The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel (15 page)

He topped off Dash’s glass, then filled his own, raising the glass and slowly rotating it so that the contents gently swirled within.

“This is not a game, you know,” Dash said quietly, watching his friend ruminate. “This ‘bastard’ has a name: the Bishop. He’s killed many since Lady Afton and wouldn’t think twice about pursuing our families and close friends—including Sophia.”

“No, no, it’s not,” Nicholas agreed with cold certainty, continuing to turn the glass. “It’s our very lives. Now, you’ve obviously been keeping secrets from me regarding the case. It’s time to tell me all about the Bishop.”

Madame Celeste, the marchioness’s modiste, gestured grandly at the bow festooned with rosettes somewhere in the vicinity of Elena’s shoulder blades while Lady Mowbray looked on, a satisfied smile playing across her lips.

Elena wasn’t convinced that she was entirely prepared for shopping with the marchioness.

In truth, she didn’t know that she was prepared for
anything
after … Well, once the viscount had stroked her breasts. Sucked her earlobe. Licked her throat. Kissed her lips.

“My dear, does the capucine meet with your approval?”

Elena realized that the marchioness was talking to her. “Oh, yes. It’s fine.”

The modiste huffed. “Fine is not what we do, Miss Barnes. If the gown does not delight you, there is no point.”

Elena turned and gazed at herself in the full-length looking glass. Somehow, the woman’s creation flattered her figure, accentuating her slim waist, while delicately framing her considerable bosom and derrière.

“How did you do this?” Elena asked, dumbfounded, turning to see the bow and rosettes.

Madame Celeste arranged the skirt of the gown and stepped back, eyeing Elena critically. “You did this, Miss Barnes. How could I not create something beautiful when given such inspiration?”

Elena looked up at the woman and quirked an eyebrow, waiting for the cutting remark or titter of amusement. But the modiste simply stood there, pulling at the fabric this way and that until it appeared she was satisfied.
“Parfait.”

Elena turned back around and took in her reflection once more. Could Madame Celeste be right?

She stared hard at herself in the glass, examining her body from head to toe while worrying her bottom lip.

“My dear, you have a charming smile,” Lady Mowbray commented, coming to stand next to Elena. “You really should show it more often.”

The marchioness reached for Elena’s hair and began to efficiently pull pins out. She did not stop until every last lock of hair danced about Elena’s shoulders.

“Unruly. Absolutely awful,” Elena muttered, moving to twist the mass into a simple plait.

Lady Mowbray batted her hand away. “Hold these,” she instructed, pushing all but six of the pins on Elena. She stepped behind and took up several pieces of hair, arranging them this way and that before finally settling on something that pleased her and pinning the style into place. She fluffed the remaining hair about, seemingly willing the curls to do her bidding.

“My dear, you’re a very bright girl—about most things.”

Elena looked again in the mirror and her breath caught in her chest. She looked … She couldn’t even think the word without feeling befuddled.

“Beautiful,” Lady Mowbray said simply.

“Mais oui,”
Madame Celeste agreed, nodding her approval.

“But we must continue. Otherwise, we’ll have no time to discuss your gown for Lord Elgin’s ball—never mind the list of suitors who will be in attendance.”

Elena allowed the modiste to undress her, stepping out of the satin fabric and donning an offered wrapper. “List of suitors?”

“Come now, my child. We’ll not argue the point. You will be introduced to men at the agreed-upon events. While I respect your wishes, I do think it wise to at least investigate the opportunities here in town.”

Elena tied the sash at her waist and followed Lady Mowbray to a plush lavender settee as the modiste left the room. “I don’t know that it’s necessary.”

“And why is that?” the woman asked leadingly, reaching for the tea set situated on a low table and pouring the first cup.

Elena narrowed her eyes at the marchioness. “What do you mean?”

“Why do I feel as though we’re speaking in code?” she began, dropping two lumps of sugar then a splash of cream in the cup. “You said that it might not be necessary to look for a husband. I’m merely curious as to why.”

She briskly stirred the tea and handed it to Elena, waiting for an answer.

The would-be matchmaker suspected that there was
something
between Dash and Elena; that much was clear. Elena absolutely could not give Lady Mowbray even the merest hint of hope. If she did, the marchioness would surely wheedle the truth from her and the kiss would be revealed.

“I would have thought it was obvious,” Elena answered, taking a sip of tea. “I’ve no intention of allowing a man to distract me from my real work, Lady Mowbray. I’ll attend your events with ‘marked enthusiasm,’ as I agreed. And that is all.”

Lady Mowbray prepared her cup, then relaxed back onto the settee and sipped. “I see.”

Elena returned her cup to its saucer. “Splendid,” she replied, relief settling into her stomach.

“And ‘this work’ that you speak of, Miss Barnes. Do tell me about it.”

Elena placed her cup and saucer on the tray and folded her hands in her lap. “Well, as you know, I’ve a great interest in the Halcyon Society and the work that they do,” she began earnestly.

“Yes,” the marchioness confirmed.

“So many women—too many—are forced into prostitution, Lady Mowbray. For a variety of deplorable reasons, they find themselves with no other choice. But what if they were given the support and opportunity that every single human being deserves? What then?” Elena asked, her hands gesturing excitedly. “I believe
they could prosper. And more important, I know that they could be happy. A donation is all well and good. But I want to help with my
own
two hands.”

Lady Mowbray smoothed a stray lock of hair into place. “You are inspiring, my dear.”

“I don’t know about that,” Elena began, pausing to reclaim her cup. “It is organizations such as the Halcyon Society that are the true inspiration.”

“Yes, well,” the marchioness countered, plucking a seamstress’s thread from her skirt. “Either way, it is a true pity that you’ve no use for men. Viscount Carrington could do with a cause or two to support, now that he’s taken on the title.”

Elena leaned in, nearly spilling her tea. “Oh, but I can’t imagine he’d have any interest in women’s issues.”

“Quite to the contrary, my dear,” Lady Mowbray replied energetically. “The viscount has always been pragmatic when it comes to such things—and remarkably softhearted. I suppose it has something to do with his intelligence.”

Elena stared at the marchioness, unable to formulate a response. She sipped some tea. And then some more. “I’m sorry, Lady Mowbray. His intelligence?”

“Did I stutter, Miss Barnes?”

“No,” Elena answered, fearing that she’d insulted the marchioness. “And I meant no offense, truly. It’s just that …”

Elena took yet another drink of tea.

“You’ve not spent enough time in the viscount’s company to truly discern his intellect?” Lady Mowbray offered helpfully.

“Yes! Precisely,” Elena lied.

The marchioness smiled in understanding. “Yes, well, that would make sense. But trust me, Miss Barnes. The viscount is remarkably bright. Rather like you.”

“Ladies,” Madame Celeste called as she reentered the room. “Let us continue. I’ve a fetching red silk, just arrived from India today. It’s absolutely exquisite, with gold thread interwoven throughout. There’s also a lovely emerald green.”

Lady Mowbray sat up at the sound of “fetching,” and “exquisite.”

“We’ll see the red first,” she replied efficiently, rubbing her hands together. “It just might be perfect for the Elgin ball. Then the green, if you please. No need to be confined to missish pastels, my dear.”

Elena nodded at the woman’s suggestion.
Rather like you
. She drained her cup and set it gently down on the saucer. She was growing fonder of the marchioness with each passing day, which made the fact that the woman was as mad as a March hare that much sadder. Oh, she’d questioned her original estimation of the viscount since first arriving at Carrington House. But Elena worried that she’d been thinking with her heart rather than her head. “Remarkably bright.” The viscount would have to be if he were to offer any meaningful support to the Halcyon Society. And even then, he’d still be a man. Elena was not quite as militant as other bluestockings, but she’d been under Lord Carrington’s roof long enough to know that he was dangerously distractive.

Madame Celeste returned with the fabrics and gestured for Elena to rise.

Elena pushed the pointless notions from her mind and stood, allowing the modiste to drape the soft silken red material around her.

“Oh,” Lady Mowbray said appreciatively. “Well, Miss Barnes, what do you think?”

Elena stepped in front of the glass and examined herself. The woman may have overestimated the viscount, but she did have a way with fashion. “It’s lovely. Would you agree?”

“Completely.”

Elena slumped slightly, relieved to be done.

Madame Celeste grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her back up. “No slouching, Miss Barnes. Now we must choose a pattern.”

“And then we’ll look at the green. It may make for a lovely opera dress,” Lady Mowbray added, then retrieved a fashion magazine from the low table and began to turn the pages thoughtfully. “What do we think of slashed sleeves, Madame Celeste?”

“For the green?” the modiste asked, eyeing the emerald fabric that she’d tossed upon the settee.

“I think so,” the marchioness confirmed. “Come, look at this dress. It’s perfectly suited to Miss Barnes’s shape, wouldn’t you agree?”

Madame Celeste released Elena’s shoulder and joined Lady Mowbray. “This is precisely what I had in mind for her. Understated but breathtaking.”

Their conversation turned to accessories. “Did you bring many jewels from Dorset, Miss Barnes?” the modiste asked.

“Pearls or diamonds?” Lady Mowbray wondered out loud.

“Diamonds. No question,” Madame Celeste answered firmly.

Elena allowed her shoulders to slump again. She hadn’t thought to bring any jewelry with her to London. But she didn’t want to spoil their fun. So she remained silent, and pondered just what a “slashed sleeve” might be.

It wasn’t like Rowena to be late.

Elena stared at the puzzle book in her hands, trying to concentrate. Usually by this time in the morning, Rowena would have been seeing to her hair while regaling Elena with colorful and clever stories from below stairs.

Recognizing that her attempts to read were futile,
Elena discarded the book on the night table. Standing from the plush bed, she crossed the room to retrieve her shoes. She’d dressed an hour earlier with the help of Maggie, a chambermaid whom she’d heard walking down the hallway. The maid had promised to find Rowena at once, but Elena had assured Maggie that fetching her friend could wait until she’d completed her morning duties and all the fires were lit. She’d not wanted the maid to get into trouble.

Elena fussed with the lacings on her kidskin shoes, finally finishing the task and rising. Though Carrington House was very large and grand with many, many rooms, Maggie should have found Rowena by now.

Which begged the question: where was her friend? A sense of dread filled Elena’s chest and she breathed deeply, forcing the feeling from her as she exhaled.

Elena straightened the skirt of her Pomona green striped morning dress and walked to the door, opening it just as Maggie came running up the hall.

The maid slowed to a walk but her eyes remained fixed on Elena’s. She’d been crying, her face flushed from the effort.

Bell rounded the corner just at the end of the hall and moved stealthily toward Elena, which struck her as rather odd.

Butlers never moved stealthily.

Unless something was wrong.