Read The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel for Free Online Page B

same way she did every time she encountered Peter Hoskins, a pig farmer who lived not far from Harcourt House. Someyears before, Peter had made the unfortunate mistake of coming between a sizeable angry sow and her offspring. He’d never been the same in the head after that, nor would he ever be.
    “And I, yours, Lord Carrington,” she replied conspiratorially, noting yet again the man’s devastatingly handsome looks.
    Such a pity
, she found herself thinking, though she could not imagine why.

 
    Bessie stood just inside the foyer, willing herself to remain still. She cocked her head to the right in an effort to better hear the conversation taking place just on the other side of the viscount’s front door. Blast, but Carrington and Miss Elena Barnes were practically whispering. Try as she might, the marchioness could hardly hear a detail of their conversation.
    Oh, Dash
, she sighed. It was true enough that her past efforts to find him a wife had failed. But it wasn’t entirely her fault. The man’s irksome habit of hiding his intelligence from the world had done little to help. She knew the truth behind his lie, of course. Lady Afton’s death so many years before had made any meaningful connection with others almost beyond his capabilities.
    Almost, that was. No, Bessie wasn’t the woman to bring him to task. But she’d find the one who was. She loved him too much to accept failure; the memories of her own happy marriage comforted and strengthened the marchioness during dark times. And she longed for Dash to have the support of a loving wife.
    Of course he’d mentioned Lady Scott, she reflected wryly. Cheeky boy.
    But Miss Barnes’s visit offered the chance of a new beginning. True, Bessie had little to go on. Not one of her friends had been able to provide any real information regarding the baron’s daughter, other than that thewoman was smart. Too smart, most of them commented, arching their brows for emphasis.
    The door handle rattled, startling Bessie into action. She spun quickly and scooted toward the staircase, then turned back as though she’d just that moment descended.
    Too smart
, the marchioness thought. Well, she’d thrown women who were too pretty, too cultured, and too perfect in the viscount’s path with no success whatsoever.
    Perhaps intelligence would rule the day.
    The door opened wide, the bright spring sunshine beaming across the gleaming floors to where Bessie waited.
    Miss Elena Barnes crossed the threshold and paused.
    But not in that dress
, Bessie mentally made note. She was so eager to make Miss Barnes’s acquaintance that she found it necessary to purposely slow her steps as she crossed the expanse of marble. She drew nearer and the girl pasted a smile on her face—one she clearly did not feel in either her heart or her head. It wasn’t merely fatigue that marred her countenance. Bessie could hardly claim to know her thoughts, but the rise of Miss Barnes’s chest as she drew a quick intake of breath indicated what, precisely? Surely not fear?
    “My lady.” Dash drew Bessie’s attention away from Miss Barnes. “May I introduce Miss Elena Barnes?”
    The girl dropped into a polite curtsy and bowed her head, giving Bessie an unguarded moment to take in the whole of her. The dress did not improve upon closer inspection, the puce color and ill fit truly a crime of fashion. But the form beneath the drab gown was decidedly spectacular—not unlike Bessie’s own at that age. Her hair was a lovely mahogany brown, shot through with hints of gold. Unfortunately, the style brought to mind a terrifying governess Lady Mowbray and her sisters had endured during their childhood.
    That governess and her particular hairstyle had metwith a most unfortunate accident involving honey, if Bessie remembered correctly.
    Miss Barnes rose slowly and lifted her gaze.
    No, Bessie thought with conviction, she’d not cover this woman in honey. But there was a great deal of work to be done. And much