Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“You remember the Portrait Gallery?”

A flush of color painted her cheeks. “Yes,” she answered curtly. “But it’s not quite as isolated as one might wish.”

“I know another more private spot. But I had best lead you there, as it’s hard to find.”

“Very well. But if you deceive me—”

“Yes, yes, I know. My liver will be handed to the cook for use in her special pâté.”

“You are wiggling worse than a Breton eel, this evening, mademoiselle,” murmured Josette. “Is something amiss?”

“No.” Anna tried to stop squirming in her seat, but her body didn’t seem to be listening to her brain. “That is…” She groped for an explanation. “…I am unhappy that Mama keeps trying to push me together with Prince Gunther. Clearly the poor man isn’t interested. It is embarrassing to both of us.”

“I would imagine that the prince is no stranger to fending off matchmaking mamas,” replied the maid. Her deft fingers snagged an errant curl and twisted it into place. “Perhaps your unhappiness has to do with another gentleman downstairs, eh? One that your Mama does not want to encourage?”

Anna felt herself blush. “That particular gentleman needs no encouragement to do whatever he pleases.”

“A man with backbone. That is good, non?

No. The spineless fops of the ton were certainly easier to deal with emotionally than the marquess. Somehow he had taken her steely self-control and rearranged all the little gears and levers.

As if I were one of his mechanical creations, she thought wryly.

Josette let out a throaty little laugh when she didn’t answer. “Men are impossible creatures.” A hairpin slid into place and a clever little tug created an artful tumble of golden curls. “The key is not to take them to heart.”

Illusions. Her maid had a knack for hiding any flaw.

“But…how do you manage that?” asked Anna. “I fear that the heart does not always listen to reason.”

“You’ll learn.” Josette curled a midnight blue ribbon around her finger. “There is no easy answer to your question. We all will have different solutions. But keep in mind one thing—just as the heart doesn’t listen to the head, the head can ignore the helter-pelter thumpings of the heart.”

Can it? Anna wasn’t so sure.

“You have a stronger will than I do,” she replied, making a rueful face in the looking glass. “I seem to have no…” Squaring her shoulders, Anna sat up a little straighter. “But never mind my silly musings. There must be something in the Scottish air that puts me in a strange mood. I shall shake it off.”

“Wild heather and rough magic—the ancient Celtic spirits are strong in this land of sea and stone,” agreed her maid.

“Yes, that must be it.” Anna regarded her reflection, surprised that she looked so outwardly calm when her insides were churning like the wind-whipped ocean waters. A glimmer—it had lasted for only an instant—had set off this surging, spinning, swirling force within.

A glimmer—a fire-kissed glimmer in Devlin’s eye. She drew in a quick breath. Which was likely just a quirk of her own imagination.

“Voilà. You are ready to go down, mademoiselle.” Josette set her hands on her hips. “Have no fear. You are more than a match for amour and its arrows.”

Chapter Twenty

Devlin shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waited, shrouded in darkness, just inside the entrance to the Portrait Gallery. There was nothing to be nervous about—the chances of anyone stumbling onto the late-night rendezvous with Anna were almost nil. And yet, he found himself feeling unaccountably edgy.

Perhaps because over the course of the last few days, a number of new elements had been added to the mission. He preferred to work alone and for a very good reason. His experience in building complex mechanical mechanisms had taught him that the more moving parts in the design, the greater the risk for something to go awry.

To give them credit, his three coconspirators had performed admirably all evening. He had been a bit concerned about the younger Sloane sister, but Caro had betrayed no hint of interest in the French suspects. She had argued with McClellan over the artistic talents of Sir Thomas Lawrence—whether the tiff was feigned or real he couldn’t tell. But regardless, the diversion had amused the other guests and given him a chance to keep a close eye on Verdemont and Lady de Blois. Neither had made any attempt to s

lip away from the drawing room. He hadn’t really expected them to. Whatever evil they were planning, it was almost certainly going to take place on the moors.

Leaning a shoulder to the fluted molding, Devlin cocked an ear for any sound of movement.

She was late.

Mouthing a silent oath, he felt anxiety begin to gnaw at his insides. Yet another reason to remain a solitary operative.