The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel (22 page)

The letter arrived while Elena was with Lady Mowbray in Bloomsbury, but Bell made sure it was delivered to her the moment she returned.

“From your maid, Miss Barnes. A rider brought it from their first stop in Farnborough,” he said by way of explanation, adding, “perhaps tea in the library?”

Elena could see why Dash relied on the man. He was efficient, true enough. But more than that, he was perceptive and sensitive to others’ needs. And kind.

“Yes, I believe I will. Thank you, Bell,” she said gratefully.

The butler nodded in acknowledgment, then disappeared.

Elena held the missive in both hands as she walked to the library, closing the door behind her to assure absolute privacy.

She chose a chaise lounge near the trunk that held the Paolini and sat down.

“Please, let Rowena be all right,” she prayed to the putti cavorting on the carved ceiling. She fumbled with the letter, breaking the seal and unfolding the thick sheet of foolscap.

May 19, 1813

Elena laid the letter beside her on the chaise lounge, then dropped her head into her hands and began to cry.

“My sweet, innocent Rowena,” she whispered, covering her eyes completely, sealing out the light. “How can you ask such a thing?”

Elena wept, forgetting everything else and completely surrendering to the chaotic storm of emotions that buffeted her. Relief that Rowena’s virginity had not been taken from her. Anger and hatred for the men who’d tortured her dear friend. Grief for the loss of innocence that Rowena had most assuredly suffered, her life never to be the same again.

And guilt. Guilt that she’d not been able to protect her loyal friend. Even worse, that Rowena clearly did not in any way blame her—but, in fact, seemed to blame herself.

Men such as Mr. Brock ruined the lives of women every single day. It was a crime. And Elena needed to make him pay.

She looked up at the sound of a knock on the door, swiping at her tearstained face and managing a serene demeanor just as Molly brought in the tea tray.

“May I pour, Miss?” Molly asked as she set the heavy silver tray down.

Elena smiled weakly. “Thank you, Molly.”

The maid busied herself with the tea, doing so with supreme efficiency and skill. “Might I ask after Rowena, Miss? Or would that be rude?”

Elena wiped again at her eyes, and sniffled quietly, crumpling her damp, lace-edged handkerchief in her clasped hands. “It’s never improper to care, Molly,” she assured the maid. “And as it happens, I’ve a letter from her—though I suspect you already knew that.”

“News has a way of making the rounds here,” she said guiltily, handing her the teacup and saucer. “Please don’t tell Mr. Bell.”

Elena sipped, the warm, sweet liquid bracing her spirits. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Molly. And as for Rowena, she’s going to be just fine. I promise.”

Elena stood completely alone in Dash’s study, her heart thudding with fear. She had no one to blame but herself. Her own selfish desires had brought her to this point.

“Honestly,” Elena said out loud, growing more impatient by the moment with her cowardice. She quietly shut the door behind her and leaned against it. The scent of sandalwood that she associated with Dash subtly teased her senses and she braced herself against the emotions it stirred inside of her.

Making love with Dash mere days before had been magical. Mythological, even, Elena thought with a stab of sadness. Much like Icarus, she’d soared on wings made of wax and feathers and experienced what was surely the purest form of pleasure known to mankind. She’d been giddy with the heights they’d reached, so taken with the way he’d made her feel, she’d failed to notice how close she’d ventured near the sun.

Her wings were melted now, and she realized how much her distracted mind had been a factor in Rowena’s kidnapping. Elena had placed her own fascination with Dash before the needs of the very people she was meant to protect.

She noticed an iron key puzzle tossed haphazardly upon the polished broad desk. Elena walked around and settled herself into Dash’s large Windsor chair, then reached for the keys.

She could not take away what had happened to Rowena, she thought with a deep pang of remorse. No matter how hard she wished it to be so, there would be no going back and obliterating Mr. Brock from her history.

Elena studied the first key in relation to the second, absently calculating possible outcomes depending on the move. It ate at her, the idea that she’d allowed something so desperately awful to happen to her dear friend.

She slid the first key to the right, realizing her mistake instantly. She needed to move forward with seeking justice for her friend and do what she could to atone for her failure.

And moving forward meant leaving Dash behind.

The keys remained entwined and suddenly, Elena felt too tired to go on. She returned the puzzle to the very spot where she’d found it.

She combed her fingers through her hair until the tugging sensation made her scalp tingle. A pin fell from her tidy chignon, but she hardly noticed. Mrs. Mason had said in no uncertain terms that women such as Elena were vital to the Halcyon Society’s work.

She dropped her head to the desk and closed her eyes. Elena needed Dash. She wanted him. Craved him with everything that she was. But she could not turn her back and ignore Rowena and the revelations at the Halcyon Society.

The deep timbre of male voices made Elena lurch upright in a sudden wave of panic. Telling Dash that she could not be with him was the right thing to do. But it would be the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life.

Wait.
Men’s
voices. Not a man, but men’s.

Oh. God.

Elena jumped up, nearly falling back in her haste to do so. It had never occurred to her that Dash would not be alone. There’d been no gentlemen calling on him
while she’d been in residence at Carrington House. At least none that she’d known about.

The voices drew closer. Elena didn’t recognize a deep male laugh.

She was shaking and perspiration dampened her upper lip. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Her gaze darted about the room, searching for an answer to her dilemma. A tall ebony cabinet stood in the far corner. The rumble of voices sounded right outside the door. Elena ran for the cabinet and hauled herself up and in, reaching out to close the door behind her. Kneeling, she settled her backside against her heels and held her breath.

Dash approached his study, surprised to find the door closed, but gave it no more than a passing thought.

“Come in,” he said to Nicholas, opening the door and crossing the threshold.

“I don’t know about you,” Nicholas followed, closing the door behind them. “But the more time I spend on the seedy side of London, the more I like it.”

Dash chuckled and sat down in his desk chair. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“I’ve no idea,” Nicholas answered with aplomb as he settled into one of the chairs facing Dash and his desk.

“Hmmm …” Dash replied, the sound making him think on Elena. Where was she now? What was she thinking? Was she regretting their lovemaking? Was she missing him as much as he did her?

“Yes?” Nicholas prodded, waiting for Dash to explain himself.

“Oh, a stray thought is all,” he answered, nowhere near ready to talk about Elena. “What do we think of Belville’s information?”

Nicholas ran both hands through his dark hair, and then folded them behind his head. “I think it’s all we’ve
got to go on. That, and Smeade’s connection to the Rambling Rose.”

“Of course,” Dash nodded in agreement. “And did you get any sense of the man while we were speaking? Is he trustworthy?”

A wry smile broke across Nicholas’s face. “Well, no, but he is a moneylender.”

It had been a stupid question. Dammit, Dash was having a difficult time keeping his mind on the case. He swore that he could smell Elena’s perfume. She’d dabbed it on her wrists, and between her breasts. And behind each knee.

He picked up a handful of letters from his desk and fanned himself, noting a hairpin just beside the envelopes.

It could belong to one of the maids, he reasoned, picking it up to examine it.

Delicate diamond flowers ran the length of it. He could hear the marchioness’s voice in his head as she’d presented Elena with the pin just yesterday. There’d been four in all.
They’re perfect for you, my dear. And I refuse to take no for an answer
.

“Well, well, Carrington,” Nicholas drawled, his eyes amused as he looked at the pin. “I must say, I’m proud of you. And in your study, no less? Who is she? Anyone I know?”

Dash raised his finger to his mouth and silently urged Nicholas to stop talking. He looked around the room, his eyes narrowing over the tall ebony cabinet.

He returned the pin to the desktop and rose from his chair. He strode to the piece of furniture. He gripped the knob and pulled the door open. Elena sat within, crouched down low in the small space.

“Elena?” Dash stared at her, supremely confused. “What in God’s name are you doing in my cabinet?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was waiting for you … Then I heard another man’s voice and panicked.”

“Well, let the woman out, Carrington. She can’t possibly be comfortable. And besides,” Nicholas paused, his grin growing, “I would very much like to make her acquaintance.”

Dash couldn’t begin to imagine why Elena was hiding in the cabinet. But he did know for certain that he’d rather not have an audience while attempting to sort things out with her.

“Bourne, if you wouldn’t mind leaving,” he asked his friend, pointing to the door when Nicholas remained still.

“Before you go, Mr. Bourne,” Elena said around Dash’s bulk. “You mentioned the Rambling Rose and a ‘Smeade.’ I would be very interested to hear more of this.”

“Holy Hell,” Nicholas said, his smile disappearing.

“Yes, that,” Dash agreed grimly.

The cabinet door gently hit him in the back. “Dash?”

He continued to block her escape, utterly determined that Elena not be involved in the dangerous case.

“You’ll have to let her out eventually,” Nicholas advised, standing. “There’s no way around it.”

The door hit Dash again. “Dash, are you there?”

There was a part of Dash that damned his decision to ever allow Elena close. That regretted his inability to keep the woman at arm’s length.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, then turned back to the cabinet and opened the door. “Let me help you.”

Elena accepted his hand and stepped out, pausing next to Dash to stare at Nicholas.

“The Honorable Nicholas Bourne, may I present Miss Elena Barnes.”

Elena executed a small curtsy and Nicholas approached,
took her hand in his, and placed a chaste kiss on her fingers.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Barnes. Now tell me, do you make a habit of hiding in cabinets and listening in on private conversations?”