Not Always a Saint

  “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 a passion that seared her bones....

  Books by Mary Jo Putney

  The Lost Lords series

  Loving a Lost Lord

  Never Less Than a Lady

  Nowhere Near Respectable

  No Longer a Gentleman

  Sometimes a Rogue

  Not Quite a Wife

  Not Always a Saint

  Other Titles

  One Perfect Rose

  The Bargain

  The Rake

  Mischief and Mistletoe

  Dangerous Gifts

  MARY JO PUTNEY

  NOT ALWAYS A SAINT

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  “YOU’RE A GOOD MAN, LORD ROMAYNE, AND I’M A WICKED WOMAN!”

  Books by Mary Jo Putney

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  THE LAST CHANCE CHRISTMAS BALL

  Copyright Page

  To Marianne and Katy.

  Just because.

  Prologue

  Bristol, Autumn 1806

  The fleet was in, the moon was full, and business was booming at the Herbert free infirmary. Daniel Herbert didn’t mind. He loved mending broken bodies and he loved the infirmary, which he’d designed with the able assistance of his sister, Laurel, who was his partner and best friend.

  Nonetheless, by midnight he’d had enough of patching up drunken sailors injured in tavern brawls. The last one limped into the examination room dripping blood from a crudely bandaged left arm. Spotting the gin Daniel used for cleaning wounds, he lunged toward the bottle.

  “Sit!” Daniel said firmly as he applied a nerve grip to the grizzled sailor’s shoulder and forced him into a chair. “I need to get you fixed up so I can close the infirmary and get some sleep.”

  The sailor squawked and rubbed at the numbed arm. “Jus’ want a li’l drink!” he said reproachfully.

  “You won’t find it here.” With the skill of long practice, Daniel removed the filthy bandage to find a knife slash that was messy but shallow.

  He deftly cleaned the slash, finishing with enough gin to make the sailor squawk. “Why’d you do that?” the sailor asked.

  “I’ve found that gin helps wounds heal better so your arm is less likely to fall off,” Daniel explained. “Now, off with you, and prepare for a terrible headache tomorrow.”

  “Not even one li’l sip from the bottle?”

  “Go!” As the sailor thanked him and shuffled out, Daniel dropped his used surgical instruments into a basin of soapy water. As with the gin, he’d found that keeping instruments clean made for better results.

  The door to his examination room swung open so hard that it banged the wall. He looked up to see his sister, who’d shoved the door open with one hand while her other arm was wrapped around the waist of a battered and bleeding young woman on the verge of collapse.

  Imperturbable as always, Laurel said, “Don’t put those instruments away yet, Daniel. We have a new customer.” She helped the girl onto the examination table.

  He hated seeing women who had been beaten, usually by the men who were supposed to protect them. As he studied the new patient, his fatigue vanished. She was hunched over, her face obscured by a tangle of dark hair that was matted with blood on the right side. She clutched a cloak tightly around her shoulders, and she was shaking from shock.

  Voice gentle, he said, “I’m Dr. Herbert. What’s your name?”

  “J-J-J . . .”

  She spoke clumsily, as if her mouth was having trouble forming words, so he prompted, “Jane?”

  After a long moment, she whispered raggedly, “Yes, J-Jane.”

  “I’m going to examine you to find what needs fixing.” He moistened a clean cloth. “Raise your head so I can clean the blood from your face.”

  She complied, revealing a face with one eye swollen shut and such massive bruising that her own mother wouldn’t recognize her. Under the bruises she was very young, and he guessed that under normal circumstances she might be pretty. How could any man hurt a vulnerable young girl like this?

  He buried his anger for later. What mattered now was patching her up. She winced several times as he washed the blood from her face, despite his being as gentle as possible. He was particularly careful around her eyes. “You’re in luck,” he said conversationally. “You’ll have black eyes like a bare-knuckle boxer, but there’s no serious damage.”

  As he cleaned the gash on her head, he asked, “Who beat you?”

  She made a choked sound and cringed away from him. Noticing the glint of a wedding ring on her left hand, he asked, “Was it your husband?”

  Jane stared down at her hand as if she’d forgotten the ring she wore. Then she wrenched off the narrow circlet of gold and hurled it across the examination room. The ring bounced from the wall and rattled across the floor.

  “Sell it. Help . . . infirmary,” she whispered hoarsely. Her uplifted face revealed her bruised throat. The brute had tried to strangle her.

  Jane’s movements caused her cloak to slide from her shoulders, revealing a bloody slash down her back. The jagged laceration ran from her left shoulder almost to her waist. She must have been stabbed as she tried to escape. The tip of the blade had skittered to the left when it hit the edge of her stays, then continued downward through the padded garment.

  Keeping his voice calm, Daniel reached for his heavy scissors and cut away the stays. Her gown and corset were good quality, but the bodice was ruined and her thin shift was stuck to the laceration by dried blood. Dampening the shift allowed him to pull it gently from the wound, though Jane gasped as he peeled it away.

  “Luckily this isn’t deep, though I imagine it hurts like Hades.” Particularly since he was now cleaning the wound with gin. Jane would probably carry the scars of this night for the rest of her life, but at least this one would be concealed.

  He con
tinued his soft stream of commentary to soothe her. Laurel assisted him, preserving Jane’s modesty as much as possible.

  When Daniel finished cleaning the wound, Laurel said, “You’ll need new clothing, Jane. Daniel, could you bring some garments from our supply?”

  Daniel might not be as adept at choosing female clothing as Laurel, but they had a standing rule that a woman who had just been battered wouldn’t be left alone with a man, even him. He nodded and got to his feet, feeling the weight of the long day. “Do you have a place to go tonight? Family? Friends?”

  Gaze still downcast, Jane whispered, “A . . . a friend will take me in.”

  “That’s enough for tonight, but this can’t be allowed to happen again,” Laurel said firmly. “We’ll summon the magistrate and you can bring charges against the man who beat you.”

  “No!” Jane clutched her ruined clothing close, her voice frantic. “The only way I can be safe is by leaving Bristol. A magistrate cannot help.”

  Daniel frowned. Jane seemed determined not to return to the brute, but too often women went back to the men who had injured them because they had no other choice. While he was out of the room, Laurel would counsel the girl.

  Jane was not the first patient in need of clothing, so Laurel had filled two large wardrobes with garments for both sexes and all ages. Some were donated by local churches, others she’d found in rag shops. After patching and washing, the clothing was clean and respectable, if not fashionable.

  The girl needed a loose smock that wouldn’t hurt her injured back. Shoes? No, she was wearing sturdy, well-made half boots. Swiftly he collected what she needed and tucked everything into a simple canvas bag that she could carry easily. Lastly, he chose a deep bonnet and a cloak that would cover up her injuries and bandages.

  After he delivered the garments, Laurel shooed him from the examination room so she could help Jane dress. He frowned as he closed the door behind him. He and Laurel offered services, not money. Almost all of the generous allowance provided by Laurel’s estranged husband was spent running the infirmary, and cash was tight.

  But sometimes exceptions must be made. His office was only a few steps away, so he unlocked the door and opened the hidden desk drawer where he kept money. Jane didn’t look as if she had a penny to bless herself with. How much would it cost for her to run away and keep herself until she healed?

  He couldn’t bear to think of her returning to her violent husband. He collected twenty pounds’ worth of coins and small bills, and tucked them into a cloth purse. It was a substantial sum, enough to get her away from Bristol and keep her for two or three months if she was careful. Then he returned to the examination room, reminding himself that he couldn’t save everyone. Not even close.

  Jane was bundled warmly in the old cloak, her bruised face and bandaged head concealed by the brim of the bonnet. Laurel was frowning. “You’re sure you’ll be all right? You can spend the rest of the night here in the infirmary.”

  “I can’t,” the girl said, her voice stronger now. “I will be fine, truly. I don’t have to go far.”

  Daniel suspected she wouldn’t stay because she feared she might be followed. He hoped she was telling the truth about having a friend who would take her in for the night. She might be planning to hide in a stable or church. That would do for one night if she was planning on leaving the next day. “You have some place to go if you leave Bristol? Family, by preference.”

  “There is no one, but I shall manage. I’m not afraid to work.” She gave a brittle laugh. “Or to walk.”

  Daniel held out the purse. “Take this. It should be enough to keep you until you can establish yourself elsewhere.”

  She gasped and tried to hand the money back. “I can’t take this! You’ve already done so much for me.”

  He caught her hand, speaking slowly to emphasize his words. “We don’t want to think of you leaving here and falling into a situation that’s even worse.”

  Jane stared up into his face. The eye that wasn’t swollen shut was a light, clear blue, and it held shadows that no young girl should have.

  She bent and kissed his hand with her bruised lips. “Thank you,” she said in a raw, husky voice.

  She released his hand and tucked the purse inside her cloak, then turned to Laurel. “Thank you both so much. I shall never forget your kindness. If there is ever anything I can do to repay you . . .”

  Daniel said firmly, “Make wise decisions. Be kind to others. That will suffice.”

  She ducked her head again, then turned and left the room. Daniel and Laurel followed her to the door, watching silently as the girl descended the few steps to the street and turned left. There was something heartbreakingly gallant about her slim figure as she disappeared into the night.

  “The house behind us is for sale,” Laurel said. “I want to buy it and create a sanctuary for women and children who need shelter from brutal men.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” Daniel said immediately. A shelter for women like Jane would be a true godsend. “Do we have the money?”

  “I’ll find the money!” Laurel said with rare fierceness.

  “Then we’ll do it.” Daniel put his arm around his sister’s shoulders and gave a comforting squeeze. “At the moment, though, we both need food and strong tea.”

  Laurel exhaled, relaxing under his arm. “What good advice, Doctor. There’s a nice bean soup on the hob.”

  “Perfect.” But before Daniel closed the door, he gazed at the shadows where Jane had vanished. As the back of his neck prickled, he had the uncanny feeling that he would someday see her again.

  Chapter 1

  Bristol, Autumn 1813

  After burying his parents, Daniel Herbert returned to work, which had always been his passion and salvation. No matter how unquiet his own mind, his medical skills helped heal ailing bodies, and the occasional sermons he gave in the chapel he sponsored sometimes helped heal wounded souls.

  To ensure that he was as busy as he needed to be, Daniel sent his junior doctor, Colin Holt, off on holiday with his new bride. Dispensing cough syrups and willow bark tea, and performing minor surgeries left Daniel tired enough to sleep. Exhaustion was preferable to thought. A fortnight had passed since the funerals and soon he must face the changes caused by their deaths; but for now, he preferred stitching up knife wounds in bawdy old sailors.

  He was just finishing with a patient when Betsy Rivers, the infirmary manager, knocked and entered his treatment room. “Dr. Herbert, a gentleman is here to see you on what he says is important business.”

  “I doubt that his idea of important is the same as mine,” Daniel said dryly. “But Red Rab here is just leaving, so send in the gentleman.”

  Betsy frowned at his blood-spattered apron but didn’t try to talk him into changing out of his work clothing. “Yes, sir.”

  As Betsy left, Daniel tied the last suture on his grizzled patient. “Careful, Rab. One of these days someone might accidentally stab something vital.”

  “Naw, Doc,” Red Rab chuckled as he stood. “We been fightin’ each other so long, we know where it’s safe to stick the blades.” The sailor ambled out and Daniel began cleaning up the bloodstained rags and instruments.

  Betsy returned, accompanied by a stocky, soberly dressed fellow with a keen gaze and a folio under his arm. “This is Mr. Hyatt, sir.”

  The visitor blinked at Daniel’s rough and ready attire, then inclined his head courteously. “I’m Matthew Hyatt of the London law firm Hyatt and Sons. You are Daniel Herbert of Belmond Manor?”

  Though Daniel hadn’t lived there in years, the manor was definitely now his. “I am.” He dropped his used surgical instruments into the waiting basin of soapy water.

  “My sympathies on the loss of your parents, Mr. Herbert.” The lawyer sighed. “The disease outbreak at Castle Romayne was a great tragedy.”

  “It struck with terrifying swiftness. Far too many of the people in the abbey and town died,” Daniel said, his mouth tig
htening at the memory. His parents had been delighted to receive an invitation to a grand house party held by his father’s distant cousin, Lord Romayne. They’d urged him to come, too, but he had no interest in such things. If he’d been there, might he have been able to suggest effective treatment in time? Drinking massive amounts of fluids could help dangerous fevers. Or would he have died as well?

  He washed his hands briskly. “I have patients waiting, so perhaps you can tell me your reason for being here?”

  The lawyer blinked at his bluntness. “Very well. It’s my pleasure to inform you that you are heir to the honors and property of the Romayne barony.”

  Lord Romayne’s other heirs had all died in that beastly outbreak of disease? Daniel froze, feeling the impact of the words like a fatal blow. The walls he’d built around his pain and guilt shattered and raw emotion scorched through him.

  His life was over.

  When James, Lord Kirkland, entered Daniel’s office late the next day, Daniel was unsurprised. Kirkland was a shipping merchant and spymaster, as well as Daniel’s brother-in-law and sometime friend. With his information sources, Kirkland usually knew what was happening before it actually happened. This evening he looked like a darkly elegant predator, but his eyes were compassionate.

  Though Daniel had managed to paper over the internal cracks caused by having a barony fall in his lap, he was embarrassingly relieved to see Kirkland, who was also a master at fixing problems. Pushing aside his late, cold supper, Daniel offered his hand. “I assume you’ve heard the news? Because if Laurel was unwell, you’d be with her.”

  Kirkland smiled as he shook hands. “Laurel is at the stage of pregnancy where she has a terrifying amount of energy. I barely restrained her from coming with me.”

  Daniel’s brows arched. “I assume she sent you to ensure that I don’t put a period to my existence.”

  “Exactly,” Kirkland said with dry amusement. “Inheriting wealth, influence, and a seat in the House of Lords is enough to drive any man to despair.”