The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  Noel nodded, grinning. "See how the others are doing."

  They headed back the way they'd come and found Marcus guarding two more bound urchins. "Where's Luke?" Noel asked.

  "Right here," came a voice from behind them. Turning, they saw Luke emerging from the doorway, a lanky teen at his side.

  "Oh, William!" Sarah cried, flinging herself at the boy. "You're safe!"

  "Sarah?" the boy said in amazement. "What the devil are you doing here?"

  Luke glanced behind him at the doorway. "Explanations will have to wait. Let's get out of here."

  Peter stepped forward and put one arm around Sarah and the other around her brother, grinning down at the boy, who stared up at him in baffled awe. "Yes— let's go home."

  * * *

  "So let me get this straight," Flute said. "Sarah was the one who sent me those jewels and such, saying they were from the Saint?"

  The six of them sat around the fire in the library at Peter and Sarah's house on Curzon Street. Sarah leaned against Peter on the sofa, Flute on a stool at her feet. She had never been so happy in her life.

  "I had to keep you from attempting to play the Saint yourself," she told her brother. "I confess my solution was rather unorthodox, but it seemed the risks to you would be greater than for me. Besides, no one would suspect a woman."

  "Almost no one," Peter corrected her, even as the others voiced their agreement with her statement.

  She gazed up at him, drinking in the planes of his face, now softened by his obvious affection for her. "I knew you would be my greatest challenge, for almost from the moment I met you, you always seemed to know my very thoughts." He smiled down at her, his brown eyes kindling.

  "And you married this gent," Flute said, bringing them back to their surroundings. "When were you planning to tell me about that?"

  Sarah tried to look apologetic, but was too content to have much success. "It all happened so quickly —there really wasn't time. It was only the day after we were wed that I received that ransom note from Ickle."

  "Well, that's one problem that will no longer plague the London streets," Marcus declared. "Sorry you had to be the one to take him out, though, Pete."

  At that reminder, Sarah glanced up at her husband with concern, but Peter shrugged. "I had no choice. Certain situations demand difficult solutions —and a man can't live his life in regret for having done what was necessary."

  Sarah squeezed his hand, tight in hers, to convey that she understood just how important that realization was for him. He squeezed back. Suddenly, she couldn't wait to be alone with him.

  "Well said," Noel Paxton declared, rising. "And quite true. It's a lesson with which I had to come to terms some time ago. But now, I'd best take my leave, as I'm heading back to Derbyshire at first light. I only hope Rowena won't be too upset that she missed our little adventure when I tell her about it."

  The others rose as well. "Tomorrow we'll see how many of Ickle's lads we can convince to go to your school, Marcus," Lord Hardwyck said. "Flute, suppose you come home with me tonight, and bring me up to date on all that's happened in my absence?"

  The lad glanced at Sarah, who nodded. "We'll have your room ready tomorrow," she promised. "And when you get back, we'll talk about you going to school yourself."

  He frowned. "I ain't goin' back to Westerham! That place—"

  "Of course not," she agreed. "I had something quite different in mind. What would you say to Oxford?"

  Now surprised delight spread across his face. "Oxford? Really?"

  Lord Hardwyck put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll write you a letter of recommendation myself."

  "And tell me more tales of it?" Flute asked hopefully, making everyone chuckle.

  "Of course —but only the decent ones," Lord Hardwyck replied, with a wink at Sarah.

  A few minutes later they had all gone, leaving Sarah and Peter alone in their beautiful marbled front hall. Peter twined his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. "It occurs to me," he murmured, "that while you had your bath this evening, I never had mine. Perhaps you would care to assist me?"

  She tilted her head up to kiss his jaw, lightly stubbled with a day's growth of beard. "I'd be delighted," she said.

  Together, they mounted the stairs. On reaching Peter's chamber, he sent Holmes, his valet, downstairs to request a bath, then turned back to Sarah. Suddenly clasping her tightly to him, he buried his face in her hair.

  "I'm so glad to have you safe," he whispered. "So glad you never need put yourself into danger again, for I think it might kill me to lose you. I love you, Sarah."

  She clung to him, reveling in the words she'd wanted to hear for what seemed an eternity, though in truth it was little more than a week. But what a week! "I love you too, Peter. More than life itself. I will never keep secrets from you again."

  "I will hold you to that promise —and pledge the same. I believe we both learned something about each other, and about ourselves, tonight. You are a clever, resourceful woman, Sarah, and all I could ever have hoped for in a wife— even if you have worried me half to death as a result."

  She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "Truly, Peter? I so want to be worthy of you."

  "You are a treasure beyond price," he declared, the intensity of his gaze underscoring the sincerity of his words. "I believe I may well be the luckiest man alive."

  He bent to kiss her, but Holmes returned then, with footmen who quickly prepared Peter's bath. Sarah and Peter stood side by side, arms entwined, until they were again alone. Then she turned to him and began unfastening his shirt.

  "This is much easier when you're not wearing one of those complicated cravats," she commented lightly, though her heart was full to overflowing.

  He grinned, undoing the top button of her old gray dress. "This gown does not pose as much challenge as your finer ones, either," he said. "Perhaps we should dress down more often. But I must say, it was rather unsettling to see how easily you slipped into the role you played tonight."

  Sarah leaned forward and pressed her lips against his now-bare chest. "It is a role I never intend to play again —a past I wish to forget as much as you wished to forget your time in the war. Indeed, I feel quite sullied by my contact with that nasty Ickle. I believe I will need another bath."

  Chuckling, he stripped off her gown until it lay pooled on the floor at her feet in a gray heap. "I was hoping you would say that." Stepping into the bath, he picked up a cloth and wet it. "Come here."

  Her heart hammering with anticipation, she came to him. "I fear we won't both fit into the tub."

  "No matter. Once we're clean, we'll move to the bed— unless you would prefer the library?"

  She shook her head. "As I think you guessed, security makes for a more enjoyable . . . experience."

  He began washing her breasts, the rough cloth sending tremors through her body. Stooping to seize another cloth, she rubbed it slowly down his chest, delighting in the way his flat, male nipples hardened at her touch. Then she progressed lower, lower.

  He growled, then covered her mouth with his, pulling her tight against him. At the same time, he laved her back, a lovely sensation of its own.

  "Now this is the sort of novelty I can enjoy," she said when he finally released her lips. "Ah! Here is the soap." Bending down again, she retrieved it and quickly worked up a lather between her hands. "No, my lord."

  Though he twitched as she washed him, he made no attempt to stop her and she marveled yet again at the size of his maleness. She ran her fingers up and down its length, then covered its tip with the palm of her hand, massaging it.

  He swallowed convulsively and gasped, "If we're to make it to the bed, we'd best rinse off." He knelt, and she followed him down, gasping herself as the warm water—and then his hand—contacted the juncture of her thighs. "My turn," he murmured, making her twitch as he'd done, until the water slopped over the sides of the tub.

  "Oh, my," she said. "Holmes won't like that at all."

  "Mm. Let
's dry off, then." Pulling her to her feet, he stepped from the tub and wrapped a thick towel about her, again roughing the sensitive skin of her breasts. "We'll have to share, as there is but one towel," he said.

  Sarah grinned, gave him a quick kiss, then rubbed the towel, still around her own body, against his. Then, as he'd done, she wrapped the rough material about him, drying his back, pressing her breasts against his chest.

  "Dry enough, I think," he said, and, to her surprise, scooped her up in his arms to carry her to the bed. "Now, my lady wife."

  Already her body clamored for his, and he did not make her wait, for he was clearly as eager for this, their first completely honest joining, as she was. Parting her with his fingers, he entered her with a groan, suckling at her breasts as he drove into her. She arched her head back, exulting in the knowledge that he was hers and she was his— completely.

  "I love you, Peter," she gasped, as he drove her over the edge of ecstasy. "I love you with all my heart."

  "And you are my heart, Sarah, my love, my life." With a final thrust, he emptied all he had into her, then collapsed beside her on the bed.

  "I hope you now feel completely secure with me, Sarah," Peter said when their breathing had slowed enough for more speech. "It's what I've wanted for you all along."

  "Completely," she assured him, pressing her lips to his to reinforce her answer. "In fact, the very day I met you I fantasized that you might sweep me off my feet and take care of me forever."

  He grinned, delighted. "Indeed? Then you'll be pleased to know I've taken steps to do just that, whatever should happen to me. You never asked, but I arranged to have thirty thousand pounds settled upon you the day we married. You need never worry about your future —or your brother's —again."

  Sarah gaped at him. "Thirty . . . thousand pounds? Just how rich are you, my lord?" she asked sternly, "And why did you not tell me?"

  "I had to be sure you didn't want me for my money," he said, enjoying her amazement. "I've done well with some investments, and can now claim to be one of the weathier men in England. Not until I met you, however, did I know how to use it properly. I donated a similar sum to Mrs. Hounslow for her kindness to you. She assures me she intends to put it to very good use helping other poor orphans."

  Sarah flung her arms about him. "Oh, Peter, you are the most generous man I have ever known. I can't think why Marcus doubted you could have been the Saint, for you are certainly heroic enough."

  "You flatter me, my love. But now you are retired, I have no intention of taking your place as Saint. I'll be far happier simply being your husband."

  She kissed him again, and even as he felt his body stirring in response, he realized he might know someone who would enjoy playing the Saint. Perhaps with a mission to give his life meaning, Harry would finally develop the responsibility to take over his own fortune.

  "And I'll be eternally happy to be simply your wife," Sarah murmured against his lips. "Believe me, I have put my sinful ways behind me forever."

  "Not all of them, I hope," he replied with a grin, pulling her tightly against him.

  Eagerly molding herself to his body, she chuckled. "Very well, I'll be sinful for you— but only for you." And she proceeded to show him exactly what she meant.

  THE END

  Table of Contents

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Saintly Sins (originally published as Wickedly Yours) is the fourth and, so far, final book of my "Saint of Seven Dials" series of Regency-set historical romances. Like the others in this series, it is set in the same "world" as my traditional Regencies and Scandalous Virtue, with a few of the same (fictional) peripheral characters. Though each of my books stands alone, complete in itself, some readers prefer to read them in order. My Regency historicals, in order (both chronologically in the period and in order of publication) are: Scandalous Virtue, Rogue's Honor, Noble Deceptions (originally published as A Rebellious Bride), Innocent Passions and Saintly Sins (originally published as Wickedly Yours). These last four comprise my "Saint of Seven Dials" series. Loosely linked to those, but not quite a part of the series, are also Taming Tessa (title subject to change) and The Runaway Heiress. I had originally intended to write a fifth "Saint" book, with Harry Thatcher as the hero, but that idea was unfortunately vetoed by my Avon editor at the time. Now, however, if enough people want to read Harry's story, I may just write it after all and put it out as an e-book! With all of my Regency historicals, I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to stretch my wings beyond the rather strict boundaries of the traditional Regency, while still preserving the feel and accuracy of the time period. For these reissues, I have taken the opportunity to clean up a few small errors of fact and proofing and have restored my originally planned titles to two of them. I am delighted to again share my stories with you in this new format. If you have enjoyed any of these books, I would be very grateful if you would take the time to write a brief review and/or rate the story at whatever venue you purchased it. In any case, thank you so much for reading my stories!

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  For information on my other books, please visit http://brendahiatt.com or connect with me online at http://www.facebook.com/BrendaHiatt or http://twitter.com/#!/brenda_hiatt

  Table of Contents