Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“Perhaps not in so many words. But the insinuation was there.”

He frowned.

Olivia lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated.

They twirled in silence through a spin. This time it was he who put his foot in the wrong place.

“So sorry,” he said through gritted teeth.

So sorry that he was stuck with her until the music ended. She closed her eyes for an instant. Oh, what did it matter that he thought her odd and ungainly? If she were to be ridiculed, it might as well be for her true self.

“Actually, sir, if you really wish to know, I was jotting down some ideas on a political essay that I had just read. On the subject of social justice.” Olivia took grim delight in seeing his eyes widen.

Ah, once again I have shocked him.

“It’s a very interesting subject,” she went on. “Especially given the difference in philosophies held by democracies and absolute monarchies.”

John made an odd little sound in his throat. Apparently she had rendered him speechless.

“Oh, but then, I see you are like most gentlemen and think females incapable of rational thought.” She paused for a fraction. “Would you rather discuss the weather?”

“I…”

The final flourishing crescendo of the music saved the earl from having to answer.

“Thank you for the delightful dance, sir,” she finished. “No need to escort me back to my wall niche. My sister is there by the potted palms and I need to have a word with her.”

Releasing her hand and stepping back, John inclined a stiff bow.

Damn. He watched her move off, unsure whether to feel relieved or annoyed. Hellion, indeed. No wonder she had been hiding in the shadows. If his two encounters were any indication, Miss Sloane had probably insulted and offended most of the gentlemen in the room with her outspoken opinions. Taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, he gave a mental toast to his quick escape.

There would not be a third encounter, he decided as he quaffed it in one gulp.

Yet somehow the wine’s effervescence left a strange burn on his tongue.

His attempt at humor had, perhaps, been a trifle cow-handed, but it had been unfair of her to assume he had a low opinion of the female intellect. As for defending himself, her unexpected attack had taken him by surprise. And apparently his military skills—not to speak of his chess skills—were indeed sadly rusted, for he hadn’t reacted quickly enough to regroup.

The thought was galling, and yet another reason why he intended to march straight out of this overheated room, with its overloud laughter, overbright lights, and overpowering perfumes.

“To the Devil with dancing,” he muttered under his breath as he snagged a fresh glass of wine. But as he turned for the archway, he hesitated. An experienced army officer leaving the field of battle in ignominious defeat? That was even harder to stomach than his rusty reactions.

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Olivia take leave of her sister and head back for the colonnaded alcove. Veering sharply, he caught up with her just as she circled around one of the decorative flower urns.

“A moment, Miss Sloane.”

She stumbled. Clearly he had caught her off-guard.

Good—it was time to take the offensive for a change.

“Allow me to correct your earlier misassumptions,” he said softly. “For a skilled chess player, you seem a little quick to jump to conclusions.”

Olivia drew in a sharp breath. “So, you did recognize me after all.”

“Your face was mostly hidden in shadow during our previous encounter, but nighttime reconnaissance missions teach a soldier to have a sixth sense about that sort of thing.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Be that as it may,” went on John, “It is this evening’s exchange that I wish to speak about.”