The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel

by Stefanie Sloane

  “But it is all that I have,” Smeade answered, his body suddenly wracked with uncontrollable coughing. Blood spurted across Dash’s coat as Smeade convulsed. The killer reached out and gripped his arm, his eyes widening in fear and alarm, then he slumped, his body suddenly quieted and stilled.

  Dash looked to where he’d last seen the shooter, just in time to witness the dark figure jump over the railing and disappear into the black water of the Thames below. Nicholas bent over the side of the bridge, but quickly abandoned the chase.

  He turned back and ran to Dash, stopping beside him. He peered down at Smeade’s body. “Is he dead?”

  “Yes,” Dash answered, looking down at the corpse.

  Nicholas kicked the body and shouted, “Dammit! Did he tell you what we need to know?”

  “We have a lead, Bourne,” he said quietly.

  “Then your answer is no?” Nicholas pressed, his voice thick with emotion.

  “My answer is no.”

  Nicholas stared at Dash, his eyes hard and cold. “I knew it. This nightmare will never end.” He kicked Smeade a second time and roared, the sound coming from his mouth more animal than man. He turned and strode away toward the end of the bridge, the rain and the darkness quickly swallowing his figure up until Dash could no longer see him.

  The carriage hit the bridge hard, throwing all three women up in the air, then bouncing them back down with a thud. Elena opened the coach window and peered out, the sight of Dash walking straight for the carriage making her scream.

  “Stop the coach!” Victoria demanded, thumping the roof as hard as she could.

  The driver obeyed, pulling up the horses with marked force. The women held on as the coach rocked to a halt and finally stopped.

  Elena threw open the door and leapt out, pulling up her skirts as she ran toward Dash. Just as she reached him he opened his arms, catching her in an embrace. She felt a sticky wetness and looked down. Blood stained his shirt and smeared the front of her dress.

  “Oh, my God, Dash,” she gasped, terrified and struggling to remain calm. She pressed her palms to him, seeking out the wound. “Please, my love. Please stay with me.”

  He caught her hands in his to still the frantic search. “I am not injured, Elena.”

  “But the blood,” she began, straining against his hold.

  “It’s Smeade’s—not mine,” he assured her, gently kissing each gloved hand, then closing his eyes.

  She looked past his broad shoulders to where a man lay on the bridge. “I thought it was you,” she began, her words thick with tears. “I saw the blood and I …” Elena could not finish her sentence.

  Instead, she burrowed deep against Dash’s chest and began to cry long, soulful sobs of relief. “Do not ever leave me again. I could not bear it. I cannot live without you, Dash.”

  “Nor I you, Elena,” he answered, resting his chin against her soft curls.

  A scream came from just behind them, followed by the telltale sound of a slap.

  Elena looked over her shoulder to find Victoria glaring at the scene while Bessie tenderly held her cheek.

  “Are you injured, my boy?” Victoria barked, eyeing the blood.

  Dash allowed Elena to ease back a step in his arms and looked down at his shirt. “Despite appearances, I am not.”

  “Thank God!” Bessie wailed in tearful relief, stepping gingerly away from Victoria’s tense form.

  Victoria drew a deep breath and nodded abruptly. “And the man on the ground there. Who is he?”

  “Smeade,” Elena answered, looking at the still, lifeless form.

  “Good God, though I daresay, choosing between you two,” Victoria replied, “I would much rather it be Smeade than you, dear boy.”

  Dash nodded.

  Victoria took Bessie’s arm. “Come along, then. This is most likely the one time we’ll be given the chance to see a corpse. And I, for one, will not pass up such an opportunity.”

  Bessie patted Dash on the shoulder, pausing briefly. “Do not frighten her so again. Ever.”

  The two sisters walked on, though Victoria appeared to be pulling Bessie toward the grisly scene.

  “Did he tell you what you needed to know?” Elena asked, looking at Smeade a second time.

  Dash’s arms tightened around her. “No.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Elena looked into his eyes and realized with absolute confidence that nothing mattered to her more than Dash. If only he felt the same way. “You’ll continue to search, then?” she asked, though she felt certain she knew what his answer would be.

  Dash enveloped her in his powerful arms and pulled her protectively closer until she was pressed against him from head to toe. “No.”

  “I’m sorry,” she faltered, sure that she’d misheard him.

  He placed a soft, soul-searing kiss on her forehead and sighed deeply. “You are all that I need, Elena. I know that now. But what about you? Is Brock’s capture and Smeade’s death enough?”

  Elena turned her chin up and captured his mouth in a grateful kiss. “It is,” she said with conviction. “Never let me go, Dash. Promise me.”

  “I promise, Elena. I will never let you go.”

  Everything in Dorset was calm, even tranquil, Dash thought. He breathed in the crisp night air and looked out over the lake from his vantage point in the folly. A full moon illuminated the dark water, the fringe of trees separating it from the fertile land beyond casting fanciful shadows across the waves.

  He pulled Elena against him and wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “Are you tired, my love?”

  “Yes, but in the best possible way,” she replied, resting her head on his chest. “And Rowena has been such a help. The Dorset branch of the Halcyon Society is almost ready to receive the first of our Verwood residents.”

  Dash smiled at the news and an overwhelming sense of pride filled his heart. Elena had worked tirelessly since their wedding and subsequent move to the rented estate that bordered her father’s. She’d overseen the renovation of the home that would house the society. And she’d asked Rowena to assume the role of headmistress, which had pleased the now fully recovered maid greatly.

  Dash hadn’t found the individual who’d ordered Lady Afton’s killing, but he’d discovered Smeade—and, in the end, brought him to a justice that he deserved. It was enough for him now.

  He looked down at Elena and realized he had more than enough. She’d brought the peace he’d been desperate for most of his life when her love settled deep into his heart and soul.

  Bourne would take up the reins and continue the quest for the Bishop. Dash felt confident his friend would succeed. Whether he would do so within the confines of the law was another question entirely. But if working with Nicholas had taught him anything, it was that laws were merely a suggestion, not a dictate.

  “It’s heaven, isn’t it?” Elena asked with a satisfied sigh.

  Yes, Dorset suited Dash perfectly. “It is, my love. But I believe it’s time to return to the house. Your father will be worried.”

  She snuggled closer to him. “Is that so? Or is it perhaps that you’re worried?”

  He hoisted Elena into his lap, settling her in with a sweet kiss. “I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he answered, looking meaningfully at her belly.

  “Why do men think of pregnancy as an illness?” she retorted, reaching inside his waistcoat and pulling out a missive from the hidden pocket.

  Dash looked at his wife pointedly. “How did you know that was there?”

  “Shhh,” she urged him, placing a finger on his lips. “My ways are best kept secret.”

  Elena winked, knowing that she’d won, at least that round, anyway, and broke open the seal. “Lord Carrington, as you know, your service to the Young Corinthians is integral to our ability to perform our duties to Country and Crown,” she read out loud, stopping to add begrudgingly, “true enough,” before picking up where she’d left off.

  “That being said, the desire for
a life outside of service is an understandable one, made even more so by your wife’s legitimate concerns for your safety. Therefore,” her voice faded, but her eyes continued to scan the words, her expression changing with each line, until tears overflowed and slowly began to trickle down her cheeks.

  “You did this?” she whispered, folding the letter until the two halves of the seal met again.

  Dash had told her about his involvement with the Young Corinthians the night Smeade had died, needing to have nothing between them but absolute love and honesty.

  He slipped into his familiar guise, pasting a vapid smile on his face and shrugging his shoulders dramatically. “Did what?”

  “Stop that this instant,” she demanded, her fingers tracing over his features as if to wipe away the fool’s look completely. “This is a serious consideration, Dash.”

  Dash obliged and looked at his wife as he knew he would for the rest of his life: with love, admiration, and respect. “If by ‘this,’ you are referring to the fact that I asked to only be contacted should the Corinthians have no other options, then yes, I did.”

  Elena kissed him, harder this time and with an intensity that stirred Dash’s soul and heated his blood. “Thank you. I couldn’t ask you to quit—wouldn’t, actually. I know how much your work means to you. But I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if you were ever in danger again. When I thought you’d been shot on the bridge …” she paused and buried her face against his neck. “It was the end of the world for me. Everything went black, Dash. Everything.” Her tearful words were muffled.

  “Never again, Elena,” Dash reassured her, wrapping his arms about her protectively. “I promise.”

  They sat that way for some time, the silence soothing their nerves and reminding both that the past was just that—not forgotten, but certainly gone. And the future?

  “Besides,” Dash began, kissing her hair. “I’d hardly have time to continue my Corinthian work, what with a son on the way.”

  Elena poked him in the stomach with her finger. “A daughter. But yes, you will be busy, I would imagine.”

  “I still wonder at how lucky we are. Surely you conceived the very first time we made love.”

  Elena picked up her head and looked at Dash seriously. “Oh, it has nothing to do with luck. I consulted the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society just yesterday. Apparently, scientists believe that one in every ten children was conceived in the very same way. We just happen to be in the minority, is all.”

  “Have I ever told you how fetching you are when you quote statistics?” Dash asked her, kissing just along her jawline.

  Elena chuckled low in her throat. “Of course you have. Why do you think I do it so frequently?”

  “Lord, I do love you,” Dash replied, glancing about to discern whether they were truly alone.

  Elena closed her eyes and lay back in his arms, a satisfied and altogether beguiling smile curving her lips. “No more than I love you. I’ve proven it—the equation is in the house, if you’d like to see it.”

  “Elena,” Dash growled, cupping a firm, ripe breast in his hand and kneading it.

  She moaned and let her knees fall open. “You’ve no need of a proof, Dash, nor do I.”

  Dash leaned forward and caught the hem of her dress. He slowly drew the fabric up, revealing her shapely legs. “God, Elena. What I did to deserve a woman such as you—well, I’ll never know.”

  She toyed with his cravat. “Well, you seem rather handy with mathematics. Surely there’s an equation that would apply—”

  He captured her mouth in a hard kiss, then scooped her up and carried her down the steps of the folly. “You torture me, Elena.”

  He laid her down in the soft pennyroyal and rid her of the bothersome clothing.

  She wound one leg around him and reached for the buttons of his breeches.

  Dash grabbed his cock and pulled it free of the fabric, then slipped his finger into her core, groaning when he found the exquisite wetness. “I want you. Now.”

  “Then take me,” she urged, tipping her hips up and sliding his cock into her. “Deeper, Dash.”

  He wound an arm around her and succumbed to the heated, dizzying desire that drove him on.

  Her other leg hooked around his waist and she arched her back.

  Dash closed his eyes and held on to Elena as though his life depended upon it. The sweet, spicy mint scent from the pennyroyal, the distant, night noises of the country—everything vanished until there was nothing but Dash and Elena. And their desire. And their love.

  Elena clenched his hair with both hands, her buttocks coming off the ground as she writhed with pleasure. She leaned in and sank her teeth into his shoulder.

  The feel of her teeth on him pushed Dash over the edge and he finally let go, his body shattering into a million minute shards as he came.

  Elena wrapped her arms around him tightly and spread tiny kisses over his throat.

  Dash rested his head against hers, their foreheads touching. “It’s true, my love. We’re never stronger than when we are in each other’s arms.”

  For my brother Michael.

  We share a unique understanding of each other,

  earned through the best of times and the worst.

  Remember, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

  And yes, I’ll say it here for the entire world to read:

  Rush is the greatest band of all time.

  And their song “Xanadu” is, quite frankly, genius.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Lois Faye Dyer for her fantastic fabulousness.

  Randall for his superlative support.

  The Girls for their crazy coolness.

  Junessa Viloria for her epic editorial work.

  Jennifer Schober for her awesome agenting.

  Franzeca Drouin for her righteous researching.

  BY STEFANIE SLOANE

  The Devil in Disguise

  The Angel in My Arms

  The Sinner Who Seduced Me

  The Saint Who Stole My Heart

  Read on for an exciting sneak peek at

  THE SCOUNDREL TAKES A BRIDE

  Stefanie Sloane’s next Regency Rogues novel

  Coming from Ballantine Books

  Available wherever books are sold

  “Lady Sophia, can you hear me?”

  An unpleasant, sharply medicinal scent filled Sophia’s nostrils, and her eyes flew open in response. “What on earth is going on?” she demanded, bracing her palms against the cushions of a striped settee and pushing herself upright.

  “I am afraid you fainted,” Dash’s wife Elena answered from where she sat on the Aubusson carpet at Sophia’s side. “Dash told me you had an aversion to weddings, but this seems rather much. Not that I would blame you. It is my own wedding and I find myself in need of a quiet room and a good book. But fainting? Stroke of genius, if you ask me,” she said wryly.

  Though thoroughly confused, Sophia couldn’t help but smile at Lady Elena’s dry humor. “It does seem rather drastic, doesn’t it?” She glanced about her, taking in the room and its furnishings, recognizing it from a childhood game of hide-and-seek. “And I see I’ve been spirited away to the countess’s quarters, no less. My, I do know hot to draw attention. I must apologize, Lady Carrington. I had no intention of ruining your wedding celebration.”

  “There is no need to apologize. First, you managed to extract me from the festivities, which, as I mentioned before, was not a wholly unwelcome thing. And second—and rather more important—you received some rather disconcerting news—and with little preparation, unfortunately. Though from what I understand, you gave Dash very little choice in the matter.”

  Lady Elena was not angry with Sophia, that much was clear. But she appeared to be a woman who thought very little of beating about the bush. A quality Sophia valued.

  “He would not bend,” Sophia countered. “Therefore, it was necessary to encourage a break, if you understand my meaning.”

&nb
sp; Lady Elena nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose there is some merit to your methods, though as it happens, you needn’t have labored quite so hard—nore risked fainting and the possibility of acquiring a sizable lump on your skull. Dash had every intention of telling you about the events of the last weeks; but not in the middle of our wedding celebration. There are considerations to be made, after all. Considerations best taken under advisement with a touch more solitude and privacy, if you understand my meaning.”

  “Then you know what Dash is keeping from me?” Sophia asked, her heart beginning to pound with equal parts anticipation and dread.

  Lady Elena nodded again. “That is why I am here—and why Dash is currently keeping your Langdon at arm’s length. Not an easy task, as I am sure you are aware. He all but insisted on carrying you up to my room and staying by your side until you were fully recovered. He is a most congenial man in all matters, with the exception of you. Dash found it necessary to enlist Lady Elizabeth in the effort. She is a resourceful woman, but I fear it is only a matter of time until he is pounding on the door, demanding access. Which is why we must be quick.”

  Sophia felt a twinge of unease at her use of “your Langdon” but let it pass without contemplation. She needed to know what Dash had uncovered concerning the mystery of her mother’s death.

  “Then tell me, Lady Elena,” she replied with resolution, swinging her legs from the settee and settling her slippered feet firmly on the floor. “Tell me what you know.”

  Lady Elena rose from the deep green patterned carpet and sat next to Sophia on the settee. “Very well. As you know, I came to Carrington House shortly after the death of Dash’s father. As it happened, my arrival coincided with the discovery of the late earl’s journal—wherein specifics concerning the man who murdered your mother were contained. Dash enlisted both my and Mr. Bourne’s help in pursuing the killer—”