Saint Or Sinner Read online

  Saint or Sinner?

  by

  Christina Kendal

  Text copyright © 2014 Christina Kendal

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Fiona McLean

  To family and friends for all their support and encouragement.

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 1

  Sarah sat bolt upright in bed, her palms clammy, her pulse racing. The bad dream had returned several nights in a row now and yet still she couldn’t recall the details, just the leering face of their ageing benefactor, echoes of his malevolent laughter still reverberating inside her head. An icy shiver trickled down her spine, and she sucked in a deep calming breath and released it slowly. The nightmare made no sense: Sir Horace had been the soul of generosity, taking her and her father in when they had nowhere else to go. Her body still thrumming with tension, she scrabbled around in the darkness and finally managed to light a candle, despite the trembling of her hands.

  Flickering shadows danced over the walls as she rose from the bed and wandered over to the open window, throwing back the heavy drapes and filling her lungs with cool night air. The heady scent of roses wafted up from the garden below and she took comfort in the reassuring familiarity of the scene, her gaze lingering over the long sweep of perfectly manicured lawn which tapered elegantly down towards the private cove. It was a beautifully clear summer’s night, the trees and bushes standing out starkly in the moonlight, the vast expanse of the ocean glittering far away on the horizon. She could hear the sound of distant surf crashing against the rocks and smell the salt spray on the light breeze.

  And then she saw it. A light blinking somewhere far out at sea, a series of three flashes with a brief pause in between, the same pattern repeated several times over. Her heart began to pound erratically in her chest. Smugglers! But making use of Sir Horace’s private cove? She found that extremely difficult to believe. Guessing it must be well past midnight, she dressed swiftly and made her way on tiptoe down the back staircase and out of the house, feeling a heady mix of excitement and trepidation at the prospect of what she might discover. She knew it was reckless but as long as she remained hidden what harm could befall her? And if she happened to spy a face she recognised, so much the better.

  Abandoning the relative safety of the grounds she wound her way cautiously down the familiar path to the cove, pausing to drink in the heavenly beauty of the Milky Way spread out like a fine gossamer veil across the velvet blue of the night sky. The unexpected sound of a gruff male voice somewhere nearby jolted her out of her reverie and she shrank gratefully down behind a rock, her heart hammering in her chest. Just in the nick of time it seemed: seconds later a group of men passed within mere feet of her hiding place, seemingly unconcerned about the amount of commotion they were creating. Probably bribed the local Excise men to turn a blind eye, she decided. She caught a glimpse of several faces, their profiles brought into stark prominence by the moonlight, but none of them looked even remotely familiar.

  When she was confident it was safe once more she rose on slightly shaky legs and began to cautiously retrace her steps, taking care not to lose her footing. She was just wending her way through a patch of scrubby brush at the top of the cliff when she was seized roughly from behind, a large calloused hand covering her mouth to cut off her scream as she fought unsuccessfully against her attacker.

  “Well, well, and what have we here? A lass wandering about on her own at this late hour?”

  The accent was local, and a gravelly voice off to the left replied.

  “Take her to the Saint, he can decide how to deal with her.”

  A gag of some kind was thrust roughly into her mouth and then she was manhandled back down the path, kicking and struggling for all she was worth, until finally they reached the beach and rounded a craggy outcrop, halting outside the narrow entrance to a cave hidden within the towering cliff face. A couple of lanterns illuminated the dim interior and as she was dragged within she could make out piles of wooden crates and barrels, and a number of shadowy men moving to and fro in the relative gloom.

  One man stood taller than all the rest, issuing orders, his mane of dark blond hair gleaming gold in the flickering lamplight. A mask obscured much of his face but as she was shoved unceremoniously in his direction she glimpsed a strong profile and a flash of silver grey eyes. He crossed his arms, his countenance now in shadow.

  “Well, now. This is a pretty present you’ve brought me, lads.”

  His accent wasn’t local, sounding more northern than southern to her admittedly untrained ear.

  “Found her lurking at the top of the cliffs, Sir. No idea who she is or what she was up to.”

  “Bring her closer.”

  He lifted a lamp in order to inspect her face, and she heard the note of surprise in his voice.

  “Lady Sarah! What in the name of God are you doing wandering around alone at this time of night? And more to the point, what are you doing here?”

  He was very close now, removing the gag before pushing her up against the uneven rock wall, his strong hands gripping her shoulders. She experienced a curious mix of fear and excitement as she gazed up into those glittering eyes, and her voice shook slightly when she spoke.

  “Do I know you, Sir? It seems unlikely, as I have no dealings with wreckers and smugglers to my knowledge.”

  She stuck her jaw out defiantly and he pressed his hard body even closer, pinning her against the cold stone, his lips inches from hers. His voice was a low growl and she shivered as his warm breath caressed her cheek.

  “Indeed? Fortunate for you that we are neither then, my lady. This is some other man’s contraband, all we’re guilty of is liberating it.”

  He smiled mirthlessly, turning her around and pointing her in the general direction of the cave entrance.

  “Lads, I’m returning this precious package safely from whence it came. You know what to do.”

  There were general murmurs of assent and one or two ribald comments as he offered her his arm in readiness to ascend the path. She shook her head haughtily and strode purposefully on ahead of him.

  “I can manage, thank you.”

  Suddenly she found herself thrust back against the cliff face, unable to move as he spoke low in her ear.

  “You stupid, headstrong, stubborn woman. Just be thankful it was my men you ran into or your virtue would now be a thing of the past, and quite possibly your life forfeit also. Don’t you realise how dangerous these cliffs are in the dark?”

  She was shaking, partly due to fear and partly due to his close proximity, and she tried to cover it with bravado.

  “I saw the lights out at sea and thought maybe I could discern a familiar face and report it to the authorities. I did not expect to be discovered.”

  He released her with a reluctant sigh.

  “Beautiful women should not wander around alone in the middle of the night. When I think what might have happened …”

  He still had a hold of her arm, and she felt the shudder run through him.

  “Please allow me the honour of escorting you home, my lady. I fear for your safety otherwise.”

  He gazed down at her with those hypnotic eyes and a not unpleasant shiver ran through her. Instinctively she felt that she could trust him and curtly nodded her assent.

  “If you must, then.”

  She caught a flash of even white teeth as he grinned broadly, favouring her with a brief incline of the head before offering his arm again. This time she accepted graciously, attempting to match her sh
orter stride to his much longer one and aware of him easing back when he realised she was struggling to keep up. They walked on in silence for a while, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her.

  “Why do they call you the Saint?”

  He glanced down at her and then back at the path ahead, surprisingly sure-footed even when the moon vanished briefly behind a little wisp of cloud.

  “The locals came up with the name because we take from the smugglers and redistribute the proceeds, bar a little to cover our overheads and some remuneration for the men.

  “Redistribute? To whom?”

  “The poor, of course. There’s more need than ever nowadays, what with unscrupulous businessmen exploiting the workforce at every available opportunity.”

  Her jaw dropped in surprise as she gazed up at his sculpted profile.

  “So who is responsible for the smuggling then? One man, or several individuals?”

  He grimaced, pausing for a moment as if making a decision before speaking again.

  “One man, in the main. He has Customs and Excise in his pocket but luckily I have a reliable network of informers even among those he thinks are loyal to him, and we manage to intercept eight out of ten of his consignments despite his best efforts to prevent it. He’s had to resort to using his private beach tonight and we’ve still managed to lift the booty from right under his nose. The men he paid to deal with it are all loyal to me, regrettably for him.”

  She heard the note of grim satisfaction in his voice, gasping when she realised the implications of his words. They were approaching the bounds of the estate now, and she whirled around to face him in some confusion.

  “But … surely you can’t mean Sir Horace? He was above reproach, taking us in when my father fell on hard times and asking nothing in return.”

  He took her dainty hands in his and she didn’t pull away, searching his eyes for confirmation. When he spoke again his tone was gentle.

  “Ask yourself when your father’s fortunes first took a turn for the worse, Sarah. And when Sir Horace became one of his close business associates.”

  She opened her mouth to protest further and then closed it again, her mind racing as the doubts began to creep in. It seemed that subconsciously she must have had her reservations about him all along, hence the disturbing dreams. But if what The Saint said was true, how could they possibly remain under the roof of the man who had deliberately set out to ruin her family? A strangled sob caught in her throat. He pulled her into a tight embrace and she didn’t resist, burying her face in his chest and taking comfort from his solid bulk. His voice was gruff, his chin resting on the top of her head.

  “I don’t know what his intent is where you and your father are concerned but believe me, it’ll have very little to do with the milk of human kindness. Tell nobody of this conversation, sweetheart. Behave just as you did before. He must suspect nothing or you and your father could be in grave danger. Can you do that?”

  He took her face in his hands and she forgot to breathe, unable to tear her eyes away from his intense gaze.

  “Can you, Sarah? Trust me, it’s of the utmost importance …”

  She nodded dumbly, wondering why she didn’t doubt he was telling her the truth even though she hardly knew him.

  His eyes dropped to her mouth and time stood still for an instant as she tensed, waiting. And then his lips were on hers and she yielded instinctively to the demands of his kiss, her arms encircling his neck as he pulled her close. His tongue slid over hers slowly, sensually, her soft body moulding to his as her heart pounded erratically in her chest. After a long moment he released her, whispering softly in her ear.

  “Goodnight, my lovely.”

  And then he was gone, swallowed up by the shadows, leaving her breathless and weak-kneed. She blinked, touching her swollen lips, a secret smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she made her way slowly in the direction of the house.

  Chapter 2

  Philip Hunt. Witty, amusing, arrogant … and devilishly handsome, she had to admit. She couldn’t help but notice him at the first social event she and her father had attended all those months ago, standing a head taller than most of the other men, his dark blond hair curling attractively over his collar. He had an expressive face with a ready smile and a full lower lip that was just begging to be nibbled, but it was his eyes that made grown women swoon, changing from brilliant blue to molten silver to soft grey in a matter of moments and framed by insanely long lashes.

  She’d watched him as he worked his way around the room, charming the fluttering bevy of women who surrounded him constantly, hanging on his every word. Sarah was determined not to be one of them despite his obvious attractions and returned his witty asides with waspish remarks of her own, irritated beyond belief when he showed signs of enjoying their verbal sparring and sought her out ever more frequently.

  She knew he was independently wealthy having been left a fortune by his late father, and had immediately made the assumption that he was an over-indulged playboy with all the intellectual capacity of a dry stone wall. Recently, however, she’d had cause to revise her original opinion when she’d overheard him in serious discussion with her father on more than one occasion about local politics and the importance of social reform. Occasionally she’d seen a brooding expression creep over that handsome countenance as though he had much to occupy his mind, and she decided that the persona of debonair flirt was just a facade. What she hadn’t worked out as yet was why he played this role and she determined then to find out more about the intriguing enigma that was Philip Hunt.

  ………..

  The day after her late night encounter with the Saint she was taking her regular morning ride along the beach when she spotted Philip approaching at a canter. The weather was hot and sultry, the threat of an imminent storm hanging in the air, and the gentle breeze coming off the sea mussed his hair giving him an attractively dishevelled appearance. He smiled and inclined his head, his stallion pawing at the ground nervously.

  “Lady Sarah, what an unexpected pleasure! Out for a spot of exercise? I always say nothing compares to a good hard ride.”

  A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and she coloured, knowing his conversation was always peppered with innuendos.

  Just as she opened her mouth to retort, a dramatic fork of lightning lit up the sky overhead closely followed by a resounding clap of thunder and her mare reared in fright, ears pressed flat against her head, before bolting in terror. Sarah clung on desperately around the animal’s neck as she flew across the sand like an arrow, hearing nothing but the wind in her ears, all the breath forced from her lungs. And then suddenly Philip was galloping next to her on his big bay, leaning forwards in the saddle to grasp the reins, gradually pulling back while talking soothingly and reassuringly to her mount.

  “Whoa, there. Easy, girl … easy …”

  Eventually the mare slowed to a shuddering halt, wide-eyed and snorting, still pacing uneasily. Rain had started to fall in earnest now, bouncing up off the rocks, and as he steered both horses into a nearby cave, she realised it was the same one she’d encountered just the previous night.

  Dismounting swiftly, he helped her slide out of the saddle, holding her up when her legs threatened to give way and steering her to a nearby flat rock where she sat shivering while he tethered their mounts. The deluge continued just beyond the cave entrance as he seated himself next to her and produced a hip flask from his jacket.

  “Here, drink some of this, it’ll help.”

  She gasped as the brandy hit the back of her throat before coiling its way down into her stomach, grateful for its warming and soothing effects. He took both her shaking hands between his own, his voice filled with concern.

  “Good God, you’re freezing. Come here, Sweetheart.”

  A strong arm encircled her waist and she found herself nestled against his broad chest, breathing in his clean masculine scent and listening to the steady ‘thud, thud’ of his heart.
It was not entirely unpleasant she had to admit, snuggling in closer while he buried his face in her hair. There was a slight tremor in his voice when he spoke again.

  “Jesus, Sarah, I thought I’d lost you. You could have been killed …”

  A shudder ran through him and he lifted her into his lap, each of them taking warmth from the other while they listened to the steady beat of the rain at the cave entrance and the roar of the surf pounding against the beach.

  After a while he retrieved the hip flask and offered it to her again before taking a good mouthful himself. She forced a shaky smile, the barriers between them having been somewhat lowered by the circumstances.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk and seduce me, Sir?”

  He rewarded her with a lopsided grin, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach as he removed his jacket and placed it gently around her shoulders.

  “If I thought for one second that plan would succeed I’d have fetched the whole bottle!”

  The smile faded as the shock finally hit her, and she began to shake and sob uncontrollably. Without hesitation he pulled her tightly against his chest, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace as she clutched desperately at his shirtfront. He stroked one reassuring hand up and down her back, whispering tender endearments into her ear, rocking her until she finally stilled in his arms, comforted by his nearness.

  And then there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere as she came to a gradual awareness of the hard male body pressed against her, shivering at the touch of his fingers, conscious of his lips gently brushing her hair. He tensed, sensing the spark of electricity flaring between them, holding her away from him so that he could look into her tear-stained face, his expression unreadable.

  “The rain’s almost stopped now. Think you can make it back to the house if we ride together? We can lead your mare.”

  She nodded, getting unsteadily to her feet and following as he led the horses from the cave. He lifted her up onto his big stallion and hoisted himself up behind her, one strong arm holding her firmly against his body as he steered them away from the beach. They spoke little, enjoying the enforced closeness as she leaned back against his broad chest, secure within the protective circle of his arms.