Read Online The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie Sloane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stefanie Sloane
Tags: Romance
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expressive eyes, that made Elena uneasy.
He fastened his gaze on Rowena and his lips curled into a predatory smile. Elena pulled her friend protectively closer and quickened their pace.
“Miss,” Rowena begged, trying to put some distancebetween them. “I can hardly walk without stepping on your skirts.”
Elena patted her hand. “Never mind my skirts, Rowena.”
The man was nearly upon them now. “Goodness,” Rowena sighed, clearly having forgotten all about Elena’s skirts.
“No, no! Not ‘goodness,’ Rowena,” Elena admonished, the unsettling feeling inspired by the man only growing as he purposefully stepped directly in their path and bowed.
“Ladies.” He smiled brilliantly. “A beautiful day, is it not?”
“Goodness,” Elena muttered disgustedly.
Rowena squeezed Elena’s arm and giggled.
“It is indeed, your …” Elena paused, as though searching for the correct address. “Well, I hardly know what to call you—which is why I find proper introductions to be infinitely useful in such situations, don’t you?”
Somehow, the man managed an even bolder grin, eliciting a second giggle from Rowena. “You are correct, madam. But wouldn’t you agree there are times when one simply cannot wait on propriety?” he countered, winking at Rowena.
“No, I would not,” Elena replied succinctly, not even bothering to curtsy before dragging Rowena around the man and down the path.
Rowena looked over her shoulder and giggled again. “He’s still staring after us, Miss,” she said breathlessly.
“Let him stare,” Elena said, her voice quivering from the encounter. “But a lady? Never.”
Rowena obediently turned her head and focused on the path. “He was quite handsome, wasn’t he?”
“Rowena, you must understand that men, no matter how handsome or charming, are dangerous—in one way or another.”
The girl frowned. “Even Viscount Carrington? Because, to be perfectly honest, Miss, he doesn’t seem smart enough to cause anyone trouble.”
“Yes, especially Viscount Carrington—he’s too dim to realize just how dangerous he is. And that makes him doubly dangerous,” Elena replied earnestly.
She steered Rowena toward a bench and sat, relaxing at the feel of the sun on her skin.
“Well,” Rowena began, settling in next to her. “If there’s one thing I mean to look out for, it’s men who are—”
“Dangerous,” they said in unison, with the full and proper seriousness that the statement deserved. And then they collapsed against each other and laughed until their sides ached from the effort.
Dash had fled for an auction at Tattersalls after encountering Miss Barnes in the library alcove. Once there, he’d helped Langdon choose a chestnut Thoroughbred and purchased a bay gelding for himself. The friends had then found their way to the club, where Dash had been ever since.
Shifting in the straight-backed wooden chair, Dash stretched his legs out beneath the oaken desk. He turned his head from left to right, then again, attempting to ease the muscles aching from the strain of too many hours bent over the Afton case notes.
He’d read through the creased, worn papers so many times he’d lost count, hoping to find some clue he’d overlooked, although he had long ago memorized every single word.
Sounds from the floor above, within the Young Corinthians’ club, drifted down to the rabbit warren of hidden rooms that comprised the organization’s headquarters. Dash glanced at the candelabra set before him on the desk. The beeswax tapers had burned down to nubs, warning him the hour was late.
He closed his tired eyes and rubbed his temples. Miss Barnes was not what he’d expected—at least not entirely. Oh, she was certainly a bluestocking. But she was decidedly lacking in any of the superior airs that experience had taught him most women of her ilk normally displayed proudly.
She seemed quite willing to accept his intellectual inferiority with nervous grace and
He fastened his gaze on Rowena and his lips curled into a predatory smile. Elena pulled her friend protectively closer and quickened their pace.
“Miss,” Rowena begged, trying to put some distancebetween them. “I can hardly walk without stepping on your skirts.”
Elena patted her hand. “Never mind my skirts, Rowena.”
The man was nearly upon them now. “Goodness,” Rowena sighed, clearly having forgotten all about Elena’s skirts.
“No, no! Not ‘goodness,’ Rowena,” Elena admonished, the unsettling feeling inspired by the man only growing as he purposefully stepped directly in their path and bowed.
“Ladies.” He smiled brilliantly. “A beautiful day, is it not?”
“Goodness,” Elena muttered disgustedly.
Rowena squeezed Elena’s arm and giggled.
“It is indeed, your …” Elena paused, as though searching for the correct address. “Well, I hardly know what to call you—which is why I find proper introductions to be infinitely useful in such situations, don’t you?”
Somehow, the man managed an even bolder grin, eliciting a second giggle from Rowena. “You are correct, madam. But wouldn’t you agree there are times when one simply cannot wait on propriety?” he countered, winking at Rowena.
“No, I would not,” Elena replied succinctly, not even bothering to curtsy before dragging Rowena around the man and down the path.
Rowena looked over her shoulder and giggled again. “He’s still staring after us, Miss,” she said breathlessly.
“Let him stare,” Elena said, her voice quivering from the encounter. “But a lady? Never.”
Rowena obediently turned her head and focused on the path. “He was quite handsome, wasn’t he?”
“Rowena, you must understand that men, no matter how handsome or charming, are dangerous—in one way or another.”
The girl frowned. “Even Viscount Carrington? Because, to be perfectly honest, Miss, he doesn’t seem smart enough to cause anyone trouble.”
“Yes, especially Viscount Carrington—he’s too dim to realize just how dangerous he is. And that makes him doubly dangerous,” Elena replied earnestly.
She steered Rowena toward a bench and sat, relaxing at the feel of the sun on her skin.
“Well,” Rowena began, settling in next to her. “If there’s one thing I mean to look out for, it’s men who are—”
“Dangerous,” they said in unison, with the full and proper seriousness that the statement deserved. And then they collapsed against each other and laughed until their sides ached from the effort.
Dash had fled for an auction at Tattersalls after encountering Miss Barnes in the library alcove. Once there, he’d helped Langdon choose a chestnut Thoroughbred and purchased a bay gelding for himself. The friends had then found their way to the club, where Dash had been ever since.
Shifting in the straight-backed wooden chair, Dash stretched his legs out beneath the oaken desk. He turned his head from left to right, then again, attempting to ease the muscles aching from the strain of too many hours bent over the Afton case notes.
He’d read through the creased, worn papers so many times he’d lost count, hoping to find some clue he’d overlooked, although he had long ago memorized every single word.
Sounds from the floor above, within the Young Corinthians’ club, drifted down to the rabbit warren of hidden rooms that comprised the organization’s headquarters. Dash glanced at the candelabra set before him on the desk. The beeswax tapers had burned down to nubs, warning him the hour was late.
He closed his tired eyes and rubbed his temples. Miss Barnes was not what he’d expected—at least not entirely. Oh, she was certainly a bluestocking. But she was decidedly lacking in any of the superior airs that experience had taught him most women of her ilk normally displayed proudly.
She seemed quite willing to accept his intellectual inferiority with nervous grace and
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