The Saint Who Stole My Heart is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books eBook Edition
Copyright © 2012 by Stefanie Sloane
Excerpt from The Scoundrel Takes a Bride by Stefanie Sloane copyright © 2012 by Stefanie Sloane
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book The Scoundrel Takes a Bride by Stefanie Sloane. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
eISBN: 978-0-345-53444-6
Cover design: Lynn Andreozzi
Cover art: Alan Ayers
www.ballantinebooks.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Other Books by This Author
Excerpt from The Scoundrel Takes a Bride
Summer, 1798
AFTON MANOR
COUNTRY ESTATE OF THE EARL OF AFTON
SUSSEX
“Let it be known, Dashiell Matthews, that pulling my braids one more time will result in your untimely death.” Ten-year-old Sophia Southwell tossed her head and the deep brown braids in question slipped over her shoulders as she turned back toward her familial estate.
Dash wiped at his brow and did his best to hide his laughter. As did his friends, brothers Langdon and Nicholas Bourne. The problem was, the angrier Sophia became, the funnier all three boys found her, which only made them laugh harder. And louder, unfortunately.
And the worst part of all was that Nicholas’s laugh sounded very much like a bark of sorts. The four had not been able to agree upon whether it more closely resembled a sickly goose, a dog with a bone lodged in his throat, or an angry billy goat. But whatever the poor unfortunate animal, the bark was made even more entertaining when he tried to suppress it.
Which he never could do, in light of his extremely acute sense of the ridiculous.
This was one of those times.
Nicholas reached out to give the braids another good tug.
Dash slapped his hand away, and then punched him on the arm. “It’s the heat, Sophia. You know it only brings out the mischief in us boys.”
“By my own hands—bare hands, if you must know,” Sophia threatened, not bothering to turn and look at them.
“Come now, Sophia, don’t be cross,” Langdon said gently. He bent down and yanked a handful of wildflowers from the ground, offering them to Sophia like a real gentleman. “We didn’t mean anything by it.”
She turned and looked at them, eyeing the flowers as though she fully expected a snake to slither forth and disappear up the sleeve of her dress. “Is this an apology, then?” she asked with a suspicious frown, taking the flowers in her hands and tentatively sniffing.
The boys formed a half circle around her. They hesitated, each pushing the other and muttering things like “Go on, then,” and “It was your idea, after all.” Finally, Dash stepped forward. He licked his hands and slicked back his hair, then cleared his throat.
“I vow, Sophia Southwell, that these hands,” Dash said dramatically, holding the offending fingers up and wiggling all ten, “will never, ever, touch your tresses again.”
Sophia shaded her eyes against the sunlight and crowned him with her bouquet, bits of green leaves and white petals showering his shoulders. “First of all, you shan’t get near any part of me with those spit-stained hands of yours or I shall kill you. Secondly, it’s not just my braids, you ninny,” she huffed, sweeping the three with an exasperated look. “It’s your treatment of me this summer—as if I’m somehow different …”
“But you are, aren’t you?” Dash asked, grinning. “Look now, you’re wearing a dress, while we three,” he paused, punching first Nicholas in the arm, then Langdon, “are attired in breeches. And shirts. Nary a dress among us.”
Sophia brained all three with the flowers this time. “I’ve always worn dresses, you idiot—I am, after all, a girl.”
“Precisely,” Dash agreed, brushing daisy petals from his hair. “A girl, with … Well, that is to say … What I mean …” He felt his cheeks grow hot. “Come on, Sophia. Don’t make me say it.”
“With girl parts and such,” Nicholas offered helpfully as he arched his eyebrows. “You’ve ten-year-old girl parts.”
Suddenly, Dash and Langdon couldn’t take their eyes off of a greenish-blue emperor dragonfly that’d presumably followed them up from the lake.
To watch the boys expire from embarrassment.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Nicholas added, scrubbing at his sweaty neck.
Langdon sighed and shoved his brother up the path. “We don’t want to talk about your girl parts, Sophia—well, that is, we would. If it wasn’t rude. But it is, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” Sophia agreed simply, apparently quite calm about such intimate references.
“Yes, of course. Anyway, it’s just that we’re all getting older,” he explained in his steady way, belying his thirteen years. “You’re ten now. Nick and Dash nearly twelve. And I’ll be fourteen soon enough. We’re growing up.”
Sophia fell into line next to Langdon as Dash and Nicholas moved ahead of them toward the manor, the dust rising from the worn walk as they plodded along.
Langdon’s response was true enough, Dash thought. They were growing up. The boys would head off to Eton while Sophia did whatever it was girls had to do to become proper ladies. Dash felt sorry for her—and glad for himself, which only made it that much worse. He’d have Nicholas and Langdon with him at school. Sophia would have no one—well, no one her age, anyway. Of course there were her parents. Lord Afton was a bit of a mysterious character as far as the boys were concerned, and no more than a congenial if absent father to Sophia. But her mother, Lady Afton, was different.
Dash kicked at a rock and watched it ricochet off a tree root and bounce into the heavy brush. Lady Afton was an angel. No one could convince him otherwise. She was the only mother he’d ever known, his own having died in childbirth. And she was perfect. Lady Afton let him wallow in the mud and never cursed when he tracked dirt in from outside. She read him adventure tales and laughed at his jokes. And when he cried, Lady Afton held him tightly and told him everything would be all right. Dash was happiest when he was with her. And that was enough for him. More than enough. Lady Afton loved Dash—loved all four of the children. And they loved her fiercely in return.
Nicholas nudged Dash in the ribs and laughed. Dash ruffled his hair in retaliation. Even Langdon and Nicholas, whose mother was hale and hearty after giving birth twice, p
referred Lady Afton to their own flesh and blood. Dash couldn’t blame them. Lady Stonecliffe seemed to like reading fancy French women’s magazines more than mothering her sons.
He looked at Nicholas from the corner of his eye and wondered; was it better to have no mother at all than to have one who didn’t seem to want you? He’d never dared to ask his friend. Nicholas was more likely to blacken his eye before he’d answer such a question. And anyway, Dash suspected that he already knew the answer.
Sophia’s easy laugh reached Dash’s ears and he turned to look back. Langdon was making a cake of himself as he watched the girl giggle. There was no need to ask the boy about his mother. He didn’t seem to care either way. Oh, he adored Lady Afton, that was true enough. But his heart already belonged to Sophia.
Dash’s stomach turned. How any boy could feel that way about a girl was beyond him.
“What will we do without you?” Dash heard Langdon say to Sophia.
“Get into trouble, I suspect. Speaking of which,” she answered as they caught up with Nicholas and Dash, “I’ve a challenge for you three.”
The devilry in her voice lifted the uneasiness of the moment and the boys smiled.
“Our excursion to the lake took some time—too much time, if I’m not mistaken,” she said, looking at the sun’s place in the sky.
“Hardly a problem, Sophia,” Dash replied, kicking at a second rock in the path. “We’ll sneak in as we normally do—through the library window and up the servants’ stairs to the nursery.”
Sophia looked back down and placed her hands on her hips. “Yes, you three will take the usual route. But I will enter through the front door.”
Dash’s jaw dropped. “You’re putting us on. No one gets past Wilcox. Actually, no one’s ever tried. And for good reason. Just what do you think will happen if he catches you? And he will, mark my words.”
A butler with the keen sense of a hunting hound and the disposition to match, Wilcox never took his duties lightly, especially when it came to informing the adults of their children’s transgressions. All four suspected that the man rather enjoyed catching them at their worst, which made them hate him even more.
“No one has gotten past Wilcox. I intend to be the first to do so. Right now!” Sophia announced excitedly, then took off running toward the front of the house, her long, thick braids flying over her shoulders as she disappeared around a corner.
The boys stared after her, and then looked at one another, hardly knowing what to do next.
“Well, come on, then,” Dash finally said, following after Sophia.
Langdon and Nicholas caught up quickly, each thumping him on the head as they passed.
“I don’t know about you two, but I’m not about to be beaten by a girl,” Nicholas yelled, running even faster.
“Me neither,” Dash shouted back, picking up speed as he raced toward the manor. “Right hot for a run, though.”
“She’s probably up in the nursery right now, laughing at us,” Nicholas muttered as the three boys took the servants’ stairs to the fourth floor, the sounds from the house party muffling their movements.
Dash frowned. Nicholas didn’t like losing. Dash didn’t either, but he’d been the one who’d gotten stuck in the window and wasted precious time, so he could hardly commiserate with his friend.
“Girls,” Nicholas added begrudgingly, his footfalls heavy as he trudged on, shame making his shoulders sag.
“She’s upset about your talk of girl parts,” Langdon said accusingly as they made their way down the hall. “She could hardly let such nonsense go without a set-down.”
The three approached the nursery door, Langdon in front. “Apologize, and perhaps she’ll be inclined to torture you only for a month rather than an entire year,” he said optimistically, leaning toward Dash and whispering, “you might want to tell her about your window predicament—or not. Your choice.”
He winked at Dash, then turned the door handle.
“Oh, all right,” Dash began, following Langdon into the room with Nicholas close behind. “You win, I suppose—”
The sight before him stole the remaining words from his mouth.
Sophia sat on the cheery rose rug, feet tucked up beneath her wrinkled dress and arms wrapped tightly about her waist. Lady Afton lay next to Sophia, her head cocked at an impossible angle and a horrible red, jagged line running along her neck just below her chin.
“Sophia,” Langdon uttered as he ran to her.
“I don’t know …” Sophia whispered, looking first at Langdon, then at Dash and Nicholas. Her eyes were huge in her pale face. “She won’t get up. She can’t. I thought, maybe, that she wasn’t … I screamed at her, pushed her—but she won’t get up. Langdon, do something,” she pleaded.
The boys watched Langdon hug Sophia tightly. Then Nicholas fell to his knees and sat back, his face turning ashen gray as he looked on with a dazed expression.
Langdon reached out and gently searched Lady Afton’s neck for her pulse, his hand shaking. “Sophia, I’m so sorry. She’s gone. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Don’t say that, Langdon,” Sophia begged, shoving him hard. “Don’t you dare say such a thing.” She savagely pushed him a second time, and then collapsed against him, hiding her face in his shirt.
“I’ll find whoever did this, I promise, Sophia,” Nicholas growled, his fists knotting at his sides. “I’ll catch the—”
“Enough,” Langdon choked out, tears welling up in his eyes.
Dash couldn’t think. His head emptied of everything but the sight of Lady Afton. His heart beat loudly in his ears. He was waiting for her to rise. Expecting to hear her gentle laugh after pulling such a glorious prank. Wouldn’t Langdon look the fool then?
Tiny beads of sweat broke out above Dash’s upper lip and he wiped them away, still willing Lady Afton to move. None of it made sense. It couldn’t. Because if it did, then Dash had to accept that it was real. That Lady Afton was dead.
Nicholas bent forward and beat his fists on the floor. Dash knelt down and hesitantly placed his hand on the boy’s back, as much for himself as for his friend.
Nicholas recoiled at his touch. “Don’t,” he demanded low in his throat, his voice thick with tears.
Sophia began to sob and Langdon continued to hold on to her, the muffled sound making Dash’s chest tighten painfully.
“Christ, Almighty.”
Dash looked up pleadingly at the sound of his father’s voice, as though the man could awaken him from the ghastly nightmare. “Father …”
Lord Carrington rushed to Dash and swept him up in his arms. “My boy, are you all right?”
Dash clutched his father’s shoulders and tried to answer him. But his throat held tight to the words, allowing only a gasp to escape.
Lord Carmichael, a particular friend of the Aftons, entered the room. He braced himself on the doorjamb as he looked upon the scene. Uttering a guttural “no,” he punched the paneled door and sent it crashing into the wall. The sudden noise seemed to prompt him into action and he began to move swiftly about the room.
“Answer me, Dash,” Lord Carrington pressed, shaking his son.
But Dash could do nothing more than watch Lord Carmichael in silence. The man scooped Sophia up and pressed her small body to his chest, gently urging Langdon and Nicholas to follow him.
“Come, Carrington. The children must be seen to. And Afton … God, Afton. I’ll fetch a footman and have him posted at the door. No one will disturb the room until we’ve had an …” He looked right at Dash, his jaw visibly tensing as though he’d done something wrong. “Now, Carrington,” he finished, then strode from the room.
Dash threw his arms around his father’s neck and held on for his very life. Lord Carrington squeezed him securely and followed Carmichael, leaving Lady Afton all alone.
Spring, 1813
LONDON
“You’re quite tan.”
Honorable Nicholas Bourne looked across the card table at Lady
Sophia Afton with a devilish grin. “Yes, well, exposure to the sun does tend to cause such things.” He lifted his crystal tumbler in salute before draining it in one quick swallow.
“Nicholas,” Sophia said reproachfully, in the same disappointed huffing of breath she’d exhibited while still in pigtails. “You’re bluffing.”
“I’m shocked,” Dashiell Matthews, Viscount Carrington, objected, settling back against the gold patterned sofa. “Not Bourne,” he admonished, a sly grin forming on his lips.
Next to him, Langdon Bourne, the Earl of Stonecliffe, stifled a laugh. “Come now, Sophia. Must you always be so suspicious?”
“Really, Mrs. Kirk,” Nicholas commented as he looked at Sophia’s companion with mock disapproval. “I’m greatly disappointed. The poor girl hasn’t the first clue when it comes to scientific facts regarding the result of sun exposure on one’s skin. What do you have to say for yourself?”
A quiet, intelligent woman, Mrs. Lettie Kirk had been hired as Sophia’s nanny shortly after the death of Lady Afton. And when her charge had outgrown the need for such things, she’d been persuaded to stay on as Sophia’s companion, though it took very little to sway the woman, for she loved the girl as her own. She shifted her willowy frame in the chair across the room and adjusted her spectacles. “Lady Afton received the finest education a young woman could hope for, Mr. Bourne.”
Sophia turned to Mrs. Kirk and arched an eyebrow. “Thank you, Lettie, for enlightening the man. But we both know the bluff I refer to is in his cards, not the sun in the sky.”
She turned back to Nicholas and drummed her fingertips on the table. “Show me your cards.”
“And so forward! Mrs. Kirk—”
“Now,” Sophia ordered, pinning Nicholas with a lethal glare.
Nicholas threw down his cards, feigning outrage. Shoving back in his chair, he rose abruptly and carried his glass to the mahogany sideboard where the decanter sat, already nearly empty. “Do you steal away at night to a gambling hell and lighten the pockets of cutthroats?” he asked, pulling the crystal stopper out and pouring the rest into his cup.
The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel Page 1
