Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

A boyish smile bloomed on his lips. “That is high praise indeed, seeing as The Beacon is an unwavering flame of Truth and Honesty.

Truth. Honesty.

Olivia felt her insides give a sickening lurch. I must tell him about the Other Secret.

“You, of all people, never prevaricate.”

Oh, but not now. After the speech, she promised herself. She would confess to being Lady Loose Screw after their work was done. No doubt he would despise her, but by then it wouldn’t matter.

For now, however, her own scruples must be sacrificed for the Higher Good.

“Never mind about me,” she muttered. “We must focus on your speech. Read that last section aloud. It has to be perfect.”

John did so.

“You’re right about the concepts, but it needs to be stronger.”

“How so?” he asked.

“It needs…” Olivia began to pace. “…More punch.” Fisting her hands, she tapped them together. “The words must be tough, but lyrical.”

He blew out his breath. “I’m afraid that lyrical doesn’t come naturally to me.”

“It’s a matter of practice. You’re very skilled with words, Wrexham, you just need more practice. Practice makes perfect.”

Her steps quickened over the threadbare rug. “Lyrical, lyrical,” she muttered.

Tap, tap. Her knuckles kept rapping a steady tattoo, as if the sound might conjure up inspiration from thin air.

As she reached the far end of the room, she suddenly pivoted on her heel and rattled off a few sentences.

John snatched up a pen and started writing.

“Lift your thoughts from self-interest! Raise your eyes from your estate ledgers and see the Higher Good…” The ideas were flowing fast and furious now.

“Blast!” exclaimed John as the pen point snagged in the paper. “Wait—I cannot copy that down quickly enough.”

Expelling an impatient huff, Olivia made a face. “I shall try to slow down, but words sometimes race out of reach if I don’t keep up with them.”

“Then keep going, keep going,” he urged, grabbing a newly sharpened quill and a fresh sheet of paper. “I’ll scribble as fast as I can. We can always go back and make corrections later.”

Olivia was already rattling off a new sentence. For the next quarter hour, she criss-crossed the floor, shaping her ideas into heartfelt speech. When at last she was satisfied with her efforts, she paused and circled back to the work table, where John was just finishing the task of writing out the final words.

“Better?” she murmured, trying to read over his shoulder.

“It’s brilliant,” he answered. “Absolutely brilliant. The Beacon has never shone so brightly.”

“You give me far too much credit, Wrexham,” protested Olivia. “The core idea was yours, and without it the speech would fall flat, no matter how flowery the language.”

“Hardly,” he said, though she could see that her praise stirred a swirl of topaz-colored sparks in the chocolate-dark depths of his eyes. “Without your guidance I could never have done it. You’ve taught me to challenge myself, to question my assumptions, and to try to see things from more than one perspective.”

She, too, felt a heady rush of exhilaration at his words of admiration.

“We make a good team,” added John. “Though it is a pity you cannot receive the credit you deserve.”

“That’s not important. What matters is that the speech is a strong one,” said Olivia. “It will sway the undecided votes.”

“You think so?”