The Saint (31 page)

He lifted her body and lowered her so that he filled her. Holding her to his heart he led her back into passion.

Afterward she lay drenched by his presence. The soft words of love that he had spoken at the end still played in her ears, and she slowly realized that he still repeated them. She forced her sated senses back in order.

And realized that for the first time he remained inside her.

She rose up on her forearms and looked at him.

Unconditional love looked back.

They shared a flawless unity in that honest gaze.

What a terribly wonderful thing love could be, she thought. One both found oneself and lost oneself within its quiet power. Love was more transporting than the ecstasies of music and nature. More thrilling than the edge of a sea cliff or the release of passion.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Madeline Hunter
has worked as a grocery clerk, office employee, art dealer, and freelance writer. She holds a Ph.D. in art history, which she currently teaches at an eastern university. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, her two teenage sons, a chubby, adorable mutt, and a black cat with a major attitude. She can be contacted through her web site,
www.MadelineHunter.com
.

Also by Madeline Hunter

B
Y
A
RRANGEMENT

B
Y
P
OSSESSION

B
Y
D
ESIGN

T
HE
P
ROTECTOR

L
ORD OF A
T
HOUSAND
N
IGHTS

S
TEALING
H
EAVEN

T
HE
S
EDUCER

Coming soon

T
HE
C
HARMER

T
HE
S
INNER

Journey back to an age of seductive danger,
passionate intrigue, and scandalous love as nationally
acclaimed author Madeline Hunter draws you into
the hearts of three irresistible men:

THE SEDUCER

Daniel St. John
         Charismatic and mysterious, this dangerously seductive man has survived a treacherous revolution: a master at the arts of war and intrigue, he knows the secrets of winning a woman's heart … and body.

THE SAINT

Vergil Duclairc
         This dashing nobleman leads a dangerous double life: beneath his perfect composure and self-control is a sensual master whose mere touch can tempt a woman to the wildest abandon.

THE CHARMER

Adrian Burchard                           
This virile aristocrat was used to having women at his command: darkly handsome, sensuous, magnetic, he lived in a world of mysteries and secrets … a man dangerous to love, impossible to resist.

Fighters, protectors, and lovers, they live in a dazzling
and treacherous world of glittering ballrooms and sinful
gaming halls, in a time of heart-stopping duels and
soul-searing passion.
These are their stories …

And look for two other tales of
seduction and scandel …

Madeline Hunter's

THE SEDUCER

Daniel's story

On sale now
and

THE CHARMER

Adrian's story

December 2003
Read on for a preview …
And look for the glorious finale
to Madeline Hunter's “Seducer” series
in THE SINNER, Dante's Story,
in January 2004!

THE SEDUCER

On sale now

“… if she goes unpunished, I must insist that she leave. I cannot have the virtue of my girls corrupted… .”

Madame Leblanc rambled on in severe tones. Distracted by thoughts of the unfinished business he had left in Paris, Daniel St. John only half-listened.

Something about a book. Of course the girl would have books. It was a school.

He forced his attention to the gray-haired, buxom schoolmistress and broke her incessant flow. “Your summons said that this was serious, madame. I assumed she had taken ill and lay on death's door.”

Madame lowered her chin and glared at him. “This transgression requires more than bread and water for a few days, m'sieur, and you gave strict orders she was not to be punished with the rod without your permission.”

“Did I? When was that?”

“Years ago. I told you that such leniency would lead to grief, and now it has.”

Yes, he vaguely remembered the earnest expression on a gamine-faced child, asking him for justice. He could not recall giving instructions about it. If he had known it would prove this damned inconvenient he would not have been so generous.

He straightened in the chair, prepared to rescind the order. His gaze fell on the willow rod lying across the desk. The memory of tearful eyes and a choking voice accusing Madame Leblanc of unwarranted brutality came back to him again.

“You said something about a book. Let me see it.”

“M'sieur, that is not necessary. I assure you that it is of a nature to be forbidden, to say the least.”

“That could mean it is only a volume of poems by Ovid, or a religious tract by a dissenter. I would like to see it and judge for myself.”

“I do not think—”

“The book, madame.”

She strode to a cabinet. Using one of several keys on a cord around her neck, she unlocked it and retrieved a small, red volume. She thrust it at him and retreated to a window. She took up a position with her back to him, physically announcing her condemnation of the literature in his hands.

He flipped it open, and immediately saw why.

Not literature. In fact, no words at all. The thin volume contained only engravings that displayed carnal intercourse in all its inventiveness.

He paged through. Things started out simply enough, but got increasingly athletic. Toward the end there were a few representations that struck him as totally unworkable.

“I see,” he said, snapping the book closed.

“Indeed.” Her tone said he had
seen
more than was necessary.

“Call for the child, madame.”

Satisfaction lit her face. “I would like you to be here when it is done. She should know that you approve.”

“Send for her.”

Madame Oiseau escorted Diane in.

As expected, a visitor waited in the headmistress's study. The Devil Man lounged in Madame Leblanc's chair behind the fruitwood desk. Madame stood beside him rigidly, a bulwark of censure. Two items lay upon the spotless desk. A willow rod, and
the book.

Typically, Daniel St. John barely glanced at her. He appeared a little annoyed and very bored. She half-expected him to yawn and pull out his snuffbox.

He did not really look like a devil. She had given him that name as a young girl because of his eyes. Dark and intense, they were framed by eyebrows that peaked in vague points toward the ends. Those eyes could burn right into you if he paid attention.

Since he never did, she did not find them so frightening anymore.

His mouth was set in a straight, hard, full line, but then it always was. Even when he smiled, it only curved enough to suggest that whatever amused him was a private joke. Along with the eyes and chiseled face, it made him look cruel. Maybe he was. She wouldn't know. Still, she suspected that women thought him very handsome, and maybe even found his harshness attractive. She had seen Madame Oiseau flush and fluster in his presence.

He was not as old as she had once thought. He had grown more youthful as she had matured. She realized now that he could not be more than thirty. That struck her as peculiar. He had been an adult her whole life, and should be older.

It was easy to forget how hard he could appear. Every year the months hazed over her memory. Seeing him now, she knew that her plan had been stupid. He would never take on more inconvenience, and she would be left here to await Madame Oiseau's vengeance.

“M'sieur has learned of your disgraceful behavior,” Madame Leblanc intoned. “He is shocked, as one would expect.”

He quirked one of his sardonic smiles at the description of his reaction. He tapped the book. “Is there an explanation?”

Diane made her choice. The safe, cowardly choice. “No explanation, m'sieur.”

He glanced up at her, suddenly attentive. It only lasted an instant. He sank back in the chair and gestured impatiently to Madame Leblanc.

The two women readied the chamber for punishment. A prie-dieu was dragged into the center of the room. A chair was pushed in front of it. The headmistress lifted the willow rod and motioned for the sinner to take the position.

The Devil Man just sat there, lost in his thoughts, gazing at the desk, ignoring the activity.

He was going to stay. Madame Leblanc had insisted that he witness it.

Diane had known remaining here would mean punishment. Madame Leblanc firmly believed that sins deserved whipping, and she did not reserve the rod for her students. Several months ago a serving woman of mature years was caught sneaking out to meet a man and the same justice had been meted out to her.

Burning with humiliation and praying that he remained in his daze, Diane approached the prie-dieu. Stepping up on the kneeler, she bent her hips over the raised, cushioned armrest and balanced herself by grasping the seat of the chair.

Madame Oiseau ceremoniously lifted the skirt of her sack dress. Madame Leblanc gave the usual exhortation for her to pray for forgiveness.

The rod fell on her exposed bottom. It fell again. She ground her teeth against the pain, knowing it was futile. They would whip her mercilessly until she begged heaven's pardon.

“Stop.” His voice cut through the tension in the room.

Madame Leblanc got one last strike in.

“I said to stop.”

“M'sieur, it must—”

“Stop. And leave.”

Diane began to push herself up.

Madame Oiseau pressed her back down. “It appears her guardian is so outraged that he feels obliged to mete out the punishment himself, Madame Leblanc,” she said in oily tones. “It is appropriate for such a sin, no?”

Madame Leblanc debated in a string of mumbles. Madame Oiseau walked around the prie-dieu. The two women left.

She heard him rise and walk toward her. She hoped that he would be quick about it. She would gladly accept any pain just to be done with the mortification that she felt, positioned there, half-naked.

The skirt fluttered down. A firm grasp took her arm. “Get up.”

She righted herself and smoothed the sack gown. Biting back her humiliation, she faced him.

He sat behind the desk again. No longer bored. Definitely paying attention. She squirmed under his dark gaze.

He gestured to the book. “Where did you get it?”

“Does it matter?”

“I should say it does. I put you in a school that is almost cloistered. I find it curious that you came by such a thing.”

Madame Oiseau's threat rang in her ears. She could do it. She could kill someone. And when it happened, the Devil Man would not care at all. He would be grateful to be spared the journey each year.

“I stole it.”

“From a bookseller?”

“I stole it and Madame Leblanc found it among my belongings. That is all that matters. Madame says that excuses and explanations only make the sin worse.”

“Does she? What nonsense. Do you understand why Madame was so shocked that you had this book?”

“The women are undressed, so I assume that it is about sins of the flesh.”

That seemed to amuse him, as if he thought of a clever response but kept it to himself. “I believe that you stole this book, but I think it was from someone here. Madame Leblanc?”

She shook her head.

“I did not think so. It was the other one, wasn't it? The one more than happy to leave you alone with me.” He speared her with those eyes. “Tell me now.”

She hesitated. He really didn't care about her. This was the first time in years that he had even really looked at her.

He was definitely doing that. Sharply. Deeply. It made her uncomfortable.

He had helped her that time when she complained. Maybe if she told him, he would agree to keep silent and things could continue as before. Or perhaps if he complained, Madame Leblanc would believe him, and Madame Oiseau would be dismissed.

There was something in his expression that indicated he would have the truth, one way or another. Something determined, even ruthless, burned in those devil eyes.

She much preferred him bored and indifferent.

“It belongs to Madame Oiseau, as you guessed,” she said. “There is a young girl, no more than fourteen, to whom she has been showing it. The girl told me how Madame Oiseau described the riches to be had for a woman who did such things. I went to Madame's chamber and took it. I was looking for a way to bring it down to the fire, but Madame Oiseau claimed a brooch had gone missing and all the girls' chambers were searched. The book was found in mine.”

“And the brooch never was found, was it?”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully while his gaze moved all over her, lingering on her face. He was trying to decide if she spoke the truth.

“How old are you now?”

The annual question, coming now, startled her. “Sixteen.”

“You spoke of your friend who is fourteen as a young girl.”

“She acts younger than that.”

He scrutinized her. He had never looked at her so long or so thoroughly. No one ever had.

“I brought you here, what, ten years ago? Twelve? It was right after … You were a girl then, but not a little child.” His gaze met hers squarely. “How old are you?”

Her foolish plan was unfolding in spite of her cowardice.

Only she did not want it now.

“Sixteen.”

“I do not care for young women trying to make a fool of me. I think if we let down your hair from those childish braids, and see you in something besides that sack, that we will know the truth.”

“The truth is that I am sixteen.”

“Indeed? Indulge my curiosity, then.” He gestured at her head. “The hair. Take it down.”

Cursing herself for having attracted his attention, she pulled the ribbons off the ends of her braids. Unplaiting and combing with her fingers, she loosed her hair. It fell in waves around her face and down her body.

His sharp eyes warmed. That should have reassured her, but it had the opposite effect. Caution prickled her back.

“How old are you?” His voice was quieter this time, with no hard edge.

He had her very worried now. “Sixteen.”

“I am sure not. I suspect that you concluded it was in your interest to lie. But let us be certain. The gown, mam'selle.”

“The gown?”

“The gown. Remove it.”

THE CHARMER

On sale November 2003

—May 1831

A
drian crossed the drawing room threshold and found himself in the middle of an Arabian harem.

Women swathed in colorful pantaloons and veils lounged beside men dressed in flowing robes. A fortune in silk billowed down from the high, frescoed ceiling, forming a massive tent. Two tiger skins stretched over the pastel tapestry rugs, and bejeweled pillows and throws buried settees and chairs. An exotic, heavy scent drifted under the fragrances of incense and perfume. Hashish. In the darkest corners some men kissed and fondled their ladies, but no outright orgy had ensued.