Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“No, no, just something lodged in my throat.”

“Not an unsuitable husband, thank goodness,” quipped Caro. “You don’t have to swallow your dreams and compromise on someone who doesn’t make you completely happy.”

Happy? Ah, that was the very heart of the problem.

“If only I knew what my soul needs to make it overflow with happiness,” she responded. Not wanting to sound too wistful, she quickly added, “It hasn’t yet penned me a note with all the requirements spelled out.”

Caro didn’t laugh.

Shedding the last of her evening clothes, Anna slipped on her nightrail and a thick banyon-style wrapper to shield her from the chill. “Now that you’ve quizzed me on my evening’s interactions with the male guests, tell me about your time with Count Rupert. He seemed extremely attentive to you during supper.”

“Oh he’s pleasant enough.” She shrugged. “And undeniably handsome. But he doesn’t set off any sparks.”

“Sparks aren’t necessarily a good thing,” pointed out Anna. “They can be unpredictable.”

“But shouldn’t love be full of unexpected explosions of beautiful, brilliant little flames?” countered her sister.

“Sparks may look lovely flying up in a bright burst of light, but you never know when they will fall in the wrong spot and start an unwanted fire.”

“Better to have some degree of risk in flashes of fire than safety within the confines of a dull, colorless box of boredom.”

Caro’s eloquence was beginning to reflect some interesting insights. “I hope you are not speaking from experience. Of the three of us, you have the sort of passions that can ignite into trouble.”

“I am not the one dallying with a hellfire rake.”

“I am not dallying, I am simply…”

“Doing research for your novel?” asked Caro with an impish grin.

Anna tossed a pillow at her. “Go to bed, before your imagination becomes too overheated.”

“It’s not my mind that’s afire with forbidden fantasies,” said her sister as she batted the feathery missile aside. Rising, she sauntered toward the door. “Sweet dreams.” A teasing wink hung for an instant in the light of the lone candle. “Though I daresay they will be flavored with far more spice than sugar.”

Another pillow winged through the air, but this one bounced off only polished oak.

“Minx,” muttered Anna with a rueful smile, uncomfortably aware that Caro’s new sharp-eyed insights might prove to be a double-edged sword. Still, she had missed sharing sisterly confidences. Olivia’s sage advice had been a steadying force.

And if ever I needed to keep my balance…

A faint rumble of thunder in the distant moors warned that another storm was blowing in. Moving to the tall bank of leaded windows, Anna pressed her forehead to one of the panes, hoping to cool the feverish thoughts inside her head.

Pitchforks—it felt as if tiny pitchforks were jabbing at the backside of her brow. That, she decided, was because she was letting the Devil Davenport get under her skin. Rather than allow his little games to tease and torment her peace of mind, she ought to channel her emotions into something more positive than brooding.

Ha! All at once, the chill glass suddenly felt remarkably soothing against her skin as Caro’s offhand comment about research suddenly stirred an idea—no, more than an idea—to life.

She was about to turn to the escritoire for her pen and notebook when a flicker of movement in the gardens below caught her eye.

A man was stealing through the slanting shadows cast by the tall yew hedge. Keeping to the verge of grass rather than the graveled walkway, he crossed through a pool of moonlight before disappearing through the arched opening in the garden wall.

Anna stared at the slivered darkness, watching the thick twines of i

vy ruffle for just an instant against the stonework before going still. From somewhere in the nearby trees rose the hoot of an unseen owl.

A creature of darkness who did its hunting at night.

“Predators are on the prowl,” she whispered, and then reached up to draw the draperies shut.

Chapter Seven