Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“There is no need for thanks. I am merely doing what any honorable person should do.” She paused and then impishly added, “But then again, given my odd notions of ladylike propriety, perhaps you question my honor?”

“Miss Sloane, I assure you that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Granted, you have, er, unusual ideas for a female. But I…I…”

“I am joking, sir,” said Olivia. “I couldn’t resist. You always look so serious. So solemn.”

“Do I?”

He smiled, and as a spark from the torchiere caught on its curl, Olivia felt a shiver of fire dance down her spine. Just for an instant, she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Would it be a mere, perfunctory brushing of lips? Somehow that firm, sensual mouth seemed to whisper silent promises of stronger passions.

John turned a fraction, breaking the enchantment. The flare of light died as shadows swallowed his face.

Oh, what moonlight madness has taken hold of me? Olivia was ruefully aware of needing a steel corset to cage the longings that all of a sudden were hammering against her ribs.

“Indeed,” she said, mustering a show of outward calm. “You have a countenance made for teasing, Lord Wrexham.” Her gaze moved back to the ballroom’s blur of colorful silks and sparkling crystal. “We ought to be going in, sir.”

And you have a countenance made for kissing. The thought leapt unbidden into his head as John offered his arm to Olivia.

Don’t, he warned himself. Don’t find her molten jade eyes so intriguing. Don’t find her inner spark so fascinating. Hell, it was dangerous to play with fire. Flames could so easily flare out of control.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Have you started to read Hingham’s new essays?”

“Yes,” she replied. “And I find them extremely interesting. He has some very thought-provoking ideas on what a government owes all its citizens, regardless of their wealth or rank.”

“I stopped at Hatchards. Unfortunately you were right and the only copy in London is currently in your possession. I ordered one for myself, but it will take several weeks to arrive.”

He paused as they passed through the open doors, unwilling to end the conversation just yet. Keeping hold of her hand, he sidestepped behind the marble statue of Terpsichore, the Greek goddess of dance. “Which is a pity. You see, I am preparing a speech for the upcoming debate in the House of Lords on caring for our veteran soldiers and had hoped to become familiar with his theories on social justice.”

“Some of them are quite radical.” Her voice seemed to hold a slight note of challenge.

“I like to think I am open-minded enough to consider all points of view before I make up my mind on an issue, Miss Sloane.”

“Then you are very different from most of your lordly peers,” she answered. “Whose primary concern is to preserve their own privilege and position regardless of the cost.”

“Change is frightening to most people,” he agreed. “Yet the world is changing all around us, and those in power have a duty not to turn a blind eye to it.”

Her expression underwent an odd little transformation, though John could not describe it in words.

“You surprise me, sir. I would have expected a former military officer to be more rigid in his thinking.”

“And I would have expected a lady who takes pride in her keen intellect to be less rigid in her assumptions.”

Olivia flushed, turning her skin a delicious shade of pink. For one mad moment, Wrexham was tempted to touch his tongue to the pulse point at her throat. The tiny tremoring of flesh was intensely erotic.

“I stand corrected,” she said in a husky murmur. “If you would like, I would be happy to loan you my copy.”

“I would be exceedingly grateful. Might I call on you tomorrow and pick it up?”

“Oh, er…” Her eyes flared in alarm. “I’m afraid I need it for another day or two, and then I will be most happy to pass it on. As for fetching it in person, I don’t think that would be wise, Lord Wrexham. It would be better for you to send a footman, rather than come yourself. I would rather that my mother not see you.”

“Have I grown scales or spots?” he inquired dryly. “Or some other malady that might render my person abhorrent to her?”

Olivia shook her head. “On the contrary. She might get the wrong idea and actually think you were interested in me, not my book. And I assure you, sir, that wouldn’t be very pleasant for you. If she scents a whiff of interest, my mother is more dogged than a foxhound in pursuing a title.” Her mouth quirked a sardonic smile. “Especially if it’s attached to a plump purse.”

“Thank you for the warning, Miss Sloane. But I’ve survived hand-to-hand combat with Napoleon’s most fearsome Hussars.

She made a face. “You haven’t met my mother.”

He smiled. “I’ll take my chances.”