Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

Ignoring the ominous rumble emanating from his father, the boy added, “To the Steel Corset.”

Oh, merde, thought Olivia, recognizing the unflattering epithet at once. Seeing as

it appeared several times in the letter she had hidden away in her glove—underscored with bold black lines—she could no longer deny the terrible truth.

Swallowing a far more colorful curse, Olivia gave a cluck of commiseration. “Oh, dear, that sounds rather…unyielding.”

John looked distinctly uncomfortable. “There is no formal agreement between us,” he growled to Scottie.

“Yet,” intoned the boy.

Olivia didn’t need to hear any more. Deciding her only option was to beat a hasty retreat, she shifted her reticule, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Well, much as I am enjoying our tête-à-tête, I really must be going, Lord Wrexham.”

To his son she added, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Linsley. I hope that your visit to London meets all your expectations.”

The boy had stepped away from John and was turning in a slow circle. “Are you sure this is the right place, Father? I—I don’t see her.”

“Mayhap she has more sense that I gave her credit for,” replied the earl with a harried sigh.

“Or mayhap she has a very good reason for missing the appointment.” As Olivia started to walk away, she caught Prescott’s eye and softly added, “Ladies, too, have a sense of honor. They do not leave someone in the lurch except under extreme duress.”

John let out his breath as Olivia walked away, thanking the heavens that Prescott’s Lady Loose Screw had not yet made her appearance. Eris, the Greek goddess of Chaos, had wrought enough mischief in his life as it was.

Why, he thought to himself, it is no surprise that the ancient Greeks chose a woman to embody Strife and Mayhem.

“I don’t see her,” repeated Prescott, returning from a hurried check of the surrounding shrubbery.

Seeing his son’s crestfallen face, the earl refrained from caustic comment. “As Miss Sloane pointed out,” he said gently, “a last-minute emergency must have occurred to prevent her coming.”

Prescott nodded, manfully blinking back tears. “Miss Sloane is awfully nice,” he declared after a moment. “I wager you that she doesn’t wear an steel corset.”

“‘Corset’ is another word that a gentlemen never, ever mentions in the presence of a lady,” said John through gritted teeth. Especially as mention of the word stirred an unwilling mental picture of sylph-like Miss Sloane wearing nothing at all.

A naked Nereid, dancing across a moon-dappled meadow.

Bloody hell, the mad dash through the rain and fog must have brought on a brain fever. How else to explain the strange shivers of heat pulsing through his body.

Keeping his eyes averted from the provocative sway of Olivia’s fast-retreating hips, the earl pursed his lips. “It seems I’ve been sadly neglecting your lessons on proper manners, Scottie. Lady Serena was right to point out my shortcoming.”

“To the Devil with manners,” mumbled his son. “And to the Devil with the Steel Corset.”

John pretended not to hear the last few words. He couldn’t blame his son for thinking Miss Sloane was nice. In fact, she had been more than nice. She had been kind and funny. And not at all condescending. Unlike some, she seemed to know intuitively just the right thing to say to a ten-year-old boy.

Ashamed of himself, he quickly quelled such disloyal thoughts,

“Come, we have just enough time to stop at Gunter’s Tea Shop for strawberry ices before I leave you with Aunt Cecilia for an afternoon of sightseeing.”

“I swear, this is becoming more absurd than a Minerva Press novel,” exclaimed Anna, as soon as Olivia finished giving her sisters a detailed account of the morning encounter.

“I know, I know,” she said glumly. “But honestly, it’s half your fault. If you hadn’t shown me that newspaper clipping, if you hadn’t mailed that dratted letter—”

“There’s no point in moaning over spilled milk,” pointed out Caro. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing, I hope,” interjected Anna. “You’ve done enough already to make the poor boy think that this marriage can be avoided. I’m not sure it’s right to encourage false hopes. It might just be better for him to accept his father’s decision, and learn to live with his new stepmother.”

Caro made a face. “That’s not very romantic.”

“Neither is the earl,” quipped Olivia. And yet, she wasn’t so sure that was true. Seen in a certain angle of light, his eyes had an impish spark that was intriguingly at odds with his oh-so-solemn expression.