Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“But one must suffer for Art,” said Caro.

“Within moderation,” replied Anna. She made herself swallow several bites of a scone, even though she wasn’t feeling at all hungry. “Great suffering does not guarantee great art.”

“If it did, this current manuscript would be your best book by far,” said her sister. “Ha, ha, ha.”

“That’s not amusing.” Anna slanted a look out the bank of leaded windows. “Speaking of my book, I see the carriages coming up the drive.” After a tiny pause, she added, “Please wait until the last moment before informing Lady Dunbar.” She wasn’t quite sure why she was being so secretive. Devlin’s oblique suggestion that the prince’s injury had been a deliberate act of sabotage must have put her nerves on edge. “And try not to let anyone overhear you.”

“Oh, wait. One last thing—what if Lord Davenport inquires after you?” asked Caro.

“Just tell him I am feeling unwell. It won’t be a lie.” Suddenly recalling Polianov’s attentions the previous evening, she added. “If the colonel asks after me, you may tell him the same thing.”

“Leave it to me,” assured her sister. “I am getting to be quite good at helping to manage these affairs of intrigue.”

“Perhaps too good,” said Anna. She hesitated, again thinking of Devlin’s strangely menacing statements. “I don’t mean to sound alarming, but please promise me that you will not go off alone with Polianov during the picnic. It’s just a feeling, but I don’t quite trust him.”

“You think he might be a dastardly villain up to no good?” Caro’s eyes slowly widened. “How exciting.”

“Don’t let your imagination fly away with you,” she counseled. “The only dastardly plots going on are the ones that will take shape in my head. That is, assuming I get some peace and quiet for writing.”

Seeing the guests at the other end of the table rise and head off toward the entrance hall, Anna pushed back her plate. “Come, we had best be going. I shall duck into one of the side corridors and

then take refuge in the library. I’ve brought my notebook and will work there for a few hours while the servants finish their morning tasks upstairs. There are several reference books I wish to consult on what sort of plantings are typically found in a Scottish garden.”

“It’s a pity that you will miss seeing the castle,” murmured Caro, as they left the breakfast room. “For however accurate books are, there is no substitute for the actual ambiance of a place to stir inspiration.”

“Art demands sacrifice,” quipped Anna. “With any luck, the Muse will offer enough inspiration on her own to keep me busy for the day.”

From his vantage point high in the tower, Devlin watched the line of carriages set off down the drive. So far, his plan was rolling along quite smoothly. With the castle empty of all but the servants for the day, he had the perfect opportunity to pursue his suspicions.

Starting with the mysterious Miss Anna Sloane.

“Two can play at manipulations,” he muttered, flexing his fingers. Picking locks was a skill that he, too, possessed. “What is good for the goose is good for the gander—let us see how the lady likes having a stranger pry into her most private secrets.”

He waited for a quarter hour longer, then returned to the stairwell and made his way down to the corridor where Anna was quartered. Patience, patience. The precision required to make his automata had taught him to be very patient. From the shelter of a linen closet, he waited and watched, making sure that her lady’s maid was not still at work.

After a lengthy interlude, satisfied that he would not be interrupted, Devlin slipped from his hiding place and with a deft twist of his metal probe, released her door’s lock and entered her rooms.

The sitting room was decorated in heathered hues of stripes and floral chintzes. He made a cursory search of the cabinets and desk, though he sensed that her secrets would be hidden in a more private spot. As he drew a deep breath, the tantalizing hint of her fragrance seemed to wrap around him like a sinuous serpent and draw him toward the bedchamber.

As he entered, Devlin tried to keep his eyes averted from the carved tester bed, where the faint rumpling of the coverlet stirred an unwilling reaction somewhere far beneath his brain.

Focus, he reminded himself. Thorncroft was not paying him to think with his privy parts.

Forcing his attention back to the task at hand, he approached the massive armoire and began a careful search through the clothing and bandboxes within its cavernous depths.

“Damnation.”

With all the fancy frills and accessories needed for dressing in style, ladies had far more places in which to hide any incriminating evidence.

After finally finishing with checking inside the toes of her evening slippers—did a lady really require a dozen different pairs to appear au courant?—he shut the doors and moved on to the ornate oak bureau.

Nothing. Though the delicate lace of the folded undergarments caused another clench of distraction.

Turning around, he slowly surveyed the rest of the room. The escritoire seemed to be in frequent use. Papers were piled atop a small sketchbook, and several pens were poking up from the holder by the inkwell. As for the old mahogany tea chest, the thick, curling tendrils of the potted ivy nearly obscured the set of drawers. Likely they hadn’t been opened since the last century…

A flicker of sunlight momentarily illuminated the dark wood before giving way to a scudding cloud. Devlin crossed the carpet and crouched down for a closer look. Sure enough, the inside of the keyhole showed a telltale glint of bright brass. The lock had been worked recently. More than a few times, judging by how much of the tarnish had been rubbed off.

“Let’s see what you are hiding, shall we?” he murmured, once again drawing the steel probe from the sheath inside his boot.