Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

John narrowed his eyes in warning.

“Now, if you will forgive me, I must take my brother away. The dowager Duchess of Needham, a dear friend of our mother, is demanding that he come make his greetings while he is in Town. And since he is haring back to Shropshire in the morning, it must be now.”

“Of course,” said Olivia, crooking a tiny smile. “I hope you have pleasant weather for your journey home, sir.”

“Pleasant weather?” repeated Cecilia, once they had moved out of earshot. “Somehow I doubt that Miss Sloane was bringing that odd look to your face with talk of whether tomorrow will bring rain or shine.”

John didn’t reply, hoping she might drop the subject.

“In my experience, she always has something interesting to say.” A pause. “So, what were you discussing?”

Sensing that this was a battle he would not win, John surrendered with a chuffed sigh. “Dancing.”

His sister fixed him with a skeptical stare.

“Truly,” he added before she could add a caustic comment. “Miss Sloane was explaining how…” Feeling his sister needed to have her own cage rattled just bit, he decided not to blunt the thrust of Olivia’s sentiments. “…How she thought dancing would be far more enjoyable if we all just ignored the choreographed steps of the waltz and instead simply stripped off our clothing and shimmied to the natural rhythm of the music.”

Rather than appear rattled, Cecilia merely nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose that makes some sense, given her upbringing.”

“What the devil does that mean?” growled John. “Is she a Polynesian princess in disguise?”

A small laugh slipped from his sister’s lips. “Not exactly. However, her father was a noted scholar of primitive cultures, and his work is very highly regarded by the leading members of the Royal Society. Native rituals was one of his specialties.” She paused for just a fraction. “Unfortunately, he succumbed to a tropical fever a year or two ago while on a research expedition to the South Sea Islands.”

He darted an involuntary look at the decorative colonnade, but Olivia had disappeared.

“Lord Trumbull was, by all accounts, a very interesting, erudite gentleman. Which I’ve heard drove his wife to distraction. Apparently he had no head for finances and left his family with barely a feather to fly with.”

When John didn’t respond, she went on. “It’s a pity. Miss Sloane and her sister, Miss Anna, are presently out in Society, and Lady Trumbull is aggressively angling to attract a rich husband for one of them, preferably one with a title to go along with the money. But without a dowry, her daughters will have a hard time attracting any suitors.”

“It’s Miss Sloane’s tongue, not her purse, that will likely scare off potential husbands,” muttered John. “She has some very…unusual ideas.”

“I have no idea why gentlemen seem to prefer ladies who are naught but patterncards of propriety over someone with a spark of individuality,” remarked Cecilia. “I swear, most of the prospects on the Marriage Mart might as well be fashioned from pasteboard instead of flesh and blood.”

The thought of Olivia’s lithe body, bared in all its fleshly glory, dancing naked in the moonlight made John’s blood begin to thrum.

“Speaking of propriety,” he said through gritted teeth. “I was not jesting when I said that I have met a very nice young lady in Shropshire.”

His sister slowed her steps as they passed beneath the overhanging fronds of the potted palms. “Go on.”

“She is a relative of my neighbor, and is from a very proper but impoverished family. So like Miss Sloane, she has no dowry to speak of. But then, I have no need to marry for money.”

Obscured by the slanting shadows, Cecilia’s expression had turned inscrutable. “No,” she said slowly, “you are fortunate enough to be able to marry for love, John.”

He avoided her gaze. “We are well suited. The lady in question has poise, polish, and a steady temperament. And she can converse intelligently on a number of topics that interest me.” Aware that he was sounding a little defensive, he quickly added, “All in all, I think she will make a perfect countess.”

“Then why do I see a shadow of doubt in your eyes?”

“Because,” admitted John, “there is one slight problem. Scottie doesn’t like her.”

“A definite problem,” agreed his sister.

“But I’m sure he’ll come around once he gets to know her better.”

Her silence was far more eloquent than any words.

Damnation. He had been hoping that she would agree with his assessment. “It will just him take a little time to get used to the idea. I am hoping that in a few weeks he will be more comfortable with the idea of a courtship.”

“So, you haven’t made a formal proposal yet?”