The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie Sloane Read Free Book Online Page B

captured the information so precisely that Dash could conjure up exactly what was printed on any given page at any time.
    “How on earth will you be able to part with them?”
    Startled, Dash looked to the entry. Miss Barnes stood in the doorway, her curvaceous form framed by the heavy oak molding. She looked at the room with wonder in her eyes.
    “Easily,” Dash answered, standing and walking to her side.
    She nodded in understanding, a small, pitying “Oh,” escaping from her lips as she took his arm and allowed him to escort her across the room.
    Dash fought the urge to add “because I’ve read eachand every one—and committed them to memory, no less” but he didn’t, of course. To do so would be counterproductive.
    And why should he care what she thought of him, anyway?
    He led Miss Barnes to the shelves where the books on mythology were housed. “The Greek gods and such live here,” he explained in a bored tone, pointing to the volumes. “Well, they don’t live here, of course,” he added, laughing at the poor joke. “Romulus and Remus and all of that. Father said you were a student of such things. Is that true?”
    Miss Barnes patted him gently on the arm before pulling away. “Romulus and Remus were Roman, my lord,” she gently corrected. “But yes, it’s true, I am a most enthusiastic student of mythology.”
    Dash watched as she reverently ran her fingers over the volumes, stopping on a deep blue book and carefully easing it from its place.
    Of course he knew that Romulus and Remus were Roman. But she’d taken the bait. That was always satisfying when it came to deceiving the bluestockings.
    And what a bluestocking she was. Her knot was so severely fastened that Dash wondered if she was actually able to close her eyes. The tension provoked by applying such a number of pins surely caused the skin about her eye sockets pain.
    The color of the hair so ruthlessly imprisoned within the torturous style was not precisely muddy brown, as he’d originally estimated so many years before. Actually, it was closer to a rich sable, he realized, with hints of gold intertwined throughout. He decided it would no doubt be stunning if it were ever set loose and allowed to fall naturally about her shoulders.
    Intrigued, he continued to study her as she returnedthe book to the shelf and walked slowly down the long, carpeted aisle, unaware of his perusal.
    Her face was more fetching than he’d given her credit for, her hair color reflected in her eyes. Large and fringed in thick, sooty lashes, they were expressive and quite striking. Her nose was charmingly pert, and her mouth … Dash paused at her mouth, noting the movement of full, pink lips as she silently read off the titles of books to herself.
    She bent to examine the lower row of books, giving Dash a nice view. Her deliciously curved backside perfectly complemented rounded, firm breasts. An hourglass. A wonderfully proportioned hourglass with the sand in just the right spots.
    Dash ignored the flash of heat that suffused him and focused on being annoyed. The chit’s hideous dress was what he’d expected of her. Bluestockings were known for being bookish. And yet, he’d never once made the acquaintance of even one who’d ever cracked the covers of
La Belle Assemblée
. No, her unfashionable dress did not surprise him in the least.
    But the curves? Now, that was completely unexpected. As were her lush mouth and the silky hair …
    “Oh!” Miss Barnes exclaimed in a hushed tone, her excited intake of breath pulling Dash from his thoughts.
    She rushed toward the end of the aisle, skidding to a halt in front of a glass case situated against the wall.
    Dash couldn’t help himself. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and he followed.
    “Giacomo Paolini’s
Abecedary
,” Miss Barnes whispered, as though speaking a sacred prayer within the walls of a grand cathedral.
    Dash moved closer to the case, studying the book. Its presence was wholly surprising. His