Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

Rather than respond with a caustic comment, the younger Sloane sister swallowed hard and asked, “Have you a favorite, sir?”

Anna quickly hooked Devlin’s arm. “Let us leave these two to debate poetry. If you will kindly escort me to the refreshment table, I have a question to ask you concerning card games.”

“Card games?” repeated Devlin, once they were out of earshot.

“I had to make up something that wouldn’t stir Caro’s suspicions,” she replied. “It won’t be easy to keep her from guessing something havey-cavey is afoot.”

“You claimed to be good at intrigue.”

“And so I am.” Drawing him to a secluded spot by the bank of windows, she quickly explained what she had learned from her lady’s maid.

“Interesting,” he conceded, “though at the moment I don’t see what relevance it has to my mission. If the prince is in danger, it’s because of politics, not personal peccadilloes.”

“I’m not sure it does have any relevance,” answered Anna. “Save for the fact that Josette is privy to a great deal of gossip, and I’ve come up with a plausible reason for asking her details about the private lives of our two most likely male suspects.”

“One of whom is now, thanks to your encouragement, conversing with your sister.”

Anna waved off the comment. “Even if Lord McClellan is our villain—which by the by I think unlikely—he has absolutely no reason to suspect that Caro knows anything about his secrets.” Her gaze lingered for a moment on the gardens outside the glass. Moonlight mizzled the orderly rows of ornamental bushes with a silvery light, softening the spiky edges of the sturdy hollies and yews. “If I were truly pragmatic, I might

even point out that allowing her to befriend McClellan would also make him less likely to be suspicious of me.”

Damnation. She was frighteningly familiar with thinking out how a villain’s mind might work.

“Be that as it may,” she went on, “my maid may prove helpful.”

Devlin nodded slowly, unable to think of any reason for objecting. It was an excellent idea, but he didn’t like it a whit. “As long as you are—”

“Careful. Yes, I know.” She slanted a look around. “We’ve spent enough time together. You ought to go flirt with Lady de Blois, as we planned. She’s been watching us and looks miffed, which will work in your favor.”

A glance showed Anna was right. In the past, the provocative pout, the revealing gown, the flick of a fan would have stirred the desire for a casual dalliance. Now it did quite the opposite.

There must be something in the Scottish air. A Gaelic curse perhaps, meant to rob all Sassenach males of their manhood.

“Davenport?”

“Throwing me to the wolves?” he murmured.

Her flash of teeth had a faintly predatory gleam. “There are no wolves in Scotland, remember?”

“Perhaps not the four-footed kind.”

“You don’t sound overly pleased with giving chase. I thought you said all rakes were hunters,” said Anna.

A clever quip seemed to elude his grasp. Instead, he quaffed the last of his wine and set the empty glass aside.

“You will need to keep her occupied for at least a half hour, after I retire from the card table. It will be too chilly for a stroll outdoors, but perhaps a walk to the conservatory to a look at the specimen plantings—”

“Thank you,” he interrupted, “But as you so politely pointed out, we rakes have experience in pursuing our quarry. I don’t need you to plot it out for me.”

“My apologies,” she said, sounding a little flustered. “I—I was merely making a suggestion.”

Her face turned a very sweet shade of pink. It took all of his mental discipline—not overly steady except with his automata—to keep from leaning in and pressing his lips to the ridge of her cheekbone, where the color was at its most intense.

“You are adorable when you are angry,” he murmured.

Her lashes dropped, not quite quickly enough to hide a flutter of…

Of what?