Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

Anna prepared herself for the worst. Smelling salts—I had better signal a footman to bring smelling salts. And a cudgel to bash both men on the head.

She was, however, pleasantly surprised by the measured tone of his voice.

“You think it mean-spirited that I resent English lords and their oppressive treatment of my country?” he asked.

Caro appeared taken aback by the reasonableness of the question. “I…no, actually I think you have any number of legitimate grievances, sir. But you would do your cause better service to express them more thoughtfully, rather than indulge in childish pique.”

The baron regarded her with an inscrutable stare. “In poetry, perhaps?” Strangely enough it was said more in humor than in anger.

“The Scots have a rich and distinguished heritage of expressing themselves in verse,” replied her sister. “But if rhyming couplets are not to your taste, prose, or simply rational discourse, would be equally effective.”

Devlin opened his mouth to speak, but on catching Anna’s quelling look, he shut it again.

“Sherry,” said their mother faintly as she fanned her face. “I do feel in need of a reviving sip.”

“Caro…” murmured Anna, before the temporary truce could be broken.

Her sister dutifully offered an arm to their mother.

After watching them move off, McClellan excused himself with a brusque nod. “I had better go upstairs and see if my cousin requires some liquid fortitude.” For a brief instant his steely eyes seemed to wink with a less martial glint. “Though I daresay she might prefer something stronger than sherry.”

“It seems you have helped avert a second explosion of the day,” said Devlin, once they were alone.

“No thanks to you.” Anna let out her breath, suddenly aware of the tension coiled inside her. “You seemed intent on seeing blood spilled.”

He shifted slightly, setting off a soft rustle of wool, and silent rippling of muscle as his body hardened along with his gaze. “Oddly enough, I find myself wondering whether to think the same thought about you.”

Had he been drinking heavily? His words weren’t slurred, and yet they weren’t making any sense.

“I have no idea what you mean, sir.”

“Don’t you?”

Her head was beginning to ache, despite having had no more than a sip of champagne. “No. None whatsoever.”

A flicker of uncertainty was quickly hidden beneath his dark lashes. “Your words say one thing and your actions quite another.”

Had he spotted her foray to the Gun Room? Anna fought back a guilty grimace, reminding herself that his own behavior was rather questionable.

“That may be,” she replied coolly. “But I don’t answer to you for my words or my deeds.”

“Oh, quite right,” he said, lowering his voice to a chilling softness. “The question is, to whom do you answer?”

If he was trying to frighten her, he was doing a damnably good job of it. Though why was even more confusing than the menacing slant of his brows.

“At the moment, it is to my stomach,” said Anna, with a laugh that belied the lump of ice in her throat. “Which is demanding some of those delectable lobster patties that the footman has just brought to the refreshment table. So if you will excuse me—”

“Not so fast.” Devlin shifted again, trapping her between the marble pedestal and his unyielding-as-granite body. “I, too, am hungry, Miss Sloane…to know what it is you are hiding.”

“Ye gods, were you standing near the prince when his fowling gun exploded? For it seems to me that the force of the blast must have addled your wits. Do you truly imagine there is some dark, depraved secret…” A horrible thought suddenly flashed through her mind. Gun. Gun Room. Good heavens, surely he couldn’t think for a moment that she had some irrational grudge against the prince.

“Go on,” he said slowly.

It was so absurd as to be laughable. And yet her mouth was too frozen to form a smile.

“You are mad,” she managed to whisper.

The peal of a brass hand bell prevented Devlin from replying.