Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

The Perfect Hero. Some damnable newspaper had coined the phrase and somehow it had stuck.

So why do I feel like a perfect fool?

It should be a simple mission to choose a wife, but here in London he felt paralyzed.

Uncertain. Indecisive. In contrast to his firm resolve and fearless initiative on the field of battle. He tightened his jaw. It made no sense—when countless lives were at stake, everything seemed so clear. And yet, faced with what should be an easy task, he was acting like a craven coward.

Henry seemed to read his thoughts. “It has been nearly two years since Meredith passed away, John. You can’t grieve forever,” he murmured. “Both you and Prescott need a lady’s presence to, er, soften the shadows of Wrexham Manor.”

“I take it those are also my sister’s words, not yours,” replied the earl tightly, finding that the mention of his young son only served to exacerbate his prickly mood.

His brother-in-law had the grace to flush.

“I appreciate your concern,” John added. “And hers. However, I would ask both of you to remember that I am a seasoned military officer, a veteran of the Peninsular War, and as such, I prefer to wage my own campaign to woo a new wife.”

He paused deliberately, once again sweeping a baleful gaze over the glittering crush of silks and satins. A giggle punctuated the music as one of the dancing couples spun by and the flaring skirt snagged for an instant in the greenery.

Ye gods, was every eligible young lady in the room a silly, simpering featherhead?

“Assuming I decide to do so,” he growled.

Why was it, he wondered, that Society did not encourage them to think for themselves? His wartime experiences had taught him that imagination was important. And yet, they were schooled to be anything but original…

John felt a small frown pinch at his mouth. His military duties might be over, but he had no intention of living the leisurely life of rich aristocrat. He wished to be useful, and politics, with all the intellectual challenges of governance, appealed to his sense of responsibility. As a battlefield leader, he had fought for noble principles in defending his country’s liberties. He felt he had made a difference in the lives of his fellow citizens, so he intended to take his duties in the House of Lords just as seriously…which was why the idea that the only talk at the breakfast table might be naught but an endless chattering about fashion or the latest Town gossip made his stomach a little queasy.

“Point taken,” replied Henry. “I—” His gaze suddenly narrowed. “I suggest you decamp without delay. It seems that Lady Houghton has spotted us, and I can’t say that I like the martial gleam in her eye.”

Taking John’s arm, he spun him in a half-turn. “She has not one but two daughters on the Marriage Mart. Twins.”

“Bloody hell,” swore the earl under his breath as he cut a quick retreat between two of the decorative urns.

Civilized London was proving to be filled with far more rapacious predators than the wolf-infested mountains of northern Spain.

“Bloody hell,” swore Olivia Sloane as she eased the door shut behind her. “If I had to endure another moment of that mindless cacophony, that superficial chatter, I might…I might…”

Do something shocking? Like climb atop one of the flower pedestals and dance one of the shimmying, swaying tribal rituals that her father had described in his scholarly papers for the Royal Society?

Olivia considered the thought for a moment, and then dismissed it with a sardonic smile. No, probably not. She was already considered an outspoken, opinionated hellion by Society. And with no beauty and no dowry to her name, it was best not to draw too much attention to her eccentricities. Not that she would ever blend into the woodwork. However, there were her two younger sisters and their future prospects to think about.

“Still, it would be fun to shock the look of smug complacency off all those overfed faces,” she murmured softly. But she quickly reminded herself that she was doing that already in more meaningful ways.

Looking around, Olivia saw that the room in which she had taken refuge was a small study decorated in an exotic Indian motif of slubbed silks, dark wood, and burnished brass. As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she realized that it was a distinctly masculine retreat, a refuge designed to keep bored gentlemen amused. The flame of the single wall sconce showed a large painted cork bull’s-eye bristling with feathered darts hung on one wall. In the opposite corner, grouped to one side of the hearth, were several brass and teakwood game tables. Cards, dice, an intricately inlaid board with stone markers that she recognized as a backgammon set…

And chess.

A sudden pang of longing squeezed the breath from her lungs. Her father had taught her to play when she was a child, and over the years they had engaged in countless matches.

Chess sharpens your mind, poppet—it teaches you to be logical, to be daring, to attack a problem from unexpected angles.

Skirting around a pair of leather armchairs, Olivia made her way into the shadowed recess and took a seat behind the double row of ivory figures, which stood waiting to march into battle against the opposing ebony force. Black and white. And yet, like life, the game was not quite so simple. One had to make subtle feints and oblique moves, one had to be clever at deception. And most of all one had to be willing to make sacrifices to achieve the ultimate goal.

No wonder I’m very good at it, thought Olivia as she fingered the polished king…

“Oh!” It shifted slightly under her touch, and a flicker of moonlight from the narrow leaded glass window illuminated the ornate carving. Olivia leaned down for a closer look. “Interesting.”

Like the rest of the room’s decorations, the chess set had an exotic Eastern flair. Instead of the traditional European figures, the pieces were far more fanciful. The Knights were mounted on snarling tigers, the Castles were carried by tusked elephants, and all the human figures, including the Kings and Queens, were…stark naked.

Not only that, observed Olivia. The men were, to put it mildly, all highly aroused.