The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie SloaneThe Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie Sloane

The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel

byStefanie Sloane

Mass Market Paperback | April 24, 2012

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Desire, danger, intrigue, and steamy seduction unite a sexy spymaster and an intrepid bluestocking as Stefanie Sloane’s luscious new series continues.

Possessed of a brilliant mind and a love for puzzles, Dashiell Matthews, Viscount Carrington, is a crucial member of the elite Young Corinthians spy league. Assuming the façade of an addle-brained Adonis, he hunts for a notorious London murderer known as the Bishop. When fate causes him to cross paths with Miss Elena Barnes, Dash discovers an enigma that will prove delightfully intoxicating to unravel: a voluptuous beauty as intelligent as she is fearless.

Only the lure of a collection of rare books bequeathed to her family by Dash’s late father could tempt Elena from her cozy rural life to the crush and vanity of London. But if Elena finds his lordship to be the most impossibly beautiful man she’s ever seen, he also seems to be the stupidest. Which made her body’s shameless response to his masterful seduction all the more unfathomable. Yet when she discovers Dash’s mission to track the dangerous Bishop, she willingly risks everything—her trust, her heart, her very life—to join him.
A native Northwesterner with the pale skin to prove it, Stefanie Sloane credits her parents’ eclectic reading habits—not to mention their decision to live in the middle of nowhere—for her love of books. A childhood spent lost in the pages of countless novels led Stefanie to college, where she majored in English. No one was more surpris...
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Title:The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues NovelFormat:Mass Market PaperbackDimensions:304 pages, 6.85 × 4.19 × 0.79 inPublished:April 24, 2012Publisher:Random House Publishing GroupLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0345531140

ISBN - 13:9780345531148

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1 Spring, 1813 London “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 decan- ter 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.