Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

Emboldened, she let her hands explore his big body. Slabbed shoulders, chiseled ribs, a hard torso tapering to a lean waist. His contours were utterly foreign.

Utterly fascinating. No gently rounded curves or feminine softness. He was all hard angles and unyielding muscle.

And his scent. He smelled of bay rum and burnished leather. It was earthy—dark and distinctly masculine. Burying her nose in his loosened cravat, Olivia sucked in a deep, deep breath, filling her lungs with the intoxicating fragrance.

“Miss Sloane,” said John raggedly, his whisper hot on her skin as he broke off a torrid kiss. “Forgive me. I—I cannot explain my egregious lapse of gentlemanly honor.”

“Then don’t,” she replied, nibbling at his lower lip. Oh, he tasted delicious. Faintly sweet, with some mysterious hint of spice that she couldn’t quite put a name to.

“Don’t,” he echoed.

She froze.

“Don’t stop,” rasped John, his mouth covering hers again in a hard and hungry kiss.

Melting into his embrace, Olivia slid her hands down the side of his hips. Casting caution to the wind, she let them creep around, tracing the shape of his bum. Beneath the fine tailoring of his trousers, she could feel the taut thrum of flesh. There was something very primitive and powerful in his body. He reminded her of a sleek predator, all coiled strength and lethal grace.

Dangerous.

The word slowly seeped through the heated vapor clouding her brain.

Dangerous.

The echo reverberated against her skull, cooling her wild ardor.

What madness has possessed me?

“Dear God,” she whispered. “You must forgive me, Lord Wrexham. The effort of finishing an essay stirs a certain fire inside. It—it takes a bit of time for it to burn itself out.”

“Is that why you come here?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I find that ranting at the roses and rhododendrons helps release all the pent-up emotion.” Her gaze strayed to the tangle of dark leaves and silvery vines. “And Hurley’s garden never hurls back an unkind word.”

“I know what you mean. My blood is still boiling from an encounter last night with two pompous, narrowed-minded gentlemen.” A wry smile tugged at his lips. “I suppose that explains what just happened here. Fire is a very volatile substance.”

“Very,” agreed Olivia, grateful for his trying to soften the sheer stupidity of her actions. “You, at least, can have the physical satisfaction of punching someone in the nose. My only weapons are my words.”

“And powerful weapons they are,” he said. “You have an extraordinary skill, Miss Sloane, and believe passionately in the need for social reform. So why have you avoided me?”

“Why do you think, sir?”

John made a face. “Right. An idiotic question.”

“Writing as The Beacon, I can reach a great number of people,” she explained. “Hurley goes along with it because I make money for him. But you, sir…” She plucked a furled rose from one of the bushes and slowly peeled back the velvety petals. “Revealing my true identity was too great a risk. If word got out that The Beacon was a female, no essay of mine would ever again see the light of day.”

The earl ran a palm along the line of his jaw. He had, she noted, beautiful hands, strong and capable. The sight of his long, tapered fingers sent a queer little shiver through her limbs.

“You can trust me with your secret,” he said.

Olivia couldn’t help wondering just what he would say if he knew she was also the infamous “Lady Loose Screw.”

On second thought, she decided that she didn’t want

to know.

Ever.

“I don’t really have a choice but to count on your honor, sir.”