Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

She picked up her brush and set to combing out the topknot of curls.

“Intensely,” added her sister.

Anna continued to work in steadfast silence.

“Though I confess, I’ve never quite understood why. You once tried to explain it, but it didn’t make a great deal of sense.” Caro’s voice turned more tentative. “Something about how the two of you were more alike than you wished to acknowledge because you were both forced to be on the hunt for a plump-in-the-pocket pigeon to marry.”

Caro had a habit of making rambling speeches, mused Anna. Perhaps she would simply tire herself out and go off to bed.

“But that’s a moot point now. Wrexham is rich as Croesus, and Olivia has assured me that neither of us has to worry about marrying for money anymore.”

Their eldest sister had recently wed the Earl of Wrexham—much to the surprise of Society, for Olivia was regarded as an outspoken, opinionated hellion while John was admired as the oh-so-proper Perfect Hero. However both portrayals were only skin deep. Beneath the surface were hidden complexities. Hidden secrets.

Anna repressed a sigh. Secrets seemed to run in the family.

“So if you ask me…” Caro’s voice drew her out of her brooding. “I think the Devil’s aura of danger is exciting.”

That a part of her—a very small part—obviously agreed with Caro turned Anna’s mood even more prickly. Abandoning the I-Will-Not-Say-A-Word strategy, she huffed out a sharp “hmmph” and turned in her chair.

“My head is aching enough right now without having to listen to you prattling on like a silly schoolgirl about something of which you know virtually nil. So could we kindly continue this conversation in the morning?”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Anna wished she could summon them back. Caro, who usually accepted the set-downs from her older sisters with cheerful good grace, flinched and went white as the down-turned linen sheets.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Rising, she hurried to the bed and enveloped Caro in a fierce hug. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me of late—I’ve not been myself.” And the trouble was, she wasn’t quite sure who “myself” was anymore. “It wasn’t you I was sniping at—it was my own tangled thoughts. Please forgive me.”

“The fault is mine,” mumbled Caro through a teary sigh. “I should have known better than to tease you when clearly you are feeling blue-deviled. Mama is right, I must learn to control my impulsive urges. It’s c

hildish. And selfish.”

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you to bridle your exuberance.” Anna stroked a hand over her sister’s dark curls. “It’s part of your essence, and without it you wouldn’t be you.” Lifting Caro’s head, she pressed a light kiss to her brow. “Or a poet.”

“I—I’m not a very good poet, but perhaps if I work as hard as you and Olivia do at writing, I shall have a hope of improving.”

“You are exceedingly good, Caro. And you’re going to get even better. You have a rare talent for expressing emotions.”

Sniff. “Even though they sometimes get out of control?”

“Emotions are perverse little devils.” Devil—the word brought a fresh rush of heat to her cheeks. “They seem to have a will of their own and defy any attempts by us mere mortals to control them.”

Caro quirked a watery smile. “Perhaps I’ll write an Ode to Hellfire Emotion.”

“An excellent idea. But it’s probably best left until morning, when the flames of Passionate Feelings have burned down a bit.”

“Yes, yes, quite right.” Her sister smoothed her skirts and rose. “I’ll leave you to sleep…” She opened the door and then looked back over her shoulder with an impish grin. “And to dream of the Devil.”

“Minx.” Letting out a rueful laugh, Anna tossed a pillow at the paneled oak as it clicked shut.

Which left her alone with her own thoughts.

Touching her tongue to her kiss-ravaged lips, she fell back upon the counterpane and stared up at the ceiling, where the play of shadows cast by the candleflame were dancing like underworld imps of Satan flitting across the plaster.

Shadows, not imps of Satan, Anna reminded herself, trying not to let Caro’s penchant for exaggerated exuberance color her own already overheated imagination. The night promised to be uncomfortable enough without added demons.

“You look like Hell warmed over.”

Devlin slouched into the leather armchair and poured himself a glass of brandy. “Have you any idea how often I hear such thoroughly unoriginal witticisms? From you, I expect a tad more cleverness.”

“I’m not feeling terribly clever at the moment,” replied Anthony Thorncroft, pinching at the bridge of his prominent nose. Dark smudges of fatigue underlined his gunmetal-gray eyes and his usual predatory smile was looking a little pinched around the edges.