Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“You wound me, Miss Sloane,” murmured Devlin, once they had spun by a pair of other couples.

“I doubt that I’ve drawn blood. And if I have, it could only be a pinprick to your vanity.”

He laughed in a low, intimate way that stirred thoughts of rumpled sheets and musky perfume. “If I were a puffed-up popinjay, the injury might be mortal. However, as I can readily laugh at my own foibles, as well as those of others, I don’t think I can be accused of taking myself too seriously.”

“I grant you that, Lord Davenport. Your faults may be legion, but overweening conceit is not one of them.”

“Ye gods, praise from you? I think I may need smelling salts to keep me from falling into a swoon.”

“I have a feeling that very little in this world could render such a shock to your sensibilities, sir.”

Another laugh—which sent another frisson of heat tingling through her body.

“By the by, it wasn’t praise,” Anna added softly, telling herself that it was too dangerous to play with fire. No matter how pleasantly seductive the sensation was now, she would only end up getting burned. “It was merely an observation.”

They danced through a slow turn in silence before Devlin replied, “I, too, have made an observation, which brings us in a roundabout way to what I wished to discuss with you.”

“At last,” she responded, “we stop spinning in circles.”

“Indeed, the dance is almost at an end.” His hand tightened on hers as the tempo of the music quickened into its crescendo. “My apologies again if I have subjected you to a tedious interlude.”

It hadn’t been tedious, it had been…tempting.

Too tempting.

“You had better get to the point, sir, before it’s time for us to part company.”

“Very well.” And yet, he hesitated as their bodies whirled in perfect harmony with the lilting rhythm of the waltz.

For a moment Anna felt as if she was dancing on air.

“Is there a reason you were making a sketch of the pocket pistol in Manton’s display window?”

The question brought her girlish reverie thudding back down to earth. Thud, thud, thud. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.

“Your eyes must have been deceiving you, sir.”

“On the contrary, I have excellent vision.” His steps skimmed smoothly over the parquet. “So I would say that the deception must lie elsewhere.”

Anna swallowed hard, unsure of how to reply.

Damn the man—he must have a basilisk gaze to go along with his Lucifer smile.

“You’re a bad liar, Miss Sloane,” he whispered. “The question is why.”

“W-why…” she repeated, trying to gather her wits. “W-why…why is it any business of yours what I put in my private notebook?”

“It isn’t,” replied Devlin calmly. “However, given the oddity of young lady being so intrigued with a firearm, it occurred to me that you might feel yourself in some imminent danger.”

Ha! The only imminent danger was to her peace of mind. And for that, bullets and gunpowder would provide precious little protection.

“Are you?” he pressed.

Anna hitched in a breath as the violins finished their last notes with a flourish and the music came to an end. Laughter rose from the crowd milling near the punch table, the gaiety punctuated by the sharp-edged clink of crystal.

The urge to echo their amusement rose up in her throat. Lud, the evening was fast descending from drama to farce. The only thing more absurd than the notion that she might be threatened by some unknown enemy was the idea that Lord Davenport might feel honorbound to offer aid to a damsel in distress.

“No,” she answered.