Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

She was there in the recessed corner of the display alcove, perusing some of Henry’s collection of Elizabethan poetry books.

“Hail the conquering hero,” she murmured, an enigmatic smile flitting along the dimly lit curl of her lips as he came to stand by her side.

John grimaced. “Oh, bosh—to the Devil with such drivel. I should hope you know me better than to think I let any of these undeserved accolades puff up my conceit.”

Olivia kept her gaze on the gilt-stamped

leather spines. “You were wonderful.” The slanting shadows made it impossible to read her eyes.

“We both know it was because of us, not me.”

“You have more than proved your mettle in this field of battle, Wrexham.”

The cool formality of his title caused his jaw to clench. He missed the intimacy of his given name spoken in her smoky whisper.

“From now on,” she continued, withdrawing a step deeper into the muddle of grays, “you need no help in winning future victories.”

There is only one victory that matters to me.

John touched her arm, the heat of her skin beneath the slubbed silk setting off a flare of longing. “Come, I’ve something I want to show you. It’s in the library.”

“But the guests,” she protested.

“The guests are leaving, and Cecilia and Henry will keep those who linger entertained,” he cut in. “This is more important than hearing more meaningless praise.”

Olivia let him lead her through the side salon and into the corridor.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A surprise.” The paneled door opened with a soft snick of the latch. Feeling a flutter of butterflies in his belly, John drew her past a pair of fluted bookshelves and into one of the side study nooks. Strange how facing off against an opposing force of French Grenadier Guards hadn’t made him feel half so nervous as he felt now.

The light from the argand lamp cast a mellow glow over the work table. Centered on the polished oak was a chess set carved out of ivory and a deep, dark amber. In the flame’s gentle undulation, the subtle hues of gold and fire-kissed honey seemed to come alive.

John heard her breath catch in an audible gasp. “It’s—it’s the Russian set from Mr. Tyler’s shop!”

“I wanted to give you a…special token of thanks for all your help,” he explained. “I thought you might like this set, and Mr. Tyler agreed.” He found himself fiddling with the fob on his watchchain. “Sorry, it’s not as exotic—or erotic—as the forces that first brought us together. But as soon as I touched the figures, it felt right.”

“It’s perfect,” said Olivia.

“Nothing’s perfect, he said wryly.

A wink of emerald flashed over the amber hues. “You are,” she whispered.

The words were too muddled by the cracking coals in the hearth for him to be sure of what she had just said. Too cowardly to ask her to repeat them, John slipped into one of the facing chairs.

“Shall we give them a baptism of fire, so to speak?”

Olivia took the other seat. John had chosen to play the amber side, and as he squared the pawns into precise military alignment, she ran a fingertip along the contours of her ivory queen. Black and white, dark and light. And yet, like life, the essence of the game was rarely defined in such starkly simple terms.

Chess is so bloody complicated, Caro had once complained.

“Your move,” murmured John.

Choosing a safe opening sortie, she nudged a pawn forward.

“What, no bold moves, no unexpected attacks?” he murmured.

The gentle teasing stirred the echo of Caro’s admonition. Sometimes you must take a risk to make a wish come true. Did she dare play with her heart and not her head?