Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“Frankly, it’s not just you I am concerned about, sir. Mama has all but given up hope of my ever attaching an eligible gentleman, so she leaves me in peace. If she thinks—mistakenly, of course—that you have any interest in me, she’ll begin pestering me to death about my appearance and my need to behave with ladylike manners.”

“Which are, I take it, not high on your list of priorities.”

“No, Lord Wrexham, they are not.” Her chin took on a pugnacious tilt, as if she were defying him to disagree. “The truth is, I don’t give a whit if people think me a handmaiden of Medusa.”

“Speaking of Medusa,” he murmured, watching an unruly curl slither over her cheek. “Your hair has snaked free.”

“Oh, drat.”

But before she could fix the loosened pin, he reached out and brushed it back.

Olivia recoiled as if singed.

“Sorry,” apologized John, though he itched to peel off his glove and twine his fingers through the red-sparked auburn strands. They looked soft as spun thistledown.

Touching her face, she inched away. “Is your betrothed not in London, sir?”

“My…” Still entranced by the sinuous sight, he needed a moment to puzzle out her meaning. “My son is mistaken. I have no agreement with the lady in question.”

“Ah.” For someone who professed little interest in ballroom frivolities, Olivia suddenly appeared enthralled by the figures of a lively c

ountry gavotte. Eyes locked on the dance floor, she added, “Your son will be greatly relieved to hear that you aren’t going to be marrying the Steel Corset.”

John wasn’t quite sure how he had slipped onto such dangerous terrain. The parquet seemed to have shifted into a quagmire of quicksand, and he felt himself slowly sinking.

“I—I didn’t say that.” he shuffled his feet. “Not precisely.”

“Well, either you are or you aren’t,” she said dryly. “It doesn’t seem that there’s any middle ground. Unless, of course, you mean to make her your cher amie.”

He stood speechless, telling himself he ought to be shocked beyond words. She was utterly outrageous. Instead, he had to choke down the ungentlemanly urge to laugh. The truth was, he found her company…provocative. He had never met a lady as interesting or knowledgeable about so many different topics.

Including ones with which she ought not be familiar.

“Miss Sloane,” he wheezed, trying to look stern. “A gently bred female is not supposed to know—”

“Is not supposed to know anything interesting,” she finished for him. “Yes, I am aware of that.” Her lashes fluttered in annoyance, setting off a winking of golden sparks. “Ye gods, is it any wonder that men seek out mistresses, seeing as the highborn ladies they are compelled to take as wives have been trained from the cradle to be bland and boring as boiled oats?”

“I’m not sure this is a conversation we ought to be having,” John murmured.

“Of course it isn’t,” shot back Olivia. “We might actually engage in a meaningful exchange of ideas. I’d actually be curious to hear your reasons for having a ladybird.”

“I don’t…” John realized he was blushing. “I don’t intend to discuss such a singularly inappropriate topic with you.”

She muttered something under her breath. Something that sounded suspiciously close to “prig.”

They stood for a moment in awkward silence, watching the glitter of diamond-bright light play over the swirl of colorful silks. John couldn’t help feeling his own inner thoughts were spinning in the same confusing, conflicting blur of patterns.

Bloody hell.

The music finally came to end, and the couples began to move away from the dance floor.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir. I see my sister beckoning.” Without waiting for a response, Olivia turned on her heel and stalked off.

Chapter Eleven

An intriguing pair of sisters, don’t you think?”

John looked around to see Lord Davenport leaning against one of the stone columns, one hand toying with the tails of his carelessly tied cravat.