The Wicked Widow Meets Her Match A Regency Rogues Novel (35 page)

“Shall we meet our future, Grace?”

She turned into his embrace, placing her cheek on his chest. “I thought you would never ask.”

For the girls

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

Lois Dyer, Jennifer Schober, Junessa Viloria

BY STEFANIE SLOANE

The Devil in Disguise
The Angel in My Arms
The Sinner Who Seduced Me
The Saint Who Stole My Heart
The Scoundrel Takes a Bride
The Wicked Widow Meets Her Match

Turn the page for an excerpt from

T
HE
S
AINT
W
HO
S
TOLE
M
Y
H
EART

By Stefanie Sloane

A Regency Rogues Novel

Published by Ballantine Books

Spring, 1813
L
ONDON

“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.

“I needn’t bother with such things,” Sophia replied, her eyes narrowing as she assessed his cards. “Your behavior tells me all I need to know.”

“What on earth is she talking about?” Nicholas asked, his words slurring slightly.

Sophia winced as the syllables slid into one another. “It’s of no importance,” she answered blithely, stacking the cards in a neat pile. “What matters is that you lost. I’ll collect my winnings, now, if you don’t mind.”

Dash listened to the banter, letting his mind wander. He’d not set foot in Stonecliffe House since the night before Nicholas Bourne’s departure for India. It hadn’t changed a bit, the dark, masculine touches put in place by Langdon still evident throughout. Their mother had retired to the country upon her husband’s death, eager to make room for Langdon and the wife and family she’d confidently assumed he’d acquire once he’d taken on the title.

Said wife and family were still breathlessly awaited by the Dowager Duchess. From what Dash knew of the woman, she’d wait as long as she had to, duty and responsibility far more important than dying ever could be.

“Yes, do pay up. I’ll not have you besmirching the name of Bourne by denying what rightfully belongs to Sophia,” Langdon chimed in, the cigar in his fingers giving off a mellow, smoky glow.

Nicholas finished off the brandy and leaned against the sideboard. “No, we wouldn’t want
that,” he said sardonically, folding his arms across his chest. “Now, Sophia, these winnings. Remind me, what is it that we were playing for?”

“A promise,” she answered so quietly that Dash thought he misheard her.

Nicholas stared at Sophia, his brow furrowing. “Well, that’s rather vague, isn’t it?” he replied, shifting his feet. “What, exactly, did I promise you?”

“Anything that I asked,” she said, smoothly pushing back in her chair and standing. “Lettie, I’m chilled. Would you please fetch my wrap?”

Mrs. Kirk closed the book she’d been reading and rose. “Of course, Lady Afton,” the companion replied. She walked from the room, gently closing the door behind her.

“Well, one lady alone with three men. This is scandalous,” Nicholas jeered, waggling his eyebrows at Sophia. “Which I fully support, of course.”

Dash couldn’t put his finger on precisely why, but he knew a squall was brewing. He could feel it. “I’m eager to hear of your Indian adventures, Bourne,” he interrupted, hoping to throw the storm off course. “Were there tigers? Oh, and cobras, of course. Wouldn’t be a proper trip without a few snakes.”

“My mother’s death,” Sophia said, as if Dash hadn’t spoken. She twitched the silken skirt of her
dress into place. “I want to talk about my mother’s death. And how we’re going to catch her killer.”

Langdon stubbed out his cigar in a crystal ashtray and abruptly stood. “We promised to never speak of it—we all did, Sophia. I can’t see the point in dredging up the past. It would prove far too painful for you.”

Nicholas slumped against the sideboard, his composure markedly compromised. “Hell, Sophia. I’d no idea you’d ask for something so …”

“Yes?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her bodice. “What is it to you, Nicholas? What is it to
any
of you?” She pierced each one with a tormented gaze. “I know what it means to me …” she paused, clearly close to crying.

Dash didn’t want to hear any more. All those years ago, Lord Carmichael had made the children promise to never speak of the tragedy. He’d assured them that doing so would only make the death harder to leave behind. They needed to forget if they wanted to move on, he’d reasoned.

Proper honor and respect was always shown for Lady Afton, but no one was ever able to explain what happened. No one even tried—not even Lord Afton. Or so it had seemed to him.

That is until his father and Lords Carmichael and Stonecliffe had invited Dash, Langdon, and Nicholas to join them and become members of the Young Corinthians, a clandestine spy organization that operated within the cavalry’s Horse Guards. Nicholas
had refused while the other two had gladly seen to their duty. Subsequent access to the files concerning Lady Afton’s death had forced Dash and Langdon to accept that the less any one of them had known when they were children, the safer they all had been. The killer had made a habit of preying upon Corinthian agents and their families. No one had been safe.

The same was true today. Dash clenched his jaw as he thought back on all of the lies he’d told. The Corinthians had never come close to finding the killer, but Dash had kept the truth of the situation from Sophia. He’d played his part so well over the years that the guilt had nearly disappeared.

Or so it had seemed.

“Listen to Langdon, Sophia,” he said. “He’s right. It’s ancient history. It would do more harm than good.”

Sophia swallowed hard, not allowing one tear to fall from her eyes. “My dear, diplomatic Dash. Listen to yourself, would you? Hasn’t there been enough harm done by the silence?”

She uncrossed her arms and walked toward him, reaching out to tightly grasp the settee. “Where did you go, Dash? Can you tell me? You’ve played at life so skillfully that I hardly remember who you were before my mother’s death. Who are you, Dash? You’re afraid. You know it and so do I.”

“Dammit, Sophia, where is this coming from?”
Dash lashed out, a sudden sense of exposure and vulnerability twisting in his soul.

“You’ll not talk to Sophia in such a manner,” Langdon ordered, his hard stare judgmental.

Sophia pushed away from the settee and rounded on the earl. “And why is that, Langdon? An overgrown sense of propriety?”

“I believe you’re in need of rest. I’ll call Mrs. Kirk—”

Sophia threw up her hands angrily. “This isn’t fatigue, Langdon. It’s a wretched, growing disease. And it’s ugly and disruptive—and out of your control. When will you accept the truth?”

“She’s gone, Sophia. I would do anything to change that fact—anything for you …” Langdon replied, his fists flexing at his sides.

“Then help me,” she begged. “Help me find who did this to her. To us all.”

“You cannot go chasing after a killer, Sophia,” Nicholas ground out, frustration coloring his tone.

Sophia walked toward Nicholas until her skirts brushed his boots. She rested her palms on his coat, just above his heart. “Not by myself, no,” she answered, her voice shaking. “Nor will you find peace all alone.” She glanced meaningfully at the empty brandy bottle.

Nicholas stared at Sophia, as if he wanted to listen. Wanted to obey. Then his expression turned cold. He backed up and threw his crystal glass
against the wall and watched as it splintered into a thousand pieces. “You’ve the wrong man, Sophia.”

Mrs. Kirk came rushing into the room, Sophia’s wrap in her hands. “I heard a crash, Lady Afton. Are you all right?”

Sophia lowered her shaking hands and folded them tightly together. “Right as a line, Mrs. Kirk. Right as a line.”

Dash took a deep drink of the piquant brandy and contemplated her words. God, the woman
was
right. She deserved to know who killed her mother. They all did.

D
ORSET
Two weeks previous

“Elena.”

Miss Elena Barnes, the only child of Henry Barnes, Baron Harcourt, wrinkled her nose in unconscious protest when her father’s voice intruded upon her reading.

“I saw that.”

Elena smiled with warm affection. “You always do.”

“And yet,” he replied, taking a seat next to her on the chilly stone bench piled high with brocade pillows, “you continue to give yourself away. Attempting to deceive me is a hopeless habit, if there ever was one,” he added amiably, settling his small
frame comfortably on the makeshift settee and sighing with relief.

Elena slipped a satin ribbon between the pages to mark her place and reluctantly closed her book. Her gaze moved past the folly columns to the lake beyond and the white stone of Harcourt House shining brightly in the distance. “Really, one would think twitching my nose would be far easier to hide, even from you, considering that fact that everyone seems to agree that I always have my nose in a book.”

Her father turned to her and cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling with wry disbelief.

“Oh, all right,” Elena ceded with a smile, looking at the dear man. “It is true that I spend much time reading. It’s my favorite indulgence. But must Lady Van Allen mention it at
every
dinner party? Even Lord Van Allen sighed when she brought it up again, and he never hears a word the woman says.”

Her father reached out and took one of her hands in his, the weight and familiar feel acting as a gentle balm to Elena’s stinging pride.

“Actually, I believe he does hear every word,” she amended. “But it’s not like the man to reveal that he’s heard her comments, which only proves my point. Really, I have no illusions about my status as a bluestocking. Nor does anyone else in Dorset—or the whole of England, I would venture to guess. Perhaps even the entire world, though I
would have to consult Lady Van Allen on that point,” she finished, winking conspiratorially.

Last evening’s spring gathering had gone well and exactly as planned—with the glaring exception of Lady Van Allen’s comment. The turbot had been braised to perfection, the wine her father’s favorite, and those in attendance the best of friends. Elena adored every single person present, including Lady Van Allen, a bosom friend of her mother’s before the baroness’s death.

It was this very connection that drove the well-intentioned woman to say such things, Elena reminded herself. Lady Van Allen’s conviction that Elena would eventually find her prince was both endearing and vexatious. Elena was all for perseverance. She thought it a commendable trait in the right situation. But when it came to her marital status, one would have to be an absolute lackwit to hold out any shred of hope for a happy announcement in the
Morning Post
.