Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

More.

Clasping his arms around her waist, Devlin pushed her back a little roughly, pinning her body to the unyielding stone. She tensed and twisted…

I am Satan’s spawn.

…and then went still.

Time seemed to stop, to hang suspended within the shifting shadows of the fluttering leaves. A myriad of sensations seemed to skate over his skin. Fire. Ice. The slow softening of her resistance.

Anna made another sound. No words, just a soft feline purr that drifted off into the darkness. She moved, tilting forward in a tentative tasting of her own. Entwined, they swayed, weightless in the cool caress of the night.

Somewhere close by, a door opened and shut.

The echo broke the strange spell. With a shudder, Anna wrenched free of his hold, a gasp fluttering through her gloved fingertips as she touched her lips.

Disgust? Disbelief?

Devlin blinked, not quite certain of his own feelings.

For a fleeting moment it looked as though she were going to speak, but instead, she shoved him aside and walked off without a word.

Walked with her head held high, her spine ramrod straight, he noted, rather than pelter off in a torrent of tears and sobs.

Hard and soft—no question Anna Sloane was a contradiction.

Which made her a conundrum.

But Devlin liked puzzles. They kept his own inner demons at bay.

Chapter Two

Are you feeling ill, my dear?” Anna’s mother squinted through the dim light of the carriage lamp. “You look a trifle peaked.”

Piqued was perhaps a more accurate word, thought Anna, but she kept such thoughts to herself. Unlike her daughters, Lady Trumbull was not overly interested in the nuances of language.

“I confess, I am not feeling overly well either.” Caro shifted on the seat next to her and exhaled loudly. “My head hurts. I think I drank one too many glasses of that lovely champagne.”

“You must learn to control your impulsive urges,” scolded their mother. “Really, Carolina, do try to emulate your older sister’s example.”

Anna closed her eyes, unwilling to meet the fond smile.

“Discretion, discipline,” continued Lady Trumbull. “Follow her lead and you won’t go wrong.”

“Yes, Mama,” replied Caro. But, being Caro, she couldn’t resist adding, “However, not all of us are graced with the good fortune to be a saint.”

“Don’t be impertinent, Carolina.”

“No, Mama.”

To Anna’s relief, Caro left it at that. Not that the ensuing silence was any more comfortable. Left to brood on her own inexplicable impulses, she, too, felt a beastly headache coming on.

Davenport is a disgrace, but so am I.

Of all the buffle-headed, bird-witted things to do, kissing a rapscallion rogue ranked awfully high on the list of Supreme Follies. And to think she had called him an idiot. The epithet was better directed at herself.

Idiot. For good measure, Anna repeated it in Italian. Cretina. She wished she knew German, for no doubt it would sound suitably harsher. Or Russian…

Thankfully, the carriage rolled to a halt, putting an end to her multilingual self-loathing.