The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  After verifying that these were indeed Rowena's jewels, Noel pocketed them, then hesitated. Should he—? He glanced over his shoulder at the raucous sleeper, then grinned. Quickly, he pulled a card from the pocket where he'd stowed the jewels, placed it beneath the ribbons, closed the box, and left.

  * * *

  Rowena stifled a yawn. Fascinating as the conversation had been all evening, she couldn't deny that she was beyond tired. As the last of the guests took their leave, a glance at the clock on the drawing room mantelpiece showed it to be past two.

  "Goodness, do they always stay so late?" she asked Pearl once the door had closed behind Lord and Lady Holland, the very last to leave.

  "Not always, but frequently. I thought you were beginning to get used to Town hours?" her friend chided her.

  Rowena smiled, despite her weariness. "Beginning, yes, but I fear it will take time. Thank you, Pearl, for a most fascinating evening."

  "I knew you would enjoy it. Now, don't you wish you had come to London long before? I told you how many interesting people you would meet here."

  "Yes, of course you were right— aren't you always?" Rowena did not point out that she could scarcely have come on her own over her father's or brother's protests before coming into her inheritance. "Now, can't we please go up to bed?"

  By the time Rowena reached her chamber, she was half prepared to go to bed fully clothed, she was so tired. However, one look at Matthilda's frightened face roused her to alertness.

  "What is it?" she asked, instantly concerned.

  The maid held out a small, wrapped package with trembling hands. "Oh, miss! I only stepped out for a few moments —down to the kitchens to fetch hot water for your washing up— and when I came back, this was on your pillow."

  Rowena took the package with a frown. "Did you ask Molly if she knew anything about it?" The chambermaid occasionally entered the room to change linens and dust.

  "Yes, miss, it was the first thing I thought to do. She has no more idea than I how it came there. Do you think it was housebreakers?" Matthilda twisted her hands together.

  "A housebreaker who leaves gifts instead of stealing? Unlikely, I should think. Well, let's see what it is, shall we?" Rowena proceeded to untie the jaunty bow and unwrap the parcel.

  When her fingers touched something hard within, she felt a sudden prickling of foreboding. Quickly, she tore away the rest of the paper, only to gasp at what lay revealed. Her mother's jewels, all of them!

  "How—? You are certain you saw no one, Matthilda?"

  "No, miss, on my oath." She leaned forward to look at what Rowena held. "Oh! Were those not Lady Riverstone's?"

  Rowena nodded, still staring at the diamond and emerald set in puzzlement.

  "Likely you left them somewhere, and they was returned." Matthilda was clearly relieved, the mystery solved in her mind.

  But not in Rowena's. "Yes, I'm sure that was it. Doubtless tomorrow we'll find out who left them."

  She thought that unlikely, however. Whoever had returned the jewels had either redeemed them or, more likely, stolen them from Lady Mountheath. Just now, though, she was too tired to puzzle out the possibilities.

  "We're clearly in no danger, in any event. Help me get ready for bed, Matthilda."

  * * *

  It was as well Pearl had planned nothing before the evening's musicale, for Rowena did not rise until well past noon the next day. Almost the first thing she saw upon waking were her mother's jewels, lying where she had left them on her dressing table.

  This was a mystery she was determined to solve —but if the jewels had been stolen, she'd best keep them hidden. She wrapped the jewels in a handkerchief and tucked them in the back of the drawer of the writing desk, then rang for her maid.

  "You have just missed our first callers," Pearl greeted her when she came downstairs half an hour later. "Mr. Richards particularly asked for you, and left these." She indicated a small but lovely arrangement of carnations and sweetpeas.

  Rowena felt absurdly flattered. No gentleman had ever sent her flowers before! "That was most kind of him."

  "He apologized for his absence last night, but said that you would understand that some business is more important than socializing." Pearl's expression was frankly curious, but Rowena could not answer her unspoken question.

  "He did not tell me where he would be—" she began, then stopped, struck by a wild suspicion. The jewels— could that be what Mr. Richards had been doing last night? He had expressed regret for involving her in Nelson's debt to him. Was this his way of repaying her?

  "Rowena?"

  Shaking her head, she managed a smile. "I was trying to remember just what he said yesterday, but it was nothing to the point. I have no idea what business he meant. Perhaps he will explain later."

  Pearl looked as though she meant to ask more questions, but just then another caller was announced —Noel Paxton.

  "Good day, ladies," he said with a bow. Rowena could not help noticing how exceedingly handsome he looked in his well-cut riding coat and top boots. "I trust I find you both well."

  "Quite well, thank you, Mr. Paxton," Pearl replied. "We missed you last night."

  "Duty does not always allow me to follow the dictates of my . . . wishes," he replied with a glance at Rowena that made her heart increase its beat. Had he almost said "heart?"

  Pearl was clearly not oblivious to the unspoken exchange. Rising, she said, "I must go speak with the housekeeper for a moment. Pray excuse me, Mr. Paxton. I won't be long." With a sunny smile, she left the parlor, though of course she did not close the door behind her.

  "How went your 'dull, official business?'" Rowena asked, more for the sake of saying something than because she wished to hear the details. He was unlikely to give them to her anyway.

  He did not. "Parts of it were dull indeed, but rewarding nonetheless. I hope your evening was more interesting, and equally rewarding?" He moved to sit across the tea table from her.

  "Oh, quite." She proceeded to relate some of the more fascinating discussions, watching his expression as she mentioned one or two controversial points. "Mr. Southey is more conservative than I had expected, but Mr. Hunt was all fire and enthusiasm."

  "I can see I would have been entirely out of my element, then," he said with a smile. Then, with a studied casualness that Rowena found rather amusing, "I presume Lester Richards made one of the company?"

  "No, he was unable to attend." At the flash of satisfaction in his eyes, she could not help adding, "But he sent those flowers by way of apology."

  Noel frowned at the arrangement she indicated. "Did he indeed?" He seemed to struggle with some decision, then moved his chair closer to hers. "Rowena, I hope you will not put too much trust in Richards. I have reason to believe he may not be as he appears."

  So he did suspect Mr. Richards was the Saint! Rowena felt some satisfaction that she had come to the same conclusion on her own. "I imagine most men are not quite what they seem," she replied. Somehow, she must deflect Noel's suspicions.

  He leaned forward, placing one hand over hers. "Perhaps you are right. I wish—" He broke off whatever he had been about to say, his gaze locked with hers. Slowly, he closed the short distance between them.

  Rowena felt her heart thundering as his lips touched hers. Vainly, she tried to remind herself that she could not put her trust in this man, either —that he represented all she felt obliged to oppose. But her brain was rapidly giving way to her body and emotions, which pled Noel's case most forcefully.

  For a blissful moment, she allowed sensation to take over, parting her lips to allow him to deepen the kiss. Their hands clasped between them, and again he stroked her wrist above her glove, sending spirals of delight up her arm and into her vitals. His kiss was tender rather than demanding, but still she felt an irresistible urge to give herself up to him, body, soul and mind.

  "Rowena," he whispered against her lips, the vibration cascading through her body, making her very nipples taut. "I—"<
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  Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and they abruptly broke apart. For a moment they stared at each other, Rowena noting with both satisfaction and alarm that his color was as heightened as hers must be. Then they both swung around to face the door with polite, social smiles.

  "That is settled," Pearl declared as she entered. "I feared we would not be able to get enough fish for tonight's dinner, but Mrs. Potts assures me—" She broke off, her brows rising as she looked from Rowena to Noel and back. "You two haven't been arguing again, have you?"

  Rowena felt her lips twitch and beside her, Noel's cough sounded suspiciously like it had been converted from a laugh.

  "Not about anything of importance," Rowena managed to say with a straight face. "Don't worry, Pearl. Both of us quite enjoy— arguing. Do we not, Mr. Paxton?"

  "We do indeed," he asserted. "Now, what were you saying about the fish, Lady Hardwyck?"

  CHAPTER 13

  "Have you no leads at all?" Sir Nathaniel Conant, chief magistrate of the Bow Street Runners, ran a hand through his hair in evident frustration.

  Noel looked the older man in the eye and shook his head. He hated to deceive Sir Nathaniel, but felt justified considering his real goal. No Saint of Seven Dials had ever killed or even harmed anyone, while the Black Bishop was a genuine danger.

  "As you know, I felt I had good evidence against Lord Hardwyck, but further investigation proved me wrong."

  "Thank heaven for that, at least!" Sir Nathaniel exclaimed. "I don't like to think of the repercussions were we to attempt to arrest a peer of the realm on less than complete proof of guilt. But I'm under quite a lot of pressure now, what with this latest robbery at the Mountheath House."

  Keeping his expression carefully neutral, Noel said, "It does seem strange that the Saint would target a household he had stolen from already. Has he ever hit the same place twice before?"

  "No. And why it had to be Mountheath—! You can't imagine what it was like last spring, after the first theft from that house. Lady Mountheath sent a footman round every day— twice, some days —to ask about our progress. Had her husband stir up sentiment to launch a Parliamentary investigation into our workings. I'm still dealing with the consequences of that."

  Noel hadn't known the Mountheaths were behind that, but doubted he'd have acted differently if he had. Rowena deserved to have those jewels back, and Lady Mountheath deserved whatever came her way, as many young reputations as she had shredded over the years. Even his own sister Holly had not escaped the dragon's barbed tongue in the early days of her marriage.

  "Perhaps that is why the Saint seems bent on harrassing the Mountheath household?" Noel suggested. "If he follows such things, he may fear that their interference will make his task harder."

  "Damned foolish of him, if so," Sir Nathaniel declared. "This is only bound to redouble their efforts. Ah, well." He heaved a heavy sigh. "What comes, comes. Perhaps he's becoming careless and we can use that to finally rid London of the scoundrel."

  Noel nodded. "Perhaps. I'll redouble my own efforts, sir, and report any progress."

  "You do that, Paxton. And see you do have progress to report by the next time we meet!"

  Noel was still reflecting on his interview with Sir Nathaniel when he arrived at Hardwyck Hall that evening for the musicale. He'd been in some interesting situations over the course of his undercover career, but never had he been cast as his own quarry. While he couldn't deny the humor of his predicament, the moral implications were a bit bothersome.

  If he could finally bring the Black Bishop to justice, however, it would all even out. More than one battle had been lost due to his duplicity, not to mention the men he'd had murdered or executed. As soon as he'd paid his respects to his hosts, he went in search of someone he believed might help him to balance the scales.

  "Ah, Miss Riverstone. You are lovely this evening, as always." And she was, arrayed in turquoise satin and pristine white lace. Surrounded as she was by other guests, he was forced to greet Rowena more formally than he'd have preferred.

  Even so, her cheeks pinkened at his words. "Good evening, Mr. Paxton. I am pleased to see that your duties allowed you to attend."

  "I made a particular effort to conclude my business early today, that I might do so."

  "Music lover, are you, Paxton?" Harry Thatcher asked, coming up just then. "I seem to remember you saying so, in Vienna. Charmed to see you again, Miss Riverstone."

  She bobbed a quick curtsey. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Thatcher. So you were at the Congress of Vienna as well? Perhaps you can tell me more about what it was like than Mr. Paxton has been willing to do."

  He bowed over her hand with the slow smile Noel had seen him use all too effectively on other ladies. "It would be my extreme pleasure, Miss Riverstone. Would you care to retire to a private corner somewhere so that I can regale you with my stories?"

  "I'm sure Miss Riverstone is too well versed in the proprieties to consent to being alone with you, Harry." Noel tried to keep the edge from his voice. "There's no reason you can't tell her what little you did there that is fit for a lady's ears in a more public forum."

  The laughter in Harry's eyes showed that his flirtation had been designed to get just such a reaction from Noel. "I suppose you're right, Paxton —more's the pity. Do seek me out later, Miss Riverstone, won't you?" With a jaunty wink at Noel, he sauntered off.

  "You do not approve of Mr. Thatcher?" Rowena asked, watching Harry disappear into the passage leading to the smoking room.

  "Oh, he's an amiable enough rogue," Noel admitted, "but more used to dealing with high flyers and serving wenches than ladies of quality like yourself."

  Rowena regarded him quizzically. "It's very touching that you feel obliged to protect me from various gentlemen, but I can't think it's necessary."

  "I'm not—" he began, then realized that was precisely what he'd been doing, both yesterday afternoon with Mr. Richards and now with Harry. "I don't wish to see you hurt," he concluded, holding her gaze with his to prove his sincerity.

  Her eyes widened at what she saw in his. "Oh." The word was almost a sigh.

  Again, he was seized by a desire to take her in his arms, to prove with his lips, his body, just how strongly he felt. But of course that was impossible in this setting. In fact, Lady Marcus was approaching them just now.

  "Rowena! Just the person I was looking for. You'll appreciate the humor in my latest blunder without making fun of me." She paused, glancing at Noel uncertainly.

  He took the hint at once. "I believe I will visit the buffet tables before the entertainment begins. May I bring you ladies anything?"

  They declined, and he moved away, scanning the room as he went. Ah, there was Richards, just entering. Noel was determined to keep a close eye on him, watch who he spoke to, how he conducted himself. Particularly around Rowena.

  In fact, Richards was already heading her way, a certain intensity in his eyes that Noel found disturbing. Snatching up a canape to preserve his pretense of wanting food, he turned to follow his quarry at a discreet distance.

  Deep in animated conversation with Lady Marcus, Rowena did not notice Richards until he spoke to her— perhaps because she was again without her spectacles. Though she smiled most pleasantly, Noel was pleased to note that her color did not change, as it had when she greeted himself.

  Moving closer, Noel was able to hear snatches of their conversation.

  "—my friend, Lady Marcus," Rowena was saying.

  Richards bowed. "Charmed, my lady. Any friend of Miss Riverstone's must be worth cultivating, from my limited experience."

  What might be the man's motive for ingratiating himself with Rowena? If he were extorting her brother for information, as Noel suspected, perhaps he merely hoped to allay suspicion by also befriending the sister. Or did he perceive her as a kindred spirit who might be induced to help him in whatever seditious plans he was now formulating?

  Either way, Noel felt duty bound to interfere.

  "I
believe the first performance will begin shortly," he said, rejoining the group. "We may wish to move into the gallery and take our seats."

  Richards shot him a look of barely-concealed dislike, quickly schooled to cool politeness before the ladies could note it. Lady Marcus excused herself to go in search of her husband, and the remaining three turned toward the archway leading to the gallery, where the first performance was to be held according to the programs Lady Hardwyck had provided.

  They had taken only a step or two, however, before they were accosted by Miss Fanny Mountheath. "Miss Riverstone, how nice to see you again," she said with a falsely bright smile. "And you, too, Mr. Paxton. I trust you have all heard the news? My poor mother."

  "Yes, I read of it in the afternoon papers," Rowena replied. "Is it certain that the Saint of Seven Dials was the culprit?"

  "Oh, yes! He left one of his calling cards—in my mother's very bedchamber! I declare, I shall be afraid to sleep for weeks now. It is most oversetting, as you can imagine. Mr. Paxton, perhaps you should call on us to allay my mother's —and my— fears." She batted her eyelashes at Noel.

  Trapped, he forced a smile. "Certainly, if you feel it would help. Remember, however, that the Saint has never yet harmed anyone, according to all I have been able to learn of his activities. You are doubtless quite safe from physical danger."

  Clearly, this was not the level of sympathy she had hoped for. "You are the expert, of course," she said with an unattractive pout. "I do hope you will catch him soon, however. Oh, mother is beckoning to me. Good evening."

  She hurried off and the trio resumed their progress toward the gallery. Rowena, to Noel's irritation, took Mr. Richards' arm rather than his own.

  "I have reason to thank you, I believe," she said to Richards as they walked, in an undertone that Noel had to strain to hear. He managed to appeared oblivious and disinterested, hiding his shock at what surely must be her meaning.

  There was a pause, then Richards replied, "My goal was to please you, Miss Riverstone."