Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“Peaked,” corrected Anna.

The maid repeated the word, then added, “When I suggested dark hues to highlight your fair coloring, I did not mean for you to put purple smudges under your eyes.”

“Forgive me for reflecting badly on your artistic genius.”

Josette grinned. “I am passionate about the things that matter to me.” She carefully shook out the wrapper and set it aside for cleaning. “If that offends you,” she added in a softer voice. “I am sorry.”

“Passion is important,” mused Anna. “It makes you feel alive.”

“Oui.” After pulling out a sprigged muslin morning dress, Josette bent down to choose a pair of matching slippers. “However, if I don’t have you ready to go down to the breakfast room while the prince is still there, your Mama will have my head on a platter.”

Other than the prince, who was cheerfully wolfing down a plateful of shirred eggs and sausage, none of the gentlemen of the party had yet made an appearance at the morning meal. Most of the ladies had also chosen to sleep late, for the pouring rain promised to keep everyone indoors for the day.

It was, decided Anna, a good thing that their mother was among them, for she would have been aghast to see Prince Gunther push back his empty plate and politely take his leave without engaging in any flirtations.

“Forgive me, ladies, but I must see to oiling my fowling guns,” he explained. “Just in case the weather clears.”

After finishing their tea and toast, Anna and Caro decided to wander to the library, which was said to house one of the best private book collections in all of Scotland. The vast main room was empty, noted Anna, save for the elderly baron, who was napping in one of the armchairs, the London heiress’s father, who was searching for a sporting book on races at Newcastle, and—

Lord Davenport?

“Are you an avid reader, sir?” inquired Caro, spotting the marquess as he emerged from one of the many alcoves. “There looks to be a wealth of wonderful old volumes here.”

“Not really. I was only hoping I might find a new novel by Sir Sharpe Quill somewhere here,” he replied with a theatrical flourish at the shelves.

The mention of her nom de plume set off a prickling of alarm at the back of her neck. Still, Anna did not miss the subtle shift of his other hand as he quickly shoved a small book into his coat pocket.

Why the secrecy? she wondered. Unless he meant to take it with him when the house party was over.

“Actually, there won’t be a new Sir Sharpe novel available until after Christmas,” said Caro.

“Indeed?” drawled Devlin. “You appear extremely well informed on the author’s publishing schedule.”

“Um, yes, well, I am a very devoted fan,” stammered Caro.

“And you, Miss Sloane?” he asked, turning to her.

Anna forced herself to release the pent-up breath in her lungs.

“Are you a devoted fan as well?”

The mischievous glint in his eyes might only have been a quirk of the candlelight. Still, his gaze stirred an uncomfortable tickle as it flitted over her face. “Like most young ladies,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tightness of her voice, “I find horrid novels amusing.”

“Ah, but I would venture to guess that you rarely behave like most young ladies.”

She felt a flush rise to her cheeks. “No guessing is required to know that you, sir, rarely behave like most gentlemen.”

“Touché,” he murmured.

“Now, if you will excuse us, sir, my sister and I are anxious to explore Lord Dunbar’s collection.” Having no desire to continue the verbal duel, Anna looked at Caro. “I’m sure we shall find a complete set of Robert Burns’s poetry somewhere on the shelves.”

“There is also a fascinating selection of picture books on ancient armor located near the back wall,” said Devlin.

Anna’s feet tangled in the fringe of the carpet, causing her to bark a shin against the leg of a worktable. “W-w-what makes you think I have any interest in armor?”

“Given your fascination for weaponry, I thought you might enjoy them,” said Devlin. “The engravings are quite detailed, and who knows, they might serve as inspiration for the play you two are writing.”

“Play?” repeated Caro blankly.