Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)
“Sorry,” murmured John, bending to retrieve the pawn. The flex of muscle rippled the finely tailored wool of his coat as he searched through the shadows.
“No harm done,” he announced a moment later, straightening and setting it back in place.
The same could
not be said for her own peace of mind. Feeling a little unsettled by the brush of his bare skin, Olivia quickly edged away to the next display.
Again, he moved with her, his big body now looming only scant inches from hers.
The air between them seemed to spark and thrum.
John, however, appeared unaffected by any unseen currents. His voice betrayed not a hint of a tremor. “In answer to your question, I thought I would purchase a chess set for my sister, as thanks for her hospitality. She and her husband have been more than kind in hosting me during my frequent visits to Town while Parliament is in session.” He made a quick survey of the room. “And perhaps a miniature traveling set as well, to replace one I lost in transit from Lisbon to London.”
“Well then, you have come to the right place.” Olivia tried to shake off the odd tingling that was radiating through her limbs. “Mr. Tyler has a very discerning eye and offers a wide range of lovely choices. I am sure you will find something that catches your fancy.”
John didn’t answer right away. Lifting a whimsical papier-maché rook from the nearby board, he slowly twirled it between his fingers. “This is rather charming. Do you think my sister might like it?”
“I—I don’t know her tastes well enough to offer an opinion.”
“Then let me ask—what do you think of it, Miss Sloane? The painted details are magnificent, are they not?” He angled it to catch the light filtering in through the narrow diamond-paned window. A wash of gold limned his face, accentuating the strong lines and chiseled features.
The Perfect Hero—a perfect moniker. At that moment, she thought he looked just like one of the classical Greek warriors depicted in Lord Elgin’s marbles.
“And aren’t the pastel hues just the sort of colors appeal to a lady?” he went on.
Olivia blinked and forced her attention back to his question. “I am the wrong person to ask, for as you have no doubt noticed, my tastes rarely coincide with popular opinion. The fact is, I find pastel shades rather vapid. I much prefer bolder, stronger colors,” she said. “So although the artist has rendered a lovely work of art, the set would not be my first choice.”
“No?” John put it down. “What materials do you favor? Wood? Stone? Precious metal? Or some other exotic substance?” A subtle smile played on his lips. “Spun sugar? Molten moonbeams?”
She felt a tiny tickle of amusement tease at the back of her throat. “So that one could eat any mistake?” For a gentleman whose expression was normally so solemn, he was showing a very serendipitous sense of humor this morning. “Or only sit down to a game at midnight?”
The smile became more pronounced. “That could be an impediment. One never knows when one will be in a playful mood.”
Don’t look at his mouth. Wrenching her gaze away, Olivia quickly crossed to the other side of the display table and feigned an interest in an elaborate set of burnished gold warriors, one side with shields made of garnets, one side with shields made of peridots.
“I would not have guessed that glitter and sparkle would appeal to your sensibility,” he murmured.
Hell’s bells. The alcove was small and she was running out of space to retreat.
“I can admire the craftsmanship without yearning to possess them,” she replied tightly.
John surveyed the tables. “All jesting aside, what is your favorite material?”
He would probably think her half-mad if she tried to explain.
But most people think me eccentric, so what does it matter?
In answer, Olivia picked up a jade knight. “Shut your eyes and hold out your hand, sir. Palm up, if you please.
John hesitated for a fraction and then did as she asked.
“Describe what you feel,” she said, circling the stone in the center of his hand.
“A rock,” he quipped.
“Oh, never mind,” she muttered, stopping in mid-stroke. “You are making sport of me.”
“No, wait. Please do it once more.”