Not Always a Saint (8 page)

Except, perhaps, to his heart or possibly his brain. He no longer cared about the fact that Jessie, Lady Kelham, was utterly wrong for him. Despite their differences, he saw only one possible course of action.

He'd just have to ask her to marry him.

“Y
ou have a visitor, Lady Kelham.” The Ashton footman presented a silver tray with a card set neatly in the middle. “He's in the small salon. Will you receive him?”

Jessie took the card, wondering if it was one of the two older gentlemen who had been calling on her assiduously. But they came in the afternoon, not the morning, and eyed each other like wary cats when they visited at the same time.

L
ORD
R
OMAYNE.
A mere two words that made her pulse jump with an alarming mix of emotions. Her mind had been churning since the near-disastrous visit to Gunter's the day before, and his lordship had been far too present in her thoughts. It would be easier to say she wasn't at home, but she owed him too much to hide. “I'll see him.”

After the footman withdrew, she checked her appearance in the mirror that hung above the mantel in her small sitting room. Black gown, firmly restrained hair, a very proper widow. But her eyes. How could she control her eyes?

Should she ask Julia or Mariah to join her? But they were both in the nursery with their babies, a time of day they loved. She shouldn't interrupt.

Realizing she couldn't delay any longer, she descended to the ground floor. Mariah had told her how much drama the small salon had witnessed over the years. Jessie hoped there would be no more today.

Dr. Herbert—Lord Romayne—was gazing out the window when she entered. He was his usual composed self, but there was tension visible in his lean, muscular body. He turned as she entered, his expression grave.

“Good day, Lord Romayne,” she said lightly. “Has no one mentioned to you that morning calls shouldn't be made in the morning but in the afternoon? It's an important mark of society's basically irrational nature.”

He smiled a little. “I actually had the rules explained to me, but I wanted to see how you and Beth were doing after the unfortunate incident at Gunter's.”

She chuckled. “You mean almost being killed by a drunken young fool who shouldn't be allowed near a carriage? Beth is fine. She's been asking when we can go back to Gunter's for more ices. She and I have bruises and her dress was ruined, but that was all.”

“She might not appreciate the danger she was in, but you do,” he said quietly. “Did you have nightmares last night?” Seeing her flinch, he swiftly said, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you again.”

Jessie swallowed hard. “I've been upset ever since it happened. When I remember that carriage bearing down on Beth . . .” She shuddered. “I knew I couldn't move fast enough to save her, but I had to try. If... if she was killed, there would be no reason for me to live.”

She struggled for composure, but the horrifying vision of the carriage rushing toward her daughter seared across her mind again. Beth's sweet, small, vulnerable body. The crashing hooves of frantic horses and a wildly out of control carriage . . .

She began to sob uncontrollably. Remembered fear was drowning her, until warm arms came around her. She buried her face in the doctor's elegant coat. He said nothing, just stroked her back and held her as she shook.

As her paroxysms of fear subsided, she realized just how right it felt to be in his arms. He was warm and strong and kind. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, until she remembered her acute physical awareness the day before when she was sprawled on top of him. For a mad moment, desire had been as intense as fear.

Once again desire flared, intimate and disturbing. She forced herself to step away, smiling apologetically. “I'm sorry. I haven't allowed myself to cry because I knew I'd fall to pieces. But if you needed proof of how powerful my gratitude is, I believe I've just demonstrated it.”

His breath had quickened, but his voice was calm when he said, “I hope that you'll have fewer nightmares tonight.”

“One may hope.” Her smile was lopsided. “Please take a seat. I'll ring for tea?”

“No need.” He hesitated. “I have another purpose for calling on you. One reason I'm in London is to look for a wife. I've heard that you're also looking for a husband. I would be greatly honored if you would allow me to court you.”

She gasped and pressed one hand to her mouth. She had not expected
this
!

“Is the idea so absurd?” he asked. “This must be difficult when you're so recently bereaved, but I'll wait until you're ready.”

Mariah or Julia must have told his sister, Laurel, that Jessie was looking for a husband. She muttered a silent oath that she hadn't known at first about the close connections between Ashton House and the Kirklands. Perhaps she should have been more discreet about her goals, but she'd needed the ladies' help. “You are well-informed, but . . . forgive me for being blunt, Lord Romayne. You are not the sort of husband I seek.”

His gaze was probing. “You may prefer an older man, Lady Kelham, but you can never replace your late husband. Though I can't make myself older, in other ways, I think you'd find me a reasonable choice. I have my share of eccentricities, I suppose, but I've recently come into a substantial fortune, I have no terrible vices, and my reputation is sound. You can make inquiries if you wish.”

“Choosing a mate is not a simple matter of logic, my lord,” she said helplessly. “While you're a very desirable potential husband and I owe you a debt that can never be repaid, that doesn't mean we should marry.”

“You owe me nothing. Trying to save a child is every decent person's obligation, not a way of keeping score.” Refusing to back down, he asked, “Do you dislike me? I've thought there was a certain harmony of mind as well as a powerful attraction between us, but perhaps that's wishful thinking on my part.”

She bit her lip. She was a good liar when necessary, but she didn't want to lie to this man. “You're not wrong, but attraction isn't a sound basis for a marriage.”

“Isn't it a start?” he asked quizzically. “Shouldn't we at least try to discover if we'd suit?”

“Didn't anyone ever tell you it's ungentlemanly to ask a lady why she doesn't accept you?” Jessie said with sudden exasperation. “A simple ‘no' should suffice!”

His mouth curved wryly. “As with the rule about morning calls, I'm aware of that, but I don't choose to comply. This is too important.
You're
too important.”

“Then I shall have to be even more blunt,” she said flatly. “You are a good man, Lord Romayne. You do indeed have an impeccable reputation as a physician, a surgeon, and a man whose life is devoted to helping others. You're held up as an example of good Christian values. You're even a vicar, for heaven's sake! But that alone is reason enough to decline your flattering offer.”

“I noticed before that you don't seem to like vicars,” he said thoughtfully.

“My father was a vicar,” she retorted. “I want nothing to do with another one!”

He didn't flinch, but his expression became unreadable. “Though I've been ordained, I'm not a practicing cleric,” he said in a mild voice. “I founded a chapel in Bristol where nonconformists meet and hold services. I sometimes give a sermon myself, but medicine has always come first with me. If you intend to despise me for my low occupation, it should be surgery, not the church.”

“I don't despise you.” She paced across the room, her steps taut. “I simply don't want you for a husband. I shouldn't have to explain why!”

“But I need to understand.” He took a few steps toward her, moving into the sunshine that poured through the window, making his hair shine like polished golden oak. “The best way to get rid of me entirely is to make it very clear what your objections are. Having been trained in medicine, I need reasons. Evidence.”

She swung around, her hands knotted into fists. “Because you're a good man, Lord Romayne, and I'm a wicked woman! I should be wearing scarlet, not widow's weeds, to warn men away from me!”

His gaze was searching. “Are you cruel? I've seen no signs of that. Are you a liar or profoundly selfish? I've not observed that either. How are you wicked?”

She wanted to spit at him. “I have no desire to reveal my sordid past, my lord! I have done what I must to survive, and that includes deeds that the world would condemn.” Not to mention the deed that could get her hanged. “I don't belong with a man who is almost a saint!”

His eyes flashed with real anger. “I am no saint!” He closed the distance between them in two steps, wrapped his arms around Jessie, and kissed her with an urgency that seared her bones.

Desire might not be a solid foundation for marriage, but it overwhelmed her stunned senses. Her arms slid around him and she tilted her face up to his warm, vital mouth. His quickening heartbeat mirrored hers as her breasts pressed against his chest.

Her lips opened under his and their tongues touched in mutual hunger. She wanted to consume, or be consumed.
Both.
It had been so long since she'd experienced passion, and never had it been so fierce. Her pelvis ground against him and he hardened, his hands sliding down to cup her buttocks and pull her even tighter.

Desire flared still higher. She felt like melting wax, her existence dependent on him. . . .

The horror of that imminent surrender slammed her back to her senses. Dear God, what was
wrong
with her? The last thing she needed was mindless passion leading her into an abyss.

She shoved away from him. “You kiss very well for a saint,” she gasped. “But it's time for you to go!”

“Saints are so often celibate. That does not appeal to me.” He caught her hand, his warmth and intensity weakening her resolve. “How can you deny what's between us?” he said, his deep voice compelling. “Marry me, Jessie Kelham! I swear you won't regret it.”

Her mouth twisted bitterly and she yanked her hand free. “Perhaps, perhaps not. But you would, Lord Romayne! This is only lust, as swift and destructive as a summer storm. After it passed, you'd curse the day you met me. And then you'd despise me for ruining your life.”

He blanched. “You have a low opinion of me and an even lower opinion of yourself if you believe that. Passion isn't everything, but it can be a vital element of a good marriage. Please, give us a chance to find what else we have in common!”

Her exasperation with him faded, replaced by sadness. She'd think his earnestness romantic if she didn't know how wrong he was.

But dear God, he was mesmerizing in his passion and sincerity! Wanton woman that she was, she yearned to lie with him. She wanted to taste the forbidden apple in a way that would damage neither of them. It had been so long, so long, since she felt vibrant desire beating through her.

Perhaps it was worth risking a brief, mad satisfaction. She swallowed hard, unnerved by the thought of her own brazenness. More likely, she'd drive him away, and that would be good. But she needed to try.

Catching his gaze, she said, “If passion is unhinging your mind, I have a solution. Let us have an affair. Wild and wanton but very discreet, because I don't want a reputation that will reflect badly on my daughter. We'd both enjoy it greatly, and in a few days or weeks you'll come to your senses. You'll thank me then for my wisdom, and we can go our separate ways, cured of this unruly desire.”

The intensity that had lit him up like a candle vanished as his desire and hope drained away, leaving him older and grayer. “I think not, my lady.”

She released her breath in a sigh, knowing he was wise, but bitterly regretting the loss of this rare, sweet connection. Because it was real, and powerful—but utterly wrong for both of them.

After a half-dozen beats of silence, he said in a colorless voice, “If your plan was to drive me away, you've succeeded.” He bowed ironically. “I thank you for your honesty and wisdom. Perhaps someday I'll be grateful that you refused me. But . . . not today.”

He turned and left the salon, his hand fumbling blindly before he found the knob. The door closed behind him very gently.

Shaking, she sank into a chair and wrapped her arms around herself. She'd been right to destroy their budding relationship.

But why did being right have to hurt so much?

I
nstead of heading for the exit of Ashton House, Daniel quietly stepped into another receiving room and closed the door behind him. Then he leaned back against it, knowing he couldn't face anyone until he'd mastered himself. Assuming that was possible. He felt . . . gutted. A hollow man, now broken.

He supposed he should feel relieved that Jessie's brazen honesty had prevented their relationship from developing any further. It wasn't even a relationship, merely lust, as she'd pointed out so firmly.

The lower side of his nature had wanted desperately to accept her offer of an affair. He was still so aroused that his brain was barely managing to function.

But agreeing would have been wrong in so many ways. She'd acted as if a few afternoons of mad coupling would take the edge off their inconvenient desire, after which they'd cheerfully go their separate ways. But he couldn't imagine any good end to such an affair, because he could not imagine a day when he wouldn't want her.

How long had he been a hollow man? Certainly since Rose had died, but the seeds had been sown earlier by his parents, who wanted to be proud of their son without understanding him. Or wanting to understand. They doted as long as he did exactly what they wanted. He'd learned early how to get their approval.

His relationship with them nearly shattered when they disowned Laurel because she'd left her husband. They didn't care how justified she might have been. The only thing she'd ever done that they really approved of was marry an earl, and they couldn't forgive her for the breakdown of the marriage.

Nor had they really forgiven Daniel for taking Laurel's side, though they hadn't disowned him. They'd needed their image of their perfect son even if they were privately furious with him.

His relationship with them had continued dutifully, but inside it was . . . hollow. When they died, he'd felt sadness and regret, but not true grief.

For whatever mad reason, Jessie Kelham had seemed like a woman who could fill his emptiness. That had proved to be only his desperate imagination. But imagination had been sweet while it lasted....

Closing his eyes, he prayed for peace. Then he forced stillness on himself, limb by limb, muscle by muscle, until he was in a fit state to be in public. Fortunately he was now scheduled to drive to the East End to work at Zion House's small infirmary. Treating patients would require his full attention, so he could begin to put the Black Widow behind him. He had survived worse than being rejected by a woman he scarcely knew, and he would survive this.

But he wondered how long it would be before his heart stopped bleeding.

 

 

It was late by the time Daniel returned to Kirkland House. He had a key, so he let himself in quietly, not expecting to see anyone. But before he could head up to his room, Kirkland emerged from his study. He was coatless and bootless and held a glass of some dark amber liquid in one hand. The fashionable spymaster relaxing at home.

“I assume that's not your blood on your shirt,” Kirkland said mildly.

Daniel glanced down to see reddish brown stains smudged across his once immaculate shirt front. “I was able to do some surgery. It was quite invigorating.”

Kirkland smiled. “It has to be more interesting than the financial papers I've been working on. I'm ready to call it a night before I fall asleep in my chair. Care to join me for some brandy? Or food?”

“I ate at a tavern with several staff members so we could discuss future plans. Very good people.” Daniel dropped his hat on a table, feeling weary. But the work had driven off the worst of the demons. “I wouldn't object to some brandy, though.”

Kirkland led the way into his study and opened a well-stocked cabinet. As he poured another glass of brandy, he remarked, “It sounds as if you're expanding your original idea for the Zion House infirmary?”

“There's a great need in that area. A young surgeon from Bart's has been volunteering at Zion House when he has the time. He's capable and versatile, so I'm going to provide a salary that will allow him to work there half-time.”

Daniel settled wearily into a wing chair and stretched out his legs. It had been a long day. Was it just this morning that Jessie Kelham had refused his offer? “There's a building for lease on the other side of the street from the Zion House shelter, so I'll have Hyatt get that for the infirmary. Any extra space can be used by Zion House for more shelter areas.”

Kirkland smiled as he took the opposite chair. “You're finding the advantages of wealth and lawyers who will instantly do your bidding?”

“Indeed.” Daniel sipped his brandy, resisting the desire to toss it back in one gulp. “One of the women at the shelter is an apothecary's widow. Very knowledgeable. She's ready and willing to set up a dispensary if I'll provide the materials.”

“It sounds as if you've had a very productive day.” Kirkland sipped at his brandy, his gaze shrewd. “Is that why you look as if you were run over by a mail coach?”

Daniel grimaced. His first impulse was to deny that there was anything wrong beyond simple fatigue. But he felt the need to talk, and because he didn't want to upset his sister, Kirkland was the only choice. “This morning I asked Lady Kelham for permission to court her. She turned me down. Very firmly.”

Kirkland went still, his brandy glass halfway to his mouth. After a long moment, he said quietly, “I'm sorry. I presume you wouldn't have asked her without considerable thought.”

Daniel's mouth twisted. “On the contrary. When I'm around her, I can't seem to think at all.”

His brother-in-law blinked. “That's . . . unexpected.”

“I've found it so, given that I've never had a problem keeping my head where women are concerned.” Daniel managed a halfway genuine smile. “I believe the lady is divine punishment for my lack of understanding of how you and Laurel fell in love at first sight.”

Kirkland swallowed all of his remaining brandy and poured more for both of them. “
Very
unexpected. I never blamed you for not understanding how we felt. You were right that we were too young and what we felt might have been mere infatuation. As it happens, the love was real, but it took ten years for us to rebuild our marriage after it broke. Love at first sight is more likely to be a shooting star than enduring love.”

It was easy to think of Jessie as a shooting star, swift and brilliant and impossible to capture. “She and I are older and perhaps wiser. She was quite clear about why we wouldn't suit, and it wasn't just that we don't know each other well.”

“Is it because she's looking for an older man, like her late husband? If that's the case, perhaps she might change her mind.”

“That's not why she rejected me.” Daniel toyed with his glass, watching the lamplight refract through the rich, dark brandy. “She says that I'm a good man and she's a wicked woman, and once the initial attraction wore off, it would be a disaster.”

Kirkland's brows furrowed. “That's very blunt, but she might be right.”

“Perhaps she is.” Daniel closed his eyes as pain flared again. “But I wish she'd allowed more time before closing the door so firmly.”

“She may have thought a quick amputation was best.”

Daniel snorted. “Medical metaphors are my province, not yours.” A thought struck him. “I'd asked you to look into her past. Have you discovered why she thinks of herself as a wicked woman?”

“A thorough investigation would require sending people to places she's lived, and there hasn't been time or the necessity to do that. But her beauty attracts attention, so anyone who has known her in the past has been gossiping since she arrived in London,” Kirkland explained. “Which means confusion, exaggerations, and outright lies, which are impossible to evaluate properly.”

“I understand the limitations of gossip, but tell me what you've heard,” Daniel said, his voice flat. “Perhaps that will make me grateful for her rejection.”

“As you wish, but there's not much hard data. No one seems to know where she was born or what her family background is.”

“She told me her father was a vicar. I gather that explains part of her distaste for the breed.”

Kirkland's brows arched. “That's more than anyone else has known. It makes sense, though. She's always been considered well-spoken and well-bred. She first entered public view as an actress in Yorkshire. She was young and inexperienced, but her striking looks kept her well employed in ingénue roles. As an actress, she was the target of considerable gossip in York. It's said that she had many lovers, but the number is probably exaggerated.”

“No smoke without a fire?” Daniel murmured.

“Very small sparks can be blown up to appear like major fires,” Kirkland said dryly. “The actresses I've known say that reports of their profligate behavior are greatly exaggerated. Acting is hard work and most of them don't follow conventional morality, but they don't have the time or energy to bed every lout who considers them fair game. So they tend to be selective.”

Feeling sick, Daniel wondered just how profligate Jessie had been. “How did she get from a Yorkshire theater to a good marriage in Kent?”

“She had at least one serious lover, Frederick Kelham. He took her to visit his uncle, Lord Kelham.”

Daniel frowned. “Is it plausible that the heir to a barony would take his mistress to visit a respectable old gentleman?”

“Not very,” Kirkland agreed. “Though I suppose it could happen. It's said that when she saw Lord Kelham's wealth, she seduced him into marriage. There's a theory that Frederick was complicit in that since he's been telling everyone that he and the lady continued as lovers and her daughter is his, not her husband's.”

Daniel winced. “Ugly if true.”

“Which it may or may not be. Lady Kelham has been a model of decorum, and she may not be aware of the gossip. Those who knew her in Kent say that she was a gracious hostess and respectable wife who was devoted to her husband and daughter.”

“So which is the real woman?” Daniel mused. “The scandalous actress or the modest, demure wife and mother?”

“Both might be true,” Kirkland pointed out. “We simply don't have enough good information to judge. Young men often sow wild oats before settling down to their responsibilities, and such things are viewed with indulgence. For a female to do the same is less common and more hazardous because she'll be judged much more harshly. But recklessness is not the same as wickedness.”

True, but Daniel was still unnerved by the outlines of Jessie's past. A moot point, given that she'd refused even to consider him as a possible husband. “Thank you. Knowing more of her background makes it easy to understand why she thinks we wouldn't suit.”

What a pity that knowing she was all wrong for him didn't stop him from wanting her.