The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel

by Stefanie Sloane

  “Your favorite flower,” he answered, adding “and do call me Dash, won’t you?” in the hope that a less formal address would help ease their stilted back-and-forth.

  “Hmmm …” she replied, biting her lip. “I suppose the use of your Christian name would not be too untoward at this point in our friendship.” A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. “Oh, and my favorite flower is the wild dog rose. It absolutely covers Dorset in the springtime.”

  She’d flinched the moment the word “rose” had come out of her mouth.

  “And these gloves,” Dash asked, suddenly desperate to distract her from such thoughts. “What do you plan to do with them?”

  She looked at the paper-thin gloves in her hand as if she’d forgotten them altogether. “Oh, yes, of course. It’s something rather exciting. I’m going to pack the Paolini. Would you care to join me?”

  He knew he should say no. But her enthusiasm was infectious. Dash couldn’t care less about the book on Greek mythology, but all at once, he needed to see it prepared for travel.

  “I would like nothing more, Miss Barnes.” He offered his arm to her.

  She smiled softly and looped her arm through his. “Splendid. And you must call me Elena.”

  Dash guided Elena to the case where the Paolini was kept.

  Elena released his arm and returned the flower to Dash. “Giacomo Paolini’s Abecedary Illustrations of Greek Mythology,” she said reverently, donning first one glove and then the other.

  “And why is this book so special to you?”

  “Well, as I explained before, it’s very rare—”

  “Yes,” Dash interrupted, watching as she opened the glass case and gently reached inside. “I remember why it’s special to the world. But that’s not what I asked. I want to know why it’s special to you.”

  He shouldn’t be asking such questions. But he had to know more of her before she disappeared from his life.

  Elena slid her fingers beneath the lower right corner of the leather-bound book and slowly opened it, supporting the cover with her left hand. “Many call it the Grotesque Alphabet,” she began, carefully turning the title page to reveal Atheonis artistically twisted into a capital A with Diana in the background. “But I think it’s beautiful. All of the power and intelligence—the very mystique of the Greek gods—distilled down into twenty-six engravings. Most miss how truly special the book is because they’re too busy expecting it to be something else.”

  Like you. Dash stared at the book as she gingerly turned the pages, each letter revealing Paolini’s talent and imagination. He saw it, the beauty and truth beneath the paper and pencil.

  Just as he saw the same in Elena.

  “And you, Dash. What is your favorite book?”

  “Sun Tzu’s The Art of War,” Dash answered distractedly. “Fascinating stuff, really. Subduing one’s enemy without fighting …”

  Elena had stopped turning the pages and was instead staring intently at Dash. “My lord, what an interesting choice.”

  Ciphers and secret letters never suspected Dash of being anyone other than his Corinthian cover. Nor did ledgers or questionable finances.

  He smiled at her, groping for the most vapid thoughts he could summon. “It’s Dash, remember,” he teased. “And I was only having a bit of fun with you. I overheard two gentlemen discussing the book at my club. Thought it might make me look intelligent.”

  She closed the book and turned to face him, her eyes narrowing as she inspected his face. “Are you quite sure? Because both author and title rolled off your tongue most naturally.”

  “Elena, are you suggesting that I forgot about reading this Tzu chap’s book?” Dash asked skeptically. “Because that would truly make me a dimwit, wouldn’t it?”

  “My lord,” Bell interrupted as he walked toward the two.

  “Lady Mowbray wishes to remind you that you’re expected at the opera this evening.”

  “Miss Barnes, you mean?” Dash sought to confirm.

  “Both of you, actually,” Bell answered and bowed.

  “Oh,” Elena replied hesitantly. “I should go. The marchioness will be anxious to see my new dress.”

  She turned back to the Paolini and secured its case once again. “And if not Tzu’s Art of War, then what?”

  “Mother Goose,” Dash answered, his tone humorless.

  Elena pivoted about, nodding somberly at Dash, a small smile appearing. “Mother Goose,” she repeated quietly, then followed after Bell.

  Dash brought the lilac bloom to his lips and closed his eyes.

  “Did you enjoy the first two acts?”

  “Not in the slightest,” Dash answered, steering Lady Mowbray and Elena through the throng that had abandoned their boxes in favor of champagne and conversation during the opera’s interval.

  Lady Mowbray glared at him. “I wasn’t asking you—as you well know,” she said pointedly, taking Elena’s arm in hers. “Well, my dear? Is the opera to your liking? I must say that I rather enjoyed Madame Catalani—such power, such presence. Really quite exceptional.”

  Elena pasted a smile on her lips and nodded enthusiastically. The truth was, she’d never been much for the theater, the mad crush of bodies only serving to remind her why she loved the open country best.

  “My dear, you look positively frightened,” the older woman observed worriedly. “Are you quite all right? Perhaps this was too much, too soon. I’d hoped to take your mind off of poor Rowena with a bit of entertainment, but it appears I’ve only aggravated the situation.”

  Elena couldn’t think on Rowena. She wouldn’t. Late at night, in her bed, with the coverlet over her head, then she thought of her dear friend and wept. And wrestled with the guilt she suffered over allowing such a thing to happen. And plotted her revenge.

  And wept some more.

  But she would not allow the mere mention of the girl’s name to toss her into histrionics. “I am fine, Lady Mowbray; only a bit overwhelmed by the evening. Perhaps I’ll return to Carrington House now. But do stay for the rest of the performance,” she urged the woman, readying to make her escape through the endless sea of nattering nobility.

  “Lady Mowbray,” a booming voice called, the man attached to it coming forward and stopping next to Dash.

  Lady Mowbray curtsied and allowed the man to kiss her hand. “Lord Finesmith.”

  A young woman followed after Lord Finesmith. She was clearly uninterested in Elena, a frown of irritation clouding her beautiful face. And then she caught sight of Dash, and it was as if she’d been smiled on by the gods themselves.

  “Lady Meeks, delightful to see you out again,” Lady Mowbray said to the woman, though her enthusiasm was clearly for Lord Finesmith.

  The woman curtsied. Her slim form, encased in sapphire-blue silk, elegantly folded and then returned to its noble line. “Lady Mowbray, it is indeed a pleasure to be back in society where I belong. And what a lucky girl I am to chance upon you and Lord Carrington. It has been too long.”

  Elena fidgeted with the slashed sleeve of the green silk dress Lady Mowbray’s modiste had sent over. She hated the fact that the mere presence of a fashionable lady of the ton could make her feel nervous.

  “May I introduce you to Miss Elena Barnes?” the marchioness replied, gesturing to Elena. “She’s just up from Dorset.”

  The woman offered Elena a polite smile, her eyes taking in the length of her. “How do you do, Miss Barnes.”

  Elena couldn’t decide if it would have been worse to have been ignored altogether by the duo. She smiled in return and curtsied, rather suspecting that she would have preferred the latter.

  Lord Finesmith took Elena’s hand and kissed it gently. “Welcome, Miss Barnes. Glad to have you in town. And during the season, no less. Perfect timing on your part. Plenty of people to meet, parties to attend, so on and so forth.”

  “Yes, it’s always lovely to see new faces—especially one from the country,” Lady Meeks agreed, her gaze now turned back to Dash. “Such colorf
ul stories you people have of life on the farm. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Carrington?”

  Elena swiftly realized that she did not like Lady Meeks. Actually, she’d already figured that out before the woman accused her of being a shepherdess. But now, she really did quite loathe her.

  “Oh, yes,” Dash agreed, winking at Lady Meeks in a conspiratorial manner and smiling. “Colorful indeed.”

  Elena ceased fidgeting with the slashed sleeve and grasped one gloved hand in the other behind her back, locking both elbows. “Yes, well, we rustics do adore our color,” she replied sarcastically.

  The entire party laughed out loud, save Lady Mowbray and Elena.

  “Nonsense. Without such ‘rustics,’ as you delicately referred to them, England would not be the great nation that it is today,” Lady Mowbray stated, glaring at Dash, then Lord Finesmith and Lady Meeks in turn. “Besides, Miss Barnes is, by far, the most charming girl I’ve had the honor to chaperone—and the smartest. I would go so far as to say she’s the brightest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. You’d do well, Lady Meeks, to have such friends.”

  Elena wanted to kiss the woman, but knew such a breach in etiquette would only prove the others correct in their assumption that she was nothing more than a country bumpkin.

  “Ah, a bluestocking then?” Lord Finesmith said, waggling his eyebrows. “It’s all right, Miss Barnes. I don’t mind an intelligent woman—as long as she’s not overly so. Deuced unattractive though, when she is.”

  Lady Meeks’s hand came to cover a small, delicate giggle that had escaped from her heart-shaped mouth.

  Elena’s heart began to race and she could feel the heat forming in bright, red spots on her cheeks. Fear stuck in the base of her throat, thickening as it wound its way about her neck and squeezed every last sensible word from her.

  She instinctively looked at Dash for something. Anything. She didn’t know what, precisely, and didn’t really care. But she needed him to respond.

  “I’ve no idea what color Miss Barnes’s stockings are, Finesmith, and it’s rather indelicate that you would make reference to such a thing,” he jokingly replied, garnering a second giggle from Lady Meeks for his efforts and a thwack on the arm from the marchioness’s fan.

  Elena grasped her hands together so tightly she feared losing a finger. “Not to put too fine a point on it, my lord,” she began, jutting her chest out and standing as straight as she could. “But yes, I am, by far, the most intelligent one within our friendly circle, here, with the exception of Lady Mowbray.”

  The marchioness rapped Dash on the shoulder a second time, and then pointed the fan at Lord Finesmith. “You’ve hardly half your wits left, thanks to your hunting accident ten years back,” she began sternly. “But you, Lady Meeks, should know better.”

  Lady Meeks’s damnably perfect mouth formed an “O” of surprise, but she said nothing.

  “And you, my boy,” Lady Mowbray pressed on, giving Dash a stern look of disapproval. “Your father would have never stood for such behavior. I dare say he’d have been rather disappointed in you this evening.”

  Dash swallowed hard, though the insipid smile remained. “Come now, my lady, we were only playing.”

  With my heart, Elena couldn’t help but think, her hands nearly numb.

  She wanted to strike him. Needed to make him understand what it was to feel trapped like an animal, completely at the mercy of a stranger with nowhere to turn. She wanted to hide, far away from the deplorable pain that was threatening to overtake her.

  But she wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction—nor Lady Meeks. She couldn’t.

  “Well, as much as I enjoy a bit of banter, I’m afraid I have a headache. Lady Meeks, Lord Finesmith,” Elena said, biting her tongue while curtsying to the two.

  “Do take the coach, my dear,” the marchioness replied gently. “Dash will see that it’s brought round.”

  “No,” Elena protested instantly, rising and straightening her skirts. “That is, I’ll ask a footman to call for the coach. I would not want to ruin the viscount’s evening.”

  “I believe he’s managed to do that on his own,” Lady Mowbray said. “Besides, it is the least he can do. Now go, you two. Miss Barnes requires rest.”

  Elena turned to the crowd and waded in, hoping against hope that she would lose the man among the sea of faces—and never clap eyes on him again.

  “You were not meant to accompany me.”

  Dash tapped the roof of the landau coach and it rolled into motion, the matching bags expertly steered into traffic before turning down Pall Mall Street. “I know that,” he bit out, instantly regretting his response.

  Elena folded her hands in her lap and stared out the window.

  “I would like to apologize,” Dash began, harnessing his temper.

  “Apologize?” Elena repeated in a lethal tone. “For what, my lord?”

  Dash didn’t want to play this game. In truth, he was tired of games. Tired of pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Exhausted by the need to push Elena away at every turn.

  God, he’d made a mess of things. He wanted her, but knew that he shouldn’t need her. Her safety was threatened by Smeade if she stayed and continued to work her way into his heart, and yet he was desperate for her not to go. She’d challenged his credibility until he’d been forced to prove his stupidity, his worthlessness to her that evening in the only way he knew how.

  “You know very well, Elena,” he answered quietly, staring at her.

  Her lips trembled as she fought hard to maintain her composure. “That horrid woman tortured me for her own pleasure and you did nothing. How could you? I thought that …”

  “God dammit, Elena,” Dash spat out, leaning forward until his hands rested on the velvet cushion on each side of her. “Finish the bloody sentence. You thought what? That you knew me? Don’t you see, that’s the problem. You do—better than anyone else ever has. It terrifies me that I’ve allowed you so close.”

  “Yes, it’s true. I thought you’d revealed yourself to me—tiny glimpses here and there,” Elena replied angrily, averting her eyes toward the window. “In the library alcove and standing before your mother’s portrait. And your obvious interest in the burr puzzle—the mention of Sun Tzu’s book? These things found me contriving all sorts of fanciful realities about you. But tonight you proved me wrong. The man I thought you were would not have acted so cruelly.”

  Dash swore under his breath. “You’re too insightful for your own good. Do you know why I hide my intelligence? To keep people away. And it’s worked up until this point. But there’s something about you, Elena. I couldn’t help myself. Still can’t.”

  She made to push him away. “If you truly cared for me, you’d never have allowed Lady Meeks to treat me in such a way. What do you think drove me from London all those years ago? It was women such as Lady Meeks. Beautiful on the outside, but harpies within.”

  Dash wouldn’t move, no matter how Elena pressed. “You’re wrong. I do know everything about you—that’s why I let that shrew attack you. I need you gone—away from me. Out of my life.”

  It was nearly the truth. And that was everything that he could give.

  “Is that what you want?” she asked, her hands slipping from his chest and landing softly in her lap.

  She would comply, he thought bleakly. She was strong—the strongest woman he’d ever met. But his actions had cut her to the core. Elena would leave that very night, with as many books as possible stuffed into her baggage, and disappear forever. All Dash had to do was say one simple word.

  He looked hard into her eyes, willing his mouth to open and “yes” to tumble out. But he saw her soul in his reflection, and it undid him completely. He was utterly lost in her depths, and it felt so right.

  “Don’t be such a gudgeon,” Dash demanded, taking hold of her upper arms and shaking her. “I want you. More than anything.”

  Suddenly, the only thing that made sense in Dash’s disorganized and chaotic world w
as Elena. She was everything that was wrong, yet everything that could be right.

  And he didn’t want to fight her anymore.

  He pressed his lips to hers and took her mouth in a savage kiss, the feel of her breath on his as she reacted to his bold move only feeding the fire of desire growing in him.

  She shoved him hard, and he released her reluctantly.

  “Please,” he uttered, desperate for the feel of her once again.

  Elena touched her lips with one hand, gently caressing where Dash’s lips had been but a moment before.

  And then she slapped him hard across the cheek. “I will choose when I give myself completely, do you understand?”

  “Of course,” Dash whispered, guilt and regret beginning to flood his senses.

  “And I choose now.”

  Elena grabbed his lapels and pulled him against her, crushing her lips to his.

  Dash reached for the curtains and yanked them shut, repeating the process on the opposite side. “Circle the park,” he yelled to the coachman.

  Bracing himself on his knees, he wrapped his arms about Elena’s waist and surrendered to the kiss, his tongue seeking hers as his hands grabbed at the buttons on her dress.

  Elena’s tongue touched his and she gasped, her breasts pressing against his chest as she sought to close what little space there was between them.

  She brought her hands to his cravat and untied the knot, deftly pulling at the ends until it was released. She broke their kiss and started on his linen shirt. “I need to feel you against me.”

  Dash’s cock throbbed at the sound of her words, his desire to be inside Elena matched by her hunger. He shrugged out of his coat and swiftly set to work on the buttons of his waistcoat, deftly releasing each one. Then he finished the work Elena had started on his shirt, yanking first one sleeve and then the other from his torso.

  Elena tugged at his breeches, but they held. “Hmmmm …” she uttered breathlessly, continuing to pull at the fabric.