of you cite anything I have actually said that implied I had intentions toward Miss Mountheath?"