Read Online The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie Sloane - Free Book Online Page A

the past is just that—the past.”
    She reclaimed her book and opened it, laying one palm flat against the smooth pages. “Of course, my lord. Good day.”
    Dash realized that having stood, he should move, preferably soon. “And good day to you, too, Miss Barnes,” he replied, turning from the alcove and retracing his steps out of the library.

     
    The encounter with Lord Carrington in the alcove had left Elena with the oddest sensation, as though something of significance had happened. What that “something” was, she hadn’t been able to identify. She’d eaten her breakfast, drank more tea than any one personshould, and still the situation had continued to mystify her.
    She’d decided she needed fresh air and a bit of exercise to clear her mind and set out with her maid for a walk.
    “Londoners truly call this a park, then?” Rowena asked disbelievingly, holding up one hand and counting off one finger at a time. “Miss, I can count the trees standing—might need my toes to do it, but still.”
    Elena bit her lip to keep from laughing at her friend’s exaggerated country accent and turned to take in Bloomsbury Square. Rowena was right—the quaint, tidy square of green couldn’t hold a candle to Dorset’s lush fields and wide, welcoming lanes. But it did afford Elena the opportunity to get away from Carrington House and think—even if doing so meant walking the entire park five times around.
    “How do city people stretch their legs, then?” Rowena asked, hurrying to keep up with Elena.
    “Well, perhaps
they
don’t feel the need to do so,” Elena answered, though she couldn’t imagine such a thing. Without a good walk, Elena wouldn’t be able to make sense of her multitude of tangled thoughts.
    Such as when Lord Carrington had called her a “surprise” in the alcove. The word had startled her from the comfortable intimacy their childhood revelations had created and forced her to remember just who she was and why she was there.
    Elena was a woman who hated surprises. She was in the viscount’s home to see to his father’s books. And that was all.
    Then why was she still bewildered by the interlude?
    “Or perhaps they don’t worry quite as much as you.”
    Elena slumped momentarily against her friend, sighing when Rowena looped an arm about her waist and squeezed gently. She couldn’t share her feelings regarding the viscount, not yet. But she couldn’t lie. Luckily,there were a multitude of concerns on her mind. “Well, it involves Lady Mowbray. And anything having to do with a marchioness is quite worry-worthy, wouldn’t you agree?”
    “Is that even proper English, Miss? ‘Worry-worthy?’ It
must
be awful. Tell me, what has you so upset?”
    Elena slowed her steps, the sound of Rowena’s voice soothing her jangled nerves. “She’s insisted that I attend a number of social events while we’re in town.”
    “Heavens, that
is
the end of the world,” Rowena teased, nudging Elena with her elbow. “You’re not fresh from the schoolroom, Miss. You’re older. And wiser.”
    Elena returned the favor and looped an arm through hers. “Older, anyway.”
    “What does the mistress of Harcourt House have to fear from these London swells? Don’t forget who you are and how far you’ve come. Not now,” her friend pleaded, resting her head on Elena’s shoulder for a brief moment. “I believe in you.”
    “You are the dearest girl. Have I told you that?” Elena replied, her confidence bolstered by Rowena’s words.
    “Not today, no,” Rowena answered distractedly, looking ahead as a gentleman approached.
    Elena eyed the man critically as he drew closer. He was fashionably dressed in buff breeches and a deep blue waistcoat, his Hessian boots polished expertly and his snowy white cravat perfectly tied. A thin, white scar marred an otherwise ideal face. He was one of the most beautiful men she’d ever laid eyes on. And yet, there was something in his swagger, or perhaps his overly