Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“Nor am I. It requires far too much effort, especially at this hour of night.” He lit a cheroot and took several long puffs before leaning back and exhaling a perfect ring of silvery smoke. As it hovered for an instant overhead, he let out a rumbled laugh. “Oh, look. I’ve got a halo.”

“You,” growled Thorncroft, “are an ass.”

“So I’ve been told.” Devlin tapped a bit of ash on the expensive Turkey carpet. “And I don’t disagree.”

Thorncroft slid his boot out and stamped out an errant spark.

“Which begs the question of why you asked me here.”

“I have a job that might suit you.”

Devlin took a long moment to consider the statement. The ancestral title and estate passed down by his profligate father had come with crushing debts piled upon the fancy family crest, whose fancy Latin motto translated as Restraint and Resolve.

Ah, yes, the Gods of Greed had a wickedly cynical sense of humor.

Not that I have any right to be holier than thou. The task of repairing decades of damages had been daunting to a callow youth of seventeen. Instead, he had chosen to emulate the example of his predecessors. Devilry, like brandy, ran hot and potent in the Davenport blood. Why fight Fate when it was far easier to give in to temptation than try to be…

A better man?

Ha! And pigs might fly.

“How much does it pay?” asked Devlin after blowing out another series of tiny rings.

A grimace spasmed across Thorncroft’s face. “You’re not in any position to negotiate, Davenport. According to my sources, you’re badly dipped at the present moment.”

“I’m always badly dipped,” retorted Devlin. “The degree really doesn’t matter.”

“Considering what we paid you for the last job, I would have thought you would have settled some of the accounts at your gaming hells.”

“Good God, why?” he drawled.

The comment drew a ghost of a smile from the other man. “I confess, your utter lack of morality has a certain charm.”

“Of course it does. It suits your purpose.” Devlin tossed back a long swallow of his spirits. In truth, Thorncroft might faint if he knew what the money was really spent on. “Now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries, shall we get down to business?”

Settling back in his chair, Thorncroft tapped his well-tended fingertips together. “It’s actually a very simple and straightforward task, though it does require you to be absent from the pleasures of London for several weeks.”

Which might, mused Devlin, be an excellent idea. Given his inexplicable reactions to a casual kiss, a respite from the usual revelries was needed to reorder his wits.

“I will warn you though, the spot is remote.”

Even better.

“I’m willing to listen,” he said softly.

Tap, tap. “And I,” replied Thorncroft, “am willing to negotiate the price.”

The first slender fingers of dawn’s light poked through the draperies, pulling Anna fully awake. Strange dreams had plagued her sleep. Teasing, taunting dreams, filled with a whirling dervish tangle of menacing creatures and threatening whispers. A black cat—there had been a black cat, a tiny tabby who had, in an instant, transformed in a burst of flame and brimstone smoke into a terrifying beast. Ha, ha, ha! Its topaz eyes had turned scarlet, with flames spitting out to scorch her face—

“Drat.” She covered her face with her hands, trying to cool her burning cheeks. “Would that I could dream of something useful.” A wry sigh. “Like the plot for my next chapter.”

It was, Anna decided, the unaccountable absence of her creative muse that had her emotions in a muddle. Perhaps the perverse goddess had heeded Caro’s suggestion and headed off to the spa at Baden-Baden on her own for a prolonged stay, taking all her clever words with her.

Leaving me to face a looming deadline without so much as a dribble of inspiration.

Slumping back against the pillows, Anna tacked on a few well-chosen oaths to her grumbling. Think! Surely it shouldn’t be so hard to strike a few fresh sparks of imagination. All that was needed was to find the right flint and steel…

Determined to banish her brooding mood, she quickly dressed on her own and headed downstairs. Her late father’s library, a cozy, comfortable refuge that always seemed to help focus and clarify her thoughts, offered far more prospects for helpful ideas than a jumble of twisted bedsheets.