Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

Anna dutifully donned her clothing and allowed her maid to begin arranging her hair in a simple chignon.

“I daresay you will be spending some time with that handsome Lord Davenport.” Josette seemed in a talkative mood this morning. “Perhaps an interlude alone? Downstairs, they say that the ancient castle has many lovely paths through the gardens and vistas looking out over the sea.”

“Not if I can help it,” replied Anna.

Josette paused in threading the hairpins into place. “Non?”

“Lord Davenport has…well, there seems to be a misunderstanding between us. For the time being, I would rather avoid him.”

“With men, there is always some sort of misunderstanding. It is part of the challenge.”

Anna thought about that for a moment. “You are far more daring than I am. You seem to embrace the idea of living dangerously, while I…I fear that I am less adventurous.”

“Oh, I think perhaps you underestimate yourself.” Josette artfully loosened a curl and stood back to survey her handiwork.

For an instant Anna wondered whether the maid had found some of her discarded manuscript notes. She was usually very careful about burning the scraps, but of late she had been making some mistakes.

“Perhaps.” Anna sighed. “To be honest, I’m not sure I know myself very well these days.”

The maid placed the brush and box of pins back in place.

“But never mind—I seem to be in a strange mood this morning.” After submitting to the dabs of lotion and powder, she rose and took up her shawl. “You, too, ought to have a holiday. Please feel free to walk into town and explore the shops. I won’t be needing any assistance until suppertime.”

“Thank you, mademoiselle,” said Josette.

Anna murmured a vague reply as she left the room. Her mind was already preoccupied with how to avoid the picnic without making a fuss. With any luck, few people would even notice her absence.

To her relief, Caro was already seated at the breakfast table.

“I need your assistance,” murmured Anna as she slid into her chair. “I wish to avoid the trip to the castle, but would prefer to do it without raising a fuss.”

Her sister’s face brightened at the prospect of being involved in a little intrigue. “In other words, you wish it to be a secret.”

Anna nodded. “Any ideas?”

Caro chewed thoughtfully on a piece of her buttered toast. “Ah, what about this?” she suggested after a quick swallow. “You sneak back to your quarters after we have finished with our meal. When the carriages arrive, I’ll wait until the very last moment and then quietly inform Lady Dunbar that you’ve fallen ill with a stomach indisposition and don’t wish to cast a pall over the picnic by announcing the fact. The countess will no doubt be grateful that her kitchens aren’t called into question and will be equally discreet.

“Excellent,” replied Anna. “As I’ve said before, you ought to consider writing novels as well as poetry.”

Her sister grinned. “I’d rather be asked to assist with a more exciting plot, but I suppose this will have to do.”

“I hope the only one experiencing any excitement will be Emmalina,” said Anna. “My plans are to enjoy a very quiet workday with pen and paper.”

“Perhaps,” mused Caro, “the craggy cliffs and ocean vistas will inspire a poem…” Her words trailed off as McClellan entered the room “…rather than the impulse to push a certain person into the churning waves below.”

“Do try to control your emotions.” Anna felt a little hypocritical offering such advice and quickly changed the subject. “Um, speaking of inspiration, would you mind making a few sketches of the castle and how it is situated on the cliffs. It sounds like it would make a perfect place for Malatesta to imprison Emmalina.”

“Very well. But I favor the brooding ruins we spotted above the loch. You know, the one that looked like it had deep, dark dungeons cut into the ancient rock and subterranean passageways leading down to the water’s edge.”

“It sounds as if Craigielochen Castle might have its fair share of dungeons and secret tunnels. The North Sea allows clandestine ship travel between our Sceptered Isle and the Continent.”

“A good point.”

Anna allowed a small smile. “I’ve had to spend some time plotting how Emmalina came to be in Scotland.”

Caro poured herself a fresh cup of tea. “Novels take a good deal more thought than poems. Unless, of course, one is writing an epic like Lord Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,” she mused, slowly stirring in a generous dollop of cream. “But I shall need a great deal more experience in Life before I can ever attempt something as worldly as that.”

“Cynical” was a better word for the poem. “I would hope that you never become as jaded as Lord Byron,” murmured Anna. “At heart, he isn’t a very happy soul.”