The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel (24 page)

Elena considered the facts as Dash had presented them. “But why would Mr. Smeade be connected to the Rambling Rose?”

“We’ve uncovered information at the Rose that ties Smeade to the brothel—records of payment and dates that correspond to not only Lady Afton’s death, but others. This proves that he didn’t act alone. We don’t know who he works for, but we can assume that he’s not unlike others of his ilk within the London underworld. These men manage a web of businesses and illegal endeavors, making vast sums of money in the process.”

“And the Rose is one of those businesses,” Elena said.

“Yes,” Dash confirmed.

Elena nodded in understanding. “Then it’s Mr. Smeade’s boss you want. But you’ll have to go through Smeade to capture him.”

Dash crossed his arms over his chest. “Right again. Smeade may have held the knife to Lady Afton’s throat, but there’s a puppet master pulling his strings.”

Dash’s voice was even and pragmatic. But Elena could see in his eyes what she’d understood in the alcove: there was much more to the story than he was revealing.

“Tell me this: revenge in Lady Afton’s name—what does it mean to you?”

“She was like a mother to me, Elena,” Dash replied, propping his elbows on his knees. “To all of us, really. When she died, our lives seemed to stop. Oh, we grew older. But our hearts simply no longer possessed the capacity for true happiness. We were frozen in time—still are. Revenge is the only way I can think of to at least give us all a fighting chance to live, truly live, not walk through the world disengaged from everything—and everyone. Do you understand?”

He reached for her, but Elena folded her hands in her lap and squeezed her fingers tightly, her heart breaking at his words. “I do.”

“And can you see the inherent danger in something of this sort?” he pressed, resting his elbow on his knee once more. “Smeade has killed before. And would do so again.”

Elena nodded and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.

“How can you ask me to let you risk your life, Elena? How?”

One lone tear fell down her face and Dash leaned forward to gently wipe it away. Elena turned her head to avoid his touch. “How can you ask me not to?”

Dash bowed his head and gripped his knees with both hands, staying that way for some time.

Elena longed to comfort him with her touch, but she couldn’t risk the feel of his skin on her fingertips.

Finally, he looked up, his expression bleak but resigned. “All right, Elena. I will not fight you.”

Elena automatically reached out to cup his face, instantly realizing her mistake. She dropped her hands and pressed her back against the cushion. “Thank you.”

Dash’s face clouded with confusion. “Elena, are you all right?”

“I’m overwhelmed, that is all,” she answered him, offering a reassuring smile. “Now, tell me what you and Nicholas spoke of this afternoon.” Elena watched the shadow of doubt disappear from his eyes and waited for him to speak.

“First,” he began, “you must understand that Smeade is a man who values his life, and the possessions and privileges contained within it, above all else. Without money, Smeade loses his place in society. And without his place in society—”

“Smeade is nothing,” Elena interjected.

Dash nodded. “So if logic follows, take Smeade’s money away and he’d be willing to do anything to get it back.”

“Brilliant,” Elena murmured, struck by the simple yet perfect logic. “But how will you go about it? Short of robbing him, there’s very little I can think of to part the money from the man.”

“Precisely.”

Elena furrowed her brow at his statement, sure that she’d misheard him. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“We’re going to rob the man of his money—in so many words,” Dash began. “First, Nicholas will forge banknotes so that they appear to be written by Smeade to other parties in payment for his debts. Those notes will be cashed at his bank over a short period of time, quickly depleting his savings until there’s nothing left. We’ll let slip that Smeade has had the unfortunate luck to invest in a number of unsuccessful ventures. This
news will be most upsetting to those Smeade relies upon to keep his lifestyle at an acceptable level: his tailor and jeweler, the finest restaurants in the city, even his mistress. He’ll be refused service soon enough.”

“And then we’ll send Smeade a letter from his boss, stating that his work has been poor of late and he’s taken the liberty of lightening the man’s bank account. When Smeade confirms this, he’ll have no choice but to arrange a meeting with the man.”

“And we’ll follow.” Elena finished.

“Something like that, yes,” Dash confirmed, reaching for Elena’s hand.

She let him twine his fingers with hers. “It’s a good plan, Dash,” she said, wanting nothing more than for him to hold her. “Do you think it will work?”

“It has to.”

Nicholas knocked three times, then opened the passageway’s hidden door to Elena’s dressing room. He stepped in and noiselessly shut it behind him.

“Mr. Bourne.” Elena stood before a looking glass, dressed in a stunning coquelicot colored gown that expertly hugged each and every one of her delicious curves.

Nicholas took a seat on a shockingly small caned beechwood chair opposite her. “Miss Barnes,” he replied, his tone no more amiable than hers.

She glared at him in the glass. “Well, your missive insisted that I don the dress you sent over, which I’ve done, at precisely the time you requested. I believe it’s your turn, Mr. Bourne. What, exactly, is going on?”

Nicholas cast a critical eye over her form, noting the snug, low-cut bodice with satisfaction. “As you already know, I strongly advised Carrington against allowing you to participate in Smeade’s capture.”

“Yes, if you’ll remember, I was standing in the room,” Elena said sternly, turning around and facing him. “Can I assume your presence here this evening means you’ve reconsidered?”

“Not in the slightest,” he replied gruffly. “I still believe Carrington is thinking with his heart rather than his brain, but he won’t see reason. At least not when it comes to you.”

“Why do you dislike me, Mr. Bourne?” Elena asked, fidgeting with the skirt of her gown.

Nicholas raked both hands through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Miss Barnes,” Nicholas replied impatiently. “Tell me, did Carrington explain
everything
to you—including Lady Afton’s death?”

“Yes, he did,” Elena answered.

Nicholas nodded. “Then you know how important Smeade’s capture is? And not only to the two of us, but to my brother and Lady Afton’s daughter as well?”

“You may find this hard to believe, but yes, I understand.” Elena stepped closer and folded her hands in front of her, her fingers clasped tightly. “My Rowena wasn’t killed, but her life was irrevocably changed, Mr. Bourne. And it’s my fault.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Nicholas replied impatiently, waving off her statement with a raised hand. “She’s a grown woman, Miss Barnes, surely capable—”

“It matters not,” Elena interrupted, her mouth set in a tight line. “She is like a sister to me, Mr. Bourne. And though I know she was not a blood relative, was Lady Afton not like a mother to you?”

Nicholas didn’t want to understand Elena. But he did. “Bloody hell, Miss Barnes.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You already know the answer,” Nicholas growled. “But it’s a completely different thing altogether.”

Elena planted her fists, arms akimbo, on her hips. “I don’t see how.”

Nicholas’s blood heated with frustration. “You’ve not spent the majority of your life desperate for revenge, Miss Barnes. You can’t know what it feels like to wake every morning, hopeful something will change and you’ll finally have the chance to make the man pay. It’s a living hell, and one you cannot begin to imagine.”

“I believe
that
is why Dash allowed me to participate in this, Mr. Bourne. To spare me the pain you’ve all lived with for far too many years,” she answered quietly.

Nicholas propped his elbows on his knees, his head bowing as he absorbed the weight of her words.

“Yes, well, enough arguing,” Nicholas said, breaking the tense, heavy silence. “I see now that you’re far too obstinate to stand down, so let us discuss the gown.”

“Then you’re surrendering?” Elena said disbelievingly.

“If you insist on courting danger,” Nicholas began, straightening up and standing, “far be it from me to get in your way.

“Carrington did warn you of the danger, yes?” he added, hopeful that her courage was less robust than her obstinacy.

Elena folded her arms across her bodice and raised her eyebrows sardonically. “The gown, Mr. Bourne, if you please.”

Foolish, insufferable woman
.

“Very well, the gown.” He gestured for her to turn and face the looking glass before standing behind her. “The James and Mulroy bank is where Smeade keeps an account. As Carrington has already told you, our plan is to drain the man’s money away until he’s left with nothing. Your assignment is to steal his account number.”

Elena stared quizzically at him in the reflective glass. “And how am I meant to do this?”

“With this gown, Miss Barnes,” Nicholas answered dryly. “And your breasts.”

Her hands flew to her bodice, fingers splaying over the silk, and her eyes widened with alarm. “Mr. Bourne, I’m sure that I misheard you.”

Nicholas came round to face her. “No, you did not, Miss Barnes. And that is precisely why I am here without Carrington’s knowledge.”

He stepped aside and turned to look at her in the glass. “James and Mulroy’s head clerk is a Mr. Devon.
And I have it on good authority that our Mr. Devon is a breast man.”

“What on earth do you mean, a breast man?” she asked incredulously.

Nicholas suspected his patience was nearly at an end, but he pressed on. “Men, Miss Barnes, are partial to different parts of the female anatomy. I myself am a leg man. Give me a long leg with a well-turned ankle and—”

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Bourne,” Elena snapped. “I believe I understand now. This Mr. Devon prefers the upper regions of a woman’s form, yes?”

“Precisely,” Nicholas replied. “And yours, Miss Barnes? Well, yours are spectacular.”

Nicholas could not tell from the woman’s expression if she was about to slap him or preparing to faint.

“Thank you?” she muttered, looking at her bodice in the glass.

“That is,” Nicholas continued, “in this dress. It more dramatically emphasizes your assets, if you will, than your other gowns.”

She continued to stare at her breasts, then suddenly shifted her weight so that one knee was slightly bent, forcing her hip to jut out seductively. She leaned in ever so slightly and a pale expanse of skin was suddenly revealed.

“God,” Nicholas said, admiring her instinctive response to his words. “There’s not a man in the merchant bank who stands a chance.”

“Now,” he continued, returning to the beechwood chair. “I assume you have some knowledge of flirtatious intercourse?”

Elena blushed and Nicholas didn’t know if it was “flirtatious” or “intercourse” that had embarrassed her.

“Well, it’s rather simple really,” he went on. “Allow Mr. Devon to believe that he’s the only man who could
possibly help you. He’ll eat it up like a Christmas pudding.”

“That’s it, then?” Elena said, returning to her normal stance. “A flash of ample skin, made to feel the hero, and you men are rendered useless?”

“Your words, Miss Barnes. Not mine.”

“Elena, my dear girl, please do try and look as though you’re enjoying yourself,” Lady Mowbray exclaimed, allowing Dash to assist her out of the carriage.

Elena took a deep breath and prepared to disembark from the landau. “And who says that I’m not looking forward to the garden party?” She took Dash’s hand and carefully stepped onto the gravel drive of Tointon House, savoring the spark of awareness that heightened her senses.

“Your face,” Lady Mowbray answered flatly, shaking out her skirts, then turning her attention back to Elena. “And your demeanor. Really all of you, though the dress is quite cheerful.”