Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“Fairly well, I think,” answered John. “There are still some rough edges, but I believe that I am making headway in smoothing them out.”

“You are certainly dedicating a great deal of time to your research and writing,” murmured his sister. “Perhaps you would care to take a break and join Prescott and me for a visit to the Tower menagerie?”

“Unfortunately. I have an appointment this afternoon. But if you could put it off until tomorrow, I would be happy to accompany you.”

“Lucy is arriving tomorrow, Father,” reminded Prescott. The boy’s tutor was coming up from their country estate, and the earl had arranged with the girl’s father to have her come to Town for a visit.

“Oh, quite right,” said Cecilia. “We shall put off the visit until the following day, so she may enjoy the exotic animals, too.”

“And don’t forget Astley’s!” exclaimed Prescott. “We must go again to see the riders and acrobats at Astley’s Amphitheater, too. Lucy will like that very much.”

“No visit to London would be complete without seeing such a spectacle,” agreed his aunt. “So, we shall visit the Tower in the afternoon, and then we shall take in the evening performance of the acrobats.” She looked to the earl. “Is that agreeable, John?”

“Hmmm?” The earl didn’t look up from reading The Beacon’s latest column in the newspaper. If anything Olivia’s voice was getting stronger, surer, more nuanced. By Jove, she was good. “What?”

“I said”—Cecilia winked at Prescott—“we were thinking of hiring a pair of silver unicorns and flying to the moon to dine on green cheese for supper. Would you care to come?”

“Yes, yes, that will be fine.”

His son started giggling.

Reluctantly setting the paper aside, he blew out a wry sigh. “Sorry. I have been a trifle preoccupied of late.”

“Understandably so,” replied Cecilia, her mirth softening to a sympathetic smile. “I know that you care a great deal about this issue concerning war veterans. And its importance is magnified by the fact that it is your first speech in the House of Lords.”

He did care. Passionately. And so far, the three secret work sessions with Olivia had proved very helpful. She was a singular intellect—insightful, compassionate, and exceedingly clever with words. He would, he realized, miss her sharp mind, her pithy wit, her throaty laugh when their joint effort came to an end in another fortnight…

“And you must, of course, be missing your betrothed,” went on his sister. “But personal sacrifices must be made for the higher good.”

“Hmmm?” John blinked, trying to banish the thought of Olivia’s unruly dark hair escaping her hairpins and curling across her cheek.

“Lady Serena Wells.” Cecilia arched a questioning a brow. “Or have you forgotten her?”

Damnation. Snapping to attention, he quickly eyed the date on the newspaper. Damn, damn, damn. Somehow he had lost track of time and of any other commitments, save for his speech. He had promised to partner Lady Serena for the first waltz at the annual Militia Ball, but surely she would forgive his absence.

She, of all people, understood the notion of duty over pleasure.

“If you will excuse, I must pen a letter and send it off to Shropshire before I leave for my appointment.”

“Yes, of course,” murmured Cecilia, though she continued to eye him with a quizzical look. “But one last thing before you rush off. May we count on your escort to the Tower on the day after tomorrow? You need a respite from your work, and with Lucy here, I would be grateful for a hand in keeping two inquisitive young people from getting lost in the maze of courtyards and walkways.”

“Yes, yes, you may count

on me,” replied John, feeling a pinch of guilt for having spent so little time with his son. “I promise that I shall schedule nothing to interfere with the outing.”

“Are you sure these secret rendezvous are wise?” asked Anna.

“Not entirely,” answered Olivia. “I realize that the risk for something going wrong grows greater with each meeting. But the earl is so…passionate in his feelings. I feel I can’t let him down.”

“Passionate!” Caro rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t sound very passionate to me—save for the one time he kissed you in the garden. From what you have told us, the two of you talk of nothing but politics.” Sighing, she lay back on Olivia’s bed and clasped a feather pillow to her chest. “A walled garden, redolent with the perfume of roses, a secluded cottage, hidden from prying eyes…Ha! If you ask me, the man doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body.”

“Put a cork in it, Caro,” said Anna. “When you have more experience in life, you will understand that romance comes in many guises, and not all of them involve fire and lightning.”

“One wouldn’t know that by reading your books,” retorted Caro.

“Don’t believe everything you read.”

Olivia smiled into the looking glass as she listened to the exchange. “Whether the Earl of Wrexham possesses a romantic bone in his body is neither here nor there,” she said, poking her last few hairpins into place. “I’m not looking for romance. Ours is a purely practical, pragmatic partnership. We are…” She thought for a moment. “We are like chess pieces of the same color, moving together across the checkered tiles to defeat the opposing army and achieve the ultimate victory.”