Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“I beg your pardon?”

She repeated what she had said in a louder voice.

His eyes narrowed—in censure, no doubt.

That was hardly a surprise, thought Olivia bitterly. Ladies weren’t supposed to have opinions about anything meaningful. Especially if they were one of the three poor-as-a-churchmouse Sloane sisters.

Of course that did not stop her from saying what she thought. It didn’t matter that Society dismissed her as a rag-mannered hellion, tolerated only because of the beauty and charm of her younger sister. She could take a measure of inward satisfaction in knowing there were far more effective ways of being heard…

Clearing her throat with an exaggerated cough, she added, “If you must blow a cloud, sir, might you do it on the other side of the room?” She had come here for the express reason of avoiding the other guests. With any luck, he would take the hint and go away.

“I beg your pardon,” he repeated, quickly stubbing out the offending cheroot. “Had I known there was a lady present, I would not have been so ill-mannered as to indulge in a smoke.”

Olivia gave a brusque wave without looking up. “Apology accepted, sir.” Hoping that silence would help to encourage a quick retreat, she propped her elbows on the table and continued to study the position of the remaining chess pieces.

The gentleman didn’t budge.

Repressing a huff of impatience, Olivia pushed the last ivory pawn forward with a touch more force than was necessary. It slid over the smooth marble tiles and collided head-on with its ebony counterpart. With a soft snick, the two erections hit up against each other.

A glint of emotion seemed to hang for an instant on the fire-sparked tips of his dark lashes. But surely she must be mistaken—it was only a quirk of the candlelight that made it appear to be amusement.

In her experience, military officers were not wont to display any sense of humor.

“Madam,” he murmured, after another moment of regarding the board with a hooded stare.

“Miss,” she corrected.

A frown fitted across his face, but after a tiny hesitation he continued, “I concede that you seem conversant in the concept of chess. But this evening, perhaps, er, playing cards would be a more appropriate choice of entertainment.”

“I loath cards,” said Olivia. “They require such little mental effort. Chess is far more cerebral.”

“Indeed. However, in this particular case, it is the, er, physical aspect of the game that is cause for concern—”

“Why?” she interrupted. “Seeing as chess is considered by many to be a metaphor for war, it seems singularly appropriate that male figures display their swords.” A pause. “Sword is a euphemism that you gentlemen use to refer to your sex organ, is it not?”

His bronzed face seemed to turn distinctly redder in the uncertain candlelight.

Good—I’ve truly shocked him.

Now perhaps he would go away, thought Olivia, quickly moving one of her pawns to another square. She had been deliberately outrageous in hopes of scaring him off. His presence—that tall, quiet pillar of unflinching steel—was having a strangely unsettling effect on her concentration.

“You might want to reconsider that particular strategy.” To her dismay, the gentleman slid into the seat across from her and took charge of the ebony army.

The faint scent of his spicy cologne floated across the narrow space between them, and as he leaned forward for a closer survey of the board, the candle flame flickered, its red-gold fire catching for an instant on the tips of his dark lashes.

Breathe, she told herself. It was the exotic smoke that was making her a little woozy.

“If I move here,” he pointed out, “you are in danger.”

His words stirred a prickling sensation at the nape of her neck, as if daggerpoints were teasing against her flesh.

In and out, in and out. Olivia forced her lungs to obey her silent order as she studied the positions of the pieces. The blood was thrumming in her ears, and for one, mad, mercurial moment, she feared she might swoon.

No—only feather-brained gooseberries swooned. And of all the derogatory comments she had heard whispered behind her back, nobody had ever called her an idiot.

“True,” she replied to him.

The sudden scuffling of approaching footsteps in the corridor prevented him from making a reply.