Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

The morning post, madam.” Lady Silliman’s footman set a silver tray down on the breakfast room table.

Cecilia thumbed through the letters and paused at a small parcel. “This is for you, John. And Scottie.”

John broke the seal and skimmed over the note inside the wrapping. “Hmmph.” He looked up. “It’s from Miss Sloane. She hopes your eye is on the mend.”

“The purple has turned to green and yellow,” said his son. “I wish Lucy could see how hideous it looks.”

“Perhaps we could invite her to come visit for a week,” suggested Cecilia. “It’s a pleasure for me to have children around, and I’m sure Lucy would enjoy seeing the city. John?”

“Whatever you wish,” he answered absently, his attention still riveted on Olivia’s note. Most female handwriting was light and frilly as lace. Hers, on the other hand, was strong, distinctive script. Bold, forceful, with a slight slant that added an exotic touch.

Rather like the lady herself, John mused, after slowly rereading the missive.

“Miss Sloane thought you might enjoy this picture book on coaches and carriages,” he announced. After tracing a finger over the brightly striped wrapping paper, John slid it across the table. “For the next time you plan an overnight adventure.”

“How very nice of her,” murmured Cecilia.

“She’s a great gun,” agreed Prescott, eagerly reaching for the gift. “I like her laugh.”

“Oh?”

Ignoring his sister’s uplifted brows, John picked up the newspaper and opened it with a snap. “The less said about the incident, the better, Scottie. In the future, I would ask that you not speak of our private family matters with strangers.”

“Yes, sir,” muttered his son.

“What sort of matters?” pressed Cecilia.

“Father’s im

pending engagement to the Steel Corset,” answered Prescott in a funereal voice.

The newsprint slapped down against the polished wood. “The Devil take it, I have not asked the lady for her hand.”

“Well, are you or aren’t you?” countered Prescott.

Cecilia set down her teacup and waited expectantly.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Since you appear to be seriously contemplating marriage, John, I should like to hear a little more about this young lady.”

Swearing an inward oath, John speared a large slice of gammon from his plate and began to chew, hoping against hope to delay or distract her.

Unfortunately, she was more relentless than a troop of Soult’s cavalry in pursuing information that interested her. When he didn’t answer, she turned to Prescott. “Does she have a name? Other than the, er,…”

“The Steel Corset,” repeated his son as he began tearing open the wrapping around the book. “Though I’m not supposed to say it aloud. That’s what Lucy and I call her, on account of how she walks and talks.” Sucking in his cheeks, he stiffened his face into a hideous grimace. “Wrexham, fetch my smelling salts! Your son has a spot of jam on his chin.”

John choked down the lump of meat as Cecilia dissolved into laughter.

“That is not funny.”

“Forgive me,” said Cecilia, biting her lip. “Naturally, marriage is a very serious subject.

“Who in the hellfire name of Lucifer said anything about marriage!” he snapped.

“Your father is never at his best this early in the morning, Scottie,” counseled Cecilia after a short stretch of stony silence. “Let us not badger him on the subject.” To John, she added, “I shall not say another word on the subject.”

His sister silent on matters of the heart? Ha—and pigs might fly.