The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  "I thank you for the compliment," he replied, lifting her hand to his lips. "Are you sure you don't want another demonstration right now?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  She was far too tempted, but this time it was her own sense of propriety that won out, rather than his. "I will defer it till this evening, when we can truly be alone."

  "Very well. Now I've a reputation to live up to, I'd best fortify myself. Cheese?" He handed her a slice and took one himself.

  His grin made her suspect he'd been bluffing about making love to her right here, where they might be discovered, and for a moment she wished she had put him to the test. Had she been wrong about him all along, or did he merely wish her to think so? Now she wasn't sure at all.

  There was no denying the chemistry between them, however. It fairly hummed in the air as they finished their repast, exchanging lingering looks along with the food. All too soon, they were done. Quinn took a last, longing look around their hideaway, resolving that she really would try to recreate it if she ever had the chance, and then rose.

  "Should we not rejoin the party? Our absence may be noticed."

  "No matter if it is. We are newlyweds," he replied, but stood with her, leaving the empty tray. "Still, I can't resist the chance to show you off a bit. Come."

  Though she knew she should feel offended at the idea of being displayed like an ornament, the idea that he was proud enough of her to show her off gratified her, nearly making up for the night before last, when he had sent her away. Perhaps he really had been tired . . .

  "Lady Mountheath! How pleasant to see you again so soon."

  Quinn turned at Marcus's greeting to see the woman she had most dreaded meeting again. Telling herself there was nothing more to fear from her, she forced a polite smile to her face.

  "I was so delighted to learn that your betrothal was a true one after all," Lady Mountheath said, showing far too many teeth as her eyes raked over Quinn, lingering meaningfully on her midsection. "The announcement of your wedding, however, took us all by surprise yet again, I confess."

  With a smile as determined as Lady Mountheath's, Quinn responded, "We wished to be married before my father left England. Business required him to ship out earlier than planned, so we decided not to wait."

  It was a perfectly plausible explanation, and Lady Mountheath's smile sagged a bit in disappointment. "Of course. Very practical. I wish you both very happy."

  They moved on, leaving her to hunt for gossip elsewhere. A few other acquaintances greeted Marcus. He introduced Quinn to those she had not met, then fell into a discussion on the burning of a notorious gaming hell. While they talked, Quinn looked about her, nodding a greeting to Miss Chalmers before her eye fell upon Mr. Paxton, determinedly heading their way.

  "Lady Marcus!" he exclaimed as he reached them. "I trust you are beginning to feel more at home in England? Lord Marcus." With a nod he greeted her husband as well. Marcus returned the nod before turning his attention back to the animated description of the fire Mr. Thatcher was providing.

  "Good day, Mr. Paxton. Yes, I'm settling in, I believe," Quinn responded with a smile. "How goes the thief-catching business?" With her new connection to the Saint, she found herself more curious than before —and a tiny bit nervous.

  "Slowly, I fear, but I've by no means given up hope. Sooner or later he will make a mistake, and then I shall have him— though no doubt I will incur the enmity of innumerable ladies when that happens."

  He was handsome, she supposed, with his chestnut curls and hazel eyes, but he held not a tenth of the attraction for her that Marcus did. She saw him only as a threat to her plans for the girls' school —but of course he must not suspect that.

  "Surely you cannot think us as shallow as that, Mr. Paxton," she said teasingly. "Romantic as the Saint may seem in stories, I'm sure most of us prefer law and order with our heads, if not our hearts."

  Though he still smiled, his eyes were shrewd, she thought, as he lowered his voice. "I do hope so, Lady Marcus. I understand that you have hired a child or two from off the streets since your marriage?"

  Polly and Gobby. He'd somehow learned of their passing her note to the Saint! Fighting to let no trace of panic show on her face, she shrugged. "Our housekeeper handles the hirings, but it seems a charitable thing to do, there are so many unfortunates."

  "Of course. But should one of these new servants have any information about the Saint's activities, you will send me word, will you not?"

  The intensity of his gaze compelled honesty, so she chose her words carefully, sensing that he would spot a lie. "You can trust me to do the right thing, Mr. Paxton," she said firmly. "That is a promise."

  CHAPTER 18

  The small group around Harry Thatcher burst into laughter at his description of a young buck with his breeches afire. Marcus forced a chuckle, but in fact his attention was given solely to Paxton's conversation with his wife. Quinn had just promised to help the man catch the Saint of Seven Dials!

  Did she know about Gobby? Clearly Paxton did. He would warn the boy when they returned home— against Paxton, and perhaps against Quinn, as well.

  He now turned to Paxton himself, smiling as though he'd been listening to Harry instead of to him. "Did I hear you say you've made progress in your investigation?"

  But Paxton shook his head. "No real progress, no. I'm merely trying to pursue all leads, however slight, until your friend, Lord Hardwyck, returns."

  Marcus relaxed marginally. Still, someone must have informed him about Gobby coming to work in the stables. One of the other boys in the group, perhaps?

  Just as well he'd brought only Gobby as lookout when he'd delivered the donation to Mrs. Hounslow. He'd had to be exceedingly quick to avoid the alert maidservant's eye as he left the money just inside the kitchen door, with a note attached.

  "How very energetic of you," he responded now with a feigned yawn. "I'm glad to see you are able to take some time off for pleasure."

  "I suppose my work ethic does border on the bourgeoise." Paxton grinned, appearing completely at ease now. "But it requires no more energy than a devotion to the hunt, or the gaming tables. Perhaps less."

  "And is far more useful," Marcus agreed, relaxing further. "Touché." Again, he found himself almost liking the fellow, blast it. He turned to Quinn. "Did you say you wished another glass of lemonade, my dear?"

  Though she'd claimed no such thing previously, she nodded. "Indeed, I am quite parched, my lord. If you will excuse us, Mr. Paxton?"

  Once they were out of earshot, she asked, "How long are we expected to stay?"

  "Dare I hope that means you are eager to be alone with me?" In truth, he was more than ready to leave, and not just because he wanted to resume his seduction of his wife.

  "Am I so obvious?" Her smile made his other concerns fade to the background, his heart quickening its beat.

  "Let us make our excuses to our host and hostess, then," he suggested. Accordingly, they sought out Lord and Lady Jeller, in conversation with a group of people near a charming folly not far from the tents, and bade them farewell.

  A few of those standing by cast knowing glances his way, but Marcus didn't care. They were quite right in their suppositions, in any event. Glacing down at Quinn by his side, he marveled again at how petite she was, how innocent she appeared in her confection of white lace and muslin. He knew what passion lurked beneath that angelic exterior, however, and he was eager to release it.

  "We have no plans for the rest of the day, have we?" he asked as he handed her into the carriage. Given an entire evening alone with Quinn, surely he could—

  "I received a note this morning from the Claridges," she replied, "inviting us to join them at the theatre tonight. We needn't go if you do not wish to, of course."

  "I'd rather like to take you to the theatre, I believe." They'd have plenty of time together beforehand —enough time, he hoped, for what he had planned.

  But then his thoughts returned to his earlier concern. "Did I he
ar you promising Paxton you'd help him in his investigations?" The words were out before he could prevent them.

  She glance at him, clearly startled. "Not in any active way." A rather evasive answer, he thought. "Since I can't imagine what help I could possibly be, it was surely an empty promise in any event."

  "No doubt." He wanted to ask her about Gobby, but realized that would only arouse her suspicions if she were yet unaware that he'd been hired. "I agree, of course, that it would be our duty to report anything we might learn, from whatever source— however unlikely that seems."

  "I am relieved that we are of one mind on the matter."

  As she seemed no more inclined to discuss it further than he was, he changed the subject. "What production are we to see tonight? I presume it is at one of the smaller theatres, as the larger ones have concluded their seasons until October."

  "Yes, the Lyceum. An operatic comedy, I believe my uncle said."

  They lightly discussed theatre in general —he was surprised to learn she had attended often in Baltimore —until they reached home. "I find I am already hungry again," Marcus said teasingly as he led Quinn into the house. "Perhaps we should ask Cook to prepare us a tray?"

  The look she slanted up at him showed she caught his meaning. "Shall we take it in the library, or upstairs, do you think?"

  "Oh, upstairs, definitely. The chairs in the library are so inconveniently placed for sharing a meal, you know."

  That wasn't true, but if she noticed she didn't comment upon it, instead agreeing that his was an excellent plan. Sending a footman to request that a repast of assorted meats, bread, cheeses and fruit be sent up, they mounted the stairs together.

  On reaching his chamber, Quinn turned to him with a wicked smile that made his pulse race. "I believe you said something about a demonstration, my lord?"

  "Shall I begin it now, or wait until the food arrives?" he asked, stroking her cheek with the back of one hand. Indeed, he was burning to resume his interrupted seduction.

  "Oh. I suppose you should wait," she said with a little pout that required him to kiss her. She responded eagerly, and it was only with great difficulty that he restrained himself from undressing her at once.

  Her own hands worked at his cravat, then his shirt fastenings, until he was bare to the waist. "Unfair," he murmured, and began undoing the hooks down her back, delighting in the smoothness of her skin as it was revealed, inch by delicious inch. He was just easing her dress over her shoulders, still kissing her deeply, when a discreet tap sounded at the door.

  They broke apart, and Quinn glanced down at herself, and then at him. "Oops." She sounded contrite, but her eyes danced with mischief.

  "Vixen. Into the dressing room with you, while the tray is brought in."

  Obediently, she disappeared and Marcus flung a dressing gown about his bare torso, then opened the door. The footman wisely did not notice anything amiss as he placed the tray as directed on a low table and bowed out of the room.

  "You may come out now," Marcus called, and at once Quinn reappeared, pulling her gown back up over her shoulders. "No need for that," he said, throwing off his dressing gown and meeting her halfway. "Now, where were we?" Lowering his lips to hers, he eased the dress back down to her waist.

  Soon they were both stripped to the skin, but when she glanced toward the bed, Marcus shook his head. "Not yet. I have more seducing to do first."

  He might not be ready to tell her the truth about the Saint, but he was still determined to disabuse her of the notion that he was some sort of stickler for propriety. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the waiting tray and seated himself on the thick carpet, pulling her down beside him.

  His hand hovered over the assortment. "Now, my lady, what is your pleasure?"

  "Hmm. One of those pastries, perhaps. I'll work my way up to the meat."

  "Very well, my naughty wife," he said with a low chuckle. Picking up a triangular pastry, he held it to her lips, taking a bite from his end as she took a bite from hers. Flakes of buttery crust drifted to settle on her breasts. When their lips met in the middle, he flicked a drop of the sweet filling from the corner of her mouth with his tongue before going after the errant crumbs.

  One flake teetered on her right nipple, and he took it into his mouth rather than risk losing it. She gave a little gasp, and he smiled up at her. "Much neater if we clean up as we go, don't you agree?"

  Moistening his lips, he licked the remaining crumbs from her chest, then sat up again, his arousal more than evident. That she noticed was equally clear, from the darting glances she sent, as well as her heightened color.

  "I'll choose next," he said, picking up a particularly juicy looking peach. Holding it between them, they again ate from opposite sides, their gazes locked and smoldering. Marcus had used food as a seduction device once or twice before, but never had he been so profoundly affected himself.

  Juice from the peach ran down his chin and dripped, and he jumped when its coolness landed squarely on his erection.

  "My turn to tidy up, my lord." She bent down, her curls brushing his thighs, and took his shaft into her mouth as he had done with her breast.

  Now it was his turn to gasp at the astonishingly exquisite sensations her tongue produced. When he bucked, she responded with a throaty laugh, then sat up just before he could lose control completely. "More peach, my lord?" she asked innocently.

  He could not immediately speak, so he held up the fruit again, his body chafing for more of her. This time he angled the peach so that the juice ran down her side, pooling on her belly before a rivulet escaped to disappear into the curls below.

  With a wink, he handed her what was left of the peach and kissed his way from just beneath her breasts to her navel, where he licked up the sweet juice there before following its trail lower. Her sweet, musty scent inflamed him further, and it was sheer delight when she cried out as he flicked his tongue into her cleft.

  "Ready for the meat now?" he asked, lifting his head.

  Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes bright with desire. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm ready."

  Though her meaning was clear, he plucked a slice of roast beef from the tray. "Here you are," he said, holding it out with a grin.

  She took it from him, her eyes on his, then deliberately rolled it into a cylinder. Smiling wickedly, she licked the end of the roll before taking it into her mouth to suck on it. His body reacted powerfully, as though her mouth were upon him instead of the roll of beef —as she clearly intended.

  "You hussy," he growled, then leaned forward and bit off the other end of the roll, ready to move to the next level. "Wine?" he asked, turning to fill the glasses on the tray from the decanter.

  "Just enough to wash this down," she replied, finishing her share of the beef, then licking her lips seductively.

  Marcus handed her a glass, taking a sip from his own. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost suspect you'd had instruction at this sort of thing," he told her.

  Her eyes went wide and innocent. "But I have, my lord."

  "What?" He nearly spilled his wine.

  "Was that not a lesson you gave me earlier today, in the arbor? I was merely embellishing upon your teaching. I take it I have been an apt pupil?" Though she kept her expression innocent, her lips quivered with suppressed laughter.

  "Devastatingly so." Tossing off the remainder of his glass with a single gulp, he set it down and reached for her hand. "Time for the next course. No, I don't mean food," he added when she glanced at the tray.

  Setting aside her own glass, she slid closer, moving easily, naturally into his arms. He lowered his mouth to hers, tasting the tang of the wine on her lips as he caressed her bare back. Her hands slowly glided from his shoulders to his waist, exploring the shape of him, arousing him further.

  Deepening the kiss, he lowered her gently onto the plush carpet with one arm, running his other palm down her body, from shoulder to knee, delighting in her feminine curves. Then back up, along her inner thigh,
where he paused, his hand cupping her curls, his fingers barely brushing what lay beneath.

  She arched, a faint moan vibrating against his lips. Exploring with one finger, he found her moist, ready, but still he delayed, savoring her arousal, though his own clamored for completion. Slowly, slowly, he stretched his length beside her, until he lay on his side, facing her, his hand gently teasing her the while.

  She broke the kiss to look at him, her green eyes glinting with mingled mischief and desire. Then, without warning, she pushed him onto his back and climbed astride him. "Don't toy with a starving woman," she scolded with a grin, sliding her mound along the length of his shaft, making him gasp at the exquisite sensation.

  Lowering her head until her hair fell about his face in dusky profusion, she kissed him again, still pressing herself to him below, sliding forward and back in an ever-quickening rhythm. Just as he felt he might explode, she raised herself slightly and impaled herself on him, tightening about him like a glove.

  Instantly they climaxed together, with long, shuddering sighs, as he expended himself into her depths and she received him. She collapsed atop him and he held her close, breathing in the scent of her as his heartbeat slowly returned to normal.

  Again he felt an almost overwhelming urge to tell her he loved her. This time it was not shock that prevented him, but prudence.

  As his senses returned, so did the knowledge that he could not completely trust her, dear as she was to him. And until he could do so, he dared not give her that much power over him—or, at least, he dared not let her know how much power she already had. Not while he was yet unsure whether his feelings were returned.

  "More wine?" he asked when she finally stirred. "The rest of our dinner awaits."

  * * *

  Half an hour later, finishing their repast to the accompaniment of light banter about the events of the day, Quinn sighed inwardly. Though her body was sated and relaxed, her heart was less than satisfied. While she and Marcus had reestablished physical intimacy, they seemed no closer emotionally than they'd been before— perhaps less.