The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel

by Stefanie Sloane

  “Your help?” Sophia interrupted, sure that she’d misheard.

  Lady Elena turned to Sophia and grimaced. “Yes, though I should mention that my assistance was not precisely ‘enlisted.’ Actually, the issue was fought rather fiercely to the bitter end. But a situation arose for which a woman was needed. The men had no choice.”

  “I disagree. They should have come to me,” Sophia countered, indignation rising in her chest. “If any one woman was to participate in the capture of my mother’s killer, it should have been me. Surely you see that.”

  Lady Elena reached out, her upturned palm a tentative offer of peace and silent request for understanding. “Lady Sophia, you do know how dearly Dash cares for you, do you not?” she asked gently.

  Her tender tone tempered Sophia’s growing anger. “I do,” she answered, accepting Lady Elena’s hand in hers.

  “Then you must recognize what a difficult position this put him in. Though very aware of your desire for revenge, he could not, in good conscience, put you in harm’s way,” Lady Elena explained. “Besides, I believe he felt sure you would see the logic at play once the killer was captured.”

  Sophia jumped up from the settee, nearly falling from a swift return of dizziness. “I must see this man at once. Where is he being held?”

  “Do be careful,” Lady Elena protested, popping up from her seat to take Sophia’s arm. She pointed to the settee. “Sit.”

  Sophia was not about to do anything of the sort. “How can you expect me to sit calmly when the man who murdered my mother has been found? Do you have any idea how long I have waited to see his face? To ask him why he would commit such a brutal, senseless act? If you did, you would not ask me to wait. Truly, you would not.”

  Lady Elena continued to hold tight to Sophia’s arm, gently but implacably keeping her from rushing out of the room. “No, I would not—not for all the world. But he has not been captured, Lady Sophia.”

  “But the late earl’s journal,” Sophia pressed, looking at the closed door.

  “It is complicated,” Lady Elena began. “The murderer’s name was not supplied, only his code name and a few other pieces of the puzzle. Dash and Mr. Bourne made temendous progress, but they were not able to completely unravel the murder plot.”

  Unable to be still, Sophia shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to make sense of Lady Elena’s words. “And that is why Nicholas decamped for the Primrose?”

  “Yes,” Lady Elena replied plainly. She carefully took Sophia’s other arm and steadied her, calming her restless movement. “And why Langdon cannot be told. He could not keep such information from the Young Corinthians. And, as you well know, the Corinthians will hardly allow the four of you to be involved in the case.”

  “Then why tell me now?” Sophia asked, the fierce, bright hope for resolution that had filled her soul only moments before flickering out.

  Lady Elena gestured toward the settee once more and waited until Sophia was settled. “You should know that Dash has made several trips to the Primrose in an attempt to persuade Mr. Bourne to leave. His visits have been met with very little enthusiasm on Mr. Bourne’s part—and that is putting it mildly.”

  “From what I understand of such trips, Nicholas likes nothing more than to steep himself in brandy and brood,” Sophia answered, still confused. “But that is neither here nor there. This still does not explain why Dash is finally willing to share this information with me now.”

  “He needs you to convince Mr. Bourne to take up the case again,” Lady Elena replied. “He cannot ask Langdon. And there is no one else but Nicholas now.”

  Sophia stared up at her, the sudden urge to shake Lady Elena silly censured by the realization that it was, after all, her wedding day. “Then there is still the possibility that my mother’s killer will be brought to justice?” she said carefully, determined to not misunderstand the true situation.

  “Lady Sophia, let me be frank. I suspect that we are very much alike. Which is why I know that you are currently strategizing how you might join Nicholas in the apprehension of your mother’s killer. But I can tell you from quite recent experience that Mr. Bourne is amply equipped to take on such an endeavor on his own. And beyond that, he will not stand for your participation. In fact, he will do everything in his power to make sure that you stay as far away from the case as possible.”

  Lady Elena spoke the truth. Precisely how Nicholas had spent his time in India over the last few years was a mystery to all. It was, however, abundantly clear that whatever it was he’d done had not involved manners, nor morals, nor perhaps anything that could be misconstrued as legal. Nicholas Bourne had returned from his travels a much more dangerous, mysterious man. But Dash’s new wife had miscalculated when it came to Sophia. Nothing would stop her from finding the man who had killed her mother, especially not Nicholas.

  “Then it is settled,” Sophia replied, leaning into the settee cushions as if overcome with relief. “I will travel to the Primrose and do my best to convince Nicholas of his duty.”

  Lady Elena eyed her suspiciously, though her own relief at having finished such a challenging conversation was evident in the sign that escaped her lips. “Thank you.”

  Pounding sounded just on the other side of the countess’s door, followed by Langdon’s voice demanding entry.

  “The excitement of the day became all too much and you fainted,” Lady Elena suggested to Sophia, eyeing the door with worry.

  Sophia nodded quickly, then laid down on the settee. “We women are such delicate creatures, are we not?”

  “Hardly,” Lady Elena replied, “but man’s general ignorance of such things does come in rather handy at times.”

  The Honorable Nicholas Bourne could not decide which was worse: the rattle of metal rings over the curtain rod as the rough linen hangings were pulled back, the excruciatingly loud crash of the shutters slamming against the outer stucco and timber siding of the Primrose Inn, or the sudden flash of blinding sunlight.

  “Mrs. Church, are you trying to kill me?” he asked the innkeeper’s wife in a low, even tone as he willed the relentless pounding in his head to stop.

  Something soft yet painfully unwelcome landed on his face in response to his query. Nicholas cautiously opened his eyes but could see nothing through the folds of his linen shirt. “I see no need for clothing at this juncture, my good woman, as I intend to stay abed for at least another two hours. Now, off with you. I’m sure there are other guests who would welcome your attention.”

  “I am neither Mrs. Church nor am I trying to kill you. Not yet, anyway.”

  Nicholas startled at the sound of the woman’s voice. He grabbed the bedcovers, yanking them higher over his bare chest as he levered himself upright. “Sophia?”

  Lady Sophia Afton stood in front of the open window, backlit by the late morning sun. The warm golden rays silhouetted her graceful form against the gloom and dark of the rented room. All about, empty bottles of brandy and cognac, sheets of parchment and discarded quills, and Nicholas’s clothing were carelessly tossed hither and yon—the evidence of a messy and misused life.

  And in the middle of it all, Sophia stood still. The faint pink of her rosebud-printed gown appeared to be the exact hue of her full lips. Her hair, gleaming like autumn’s burnished oak leaves, was artfully pinned up, a few stray curls expertly arranged about her face. And below the feathered arch of brows, her eyes were the deep green of emeralds, framed with dark lashes and spaced just far enough apart to give her an exotic air. One could get lost in those unfathomable depths, a fact Nicholas knew all too well.

  Sophia stole his breath away. She always had. And without even knowing that she did so. He’d long ago learned it was useless to fight the fascination. His obsession with her would pass, eventually. And his sanity would return again.

  “Surely you’re not surprised,” she said, slowly walking toward the bed until she stood within touching distance. “Someone had to fetch you.”

  Nicholas
fought the urge to stare at her beautiful, honest face, painfully aware that the sight would only make his heart ache as much as his head. “Well, someone usually means Carrington or my brother. How on earth did you draw the short straw—and where’s your Mrs. Kirk? This is feeling more scandalous by the moment.” He gestured abruptly. “Turn around, Sophia, while I get decent.”

  With an unfathomable glance from beneath her lashes, she did as he bade her, turning to face the opposite wall.

  Nicholas tossed back the covers and swung his bare feet to the plank floor. He unearthed his shirt from the pile of clothing flung carelessly on the edge of the bed and pulled it over his head, tugging it into the place.

  “Mrs. Kirk is waiting in the hallway so that we may speak privately,” Sophia replied, her back to him as Nicolas buttoned his breeches. “As for Dash, he’s celebrating his wedding trip.”

  “Dammit,” Nicholas cursed under his breath. “I thought he was to be leg-shackled on the 24th.”

  Sophia turned back to face him, pity pooling in her eyes. “He was, Nicholas. Today is the 31st.”

  He froze, staring at her. He’d lost a week. In the past there had been a day here or there that had disappeared into the ether, consumed by drink and Nicholas’s own need to forget. But never so many days in a row. Too many days.

  “And my brother?” he asked lightly, desperate to maintain some sense of dignity though he knew it to be a pointless struggle. “Your betrothed is busy with Parliament, I suppose?”

  Sophia crossed the room to where a slat-backed chair stood. She turned it around and clasped the worn wood, tipping the chair onto two legs and dragging it toward the bed.

  Nicholas winced as the scrape of wood against wood set hammers pounding inside his skull.

  “I suppose,” she began, situating the chair across from where Nicholas sat, then taking her seat to face him. “But you know as well as I that he could not be involved in this business. The Young Corinthians would put an end to our involvement, and we cannot allow that to happen.”

  Nicholas narrowed his eyes over her. “What are you up to, Sophia?”

  “Do you promise to listen?” she implored, extending her arm, her palm up in silent plea.

  Nicholas scrubbed his hand across his unshaved jaw. “Are we seven years old again, then?”

  “Do you promise, Nicholas?” Sophia pressed. “Or have I come all this way for nothing?”

  “Honestly, Sophia,” Nicholas muttered, reaching out and taking her hand in his.

  Sophia laced her fingers with his and squeezed, just as she’d done countless times during their childhood. “Say it.”

  “I promise to listen, Lady Sophia Afton. There, will that do?”

  It killed him to touch her, her soft, small hand in his akin to torture. But he wouldn’t let go. He knew he would never be an honorable man. Never marry nor know the joys of family. But he would take his love for Sophia to his deathbed. Even if it destroyed him, which, he ventured to guess, was precisely what would happen.

  “Thank you, Nicholas.” She sighed, relief easing the strain from her countenance. She squeezed his hand in hers one more time, then let go.

  Nicholas lowered his arm, the tips of his fingers still tingling from where they’d gripped Sophia’s mere seconds before. “Well, out with it, then. What is so important that you’ve come all the way to the Primrose to tell me?”

  “I need you, Nicholas. You’re the only man who can help me.”

  Nicholas stared hard at the one woman he’d ever loved. He’d often imagined what it would feel like to hear Sophia say such words to him. And the emotion was nothing like the growing sense of unease that crept up his spine now.

  Sophia folded her hands in her lap and stared at Nicholas. When she’d thrown back in the curtains earlier and turned to look at him, she’d been stunned, frozen into stillness and too distracted to move or speak. The sunlight had arrowed through the window behind her directly onto the bed. In that brief moment before Nicholas recognized her, she’d been shocked at the powerful, dangerous man sprawled on the rumpled bed. The blankets were pushed to his waist, his upper torso bare. Though she’d known him since they were children, he was suddenly a stranger. She’d been unable to look away from the flex and smooth ripple of well-defined muscles in his chest and arms as he pushed himself upright. It was only the sound of his sleep-roughened, deep voice as he spoke her name that broke spell that held her and she was able to move again.

  Now that she was nearer, she could see that deep crease marks from the crude Primrose Inn bedding ran the length of the left side of his face. He’d been abed for some time. But the dark crescents beneath his eyes intimated exhaustion.

  An air of dissipation and soul-deep weariness shrouded his handsome countenance. She wanted badly to know why he felt driven to drink when it only led to this: a dank room in an unremarkable inn, surrounded by nothing that could hope to bring him any peace. But despite their long-held friendship, she felt a reluctance to question him. It wasn’t her place to ask.

  He scrubbed at his jaw for the second time in as many minutes, the muscles beneath the unshaven skin rigid. “Shouldn’t you be asking my brother for help?”

  He was clearly exhausted, but there was more. There always was with Nicholas. Her presence at the Primrose wasn’t merely an inconvenience: Was he angry? Or perhaps embarrassed?

  “Langdon would refuse me aid. And as much as I chafe at the very idea, I cannot do this alone,” Sophia replied honestly.

  Nicholas captured her with a look of abject disbelief. “I’m sorry, Sophia. I don’t believe that I heard you correctly. Did you just say that you could not accomplish something on your own?”

  His eyes glinted with sudden amusement. There he was, the Nicholas she knew best. Flirtatious. Irreverent. Fun. He was the only man who could always make her laugh, no matter the circumstances. “I missed you terribly while you were away in India. Do you know, I believe I didn’t laugh once while you were gone,” Sophia countered, an affectionate smile curving her mouth.

  His brow, cocked jauntily for effect only a moment earlier, lowered, his expression smoothing into indifference. “And I missed you as well, you—all of you,” he answered, the light-hearted sarcasm gone from his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, tell me what you’ve come for.”

  And just that quickly, the brief glimpse of the Nicholas she’d once known was gone. She should have known better than to attempt such easy conversation with him. When they were children, it had all been so simple. But the death of her mother had changed everything; how could it not? Once a dear and trusted friend, Nicholas was not someone whom Sophia desperately cared for, yet couldn’t get near. Not in any real sense. Not anymore.

  Sophia peered down at the planked floor. She missed her friend. But she couldn’t ask Nicholas to come back to her—no more than she could move the sturdy, strong wood beneath her feet. “Very well,” she began, looking up and fixing him with a somber stare. “Dash told me what you’ve been up to. And now that he’s married, someone will need to continue the search for my mother’s killer. I want in.”

  Nicholas uncrossed his arms and propped his elbows on his knees, frowning at her. “You want in?”

  “That is correct,” Sophia confirmed earnestly. He hadn’t refused immediately, causing the slimmest twinge of hope to take root in her heart.

  “You want to traipse about London looking for a man who thought nothing of murdering innocent people—and would do so again given the chance?” Nicholas continued, raking both hands through his hair until the rumpled black locks stood up on end.

  Sophia fought hard to hold onto the fledgling hope, fortifying it with the constancy born of every day leading up to this point. “I understand the danger, Nicholas. It’s precisely why I did not ask for Langdon’s help. He never would have agreed to—”

  “But you think I will? Am I that careless, then?” Nicholas interrupted bitterly. “So careless as to risk my brother’s bride for revenge?�
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  Sophia instinctively reached out for him, her breath catching involuntarily when Nicholas jerked away to avoid her touch. “No, you’ve misunderstood me,” she assured him, needing to make him understand. “This revenge you speak of, it’s mine as well, you know. My entire life has been spent waiting for this very moment. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “She was your mother, Sophia. Of course I understand,” Nicholas curtly replied, balling his left hand into a fist, then releasing his fingers slowly.

  “It’s more than that—and you know it,” Sophia said with quiet conviction. “We’re alike, you and I. Somehow Dash managed to escape. And Langdon can see a future—in the distance, true. But it’s there. And the two of us? We can’t let go of the past. And we’ll never be able to until my mother’s killer is captured.”

  Nicholas continued to flex his fingers as he contemplated the floor. “Don’t do this, Sophia. You know I cannot agree to such a thing. Even if what you say is true. I will not be responsible for endangering you.”

  He would not meet her gaze. His discomfort was palpable. But Sophia could not surrender. “I am afraid you’ve very little choice in the matter.”

  Nicholas slowly raised his head, bringing his deep umber gaze level with hers. “This is not a game.”

  Sophia flinched at the mix of anguish and hard conviction in his eyes but continued to hold tight to her hope. “No one knows that better than me, Nicholas. No one.”