Not Always a Saint by Mary Jo Putney Page A

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.
    â€œGood 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.”
    â€œShe 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.”
    â€œOne may hope.” Her smile was lopsided. “Please take a seat. I’ll ring for tea?”
    â€œNo 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 !
    â€œIs 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