Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

Still feeling a little unsettled over her interference in the earl’s life, Olivia found herself listening to the discussion of the shop’s confectionary treats with only half an ear. Shifting her gaze to the large, leaded windows at the shop’s entrance, she watched the procession of fancy carriages and stylish, high-perch phaetons pass by, hoping the swirl of colors and face might help distract her from her brooding thoughts.

From now on, I shall be more careful about controlling my creative impulses, she vowed. A careless jest had gone awry, and the consequences had involved her in the personal life of a stranger…

Oh, damnation. She bit her lip. Of all the bloody luck.

An elegant barouche had come to halt just beyond the outdoor tables and a couple was descending. The gentleman was the Earl of Wrexham—his chiseled profile and broad-shouldered silhouette was all too familiar.

And the laughing lady whose hand was resting lightly on his arm?

Olivia felt as if an iron band were tightening around her chest. Surely that couldn’t be the Steel Corset.

Could it?

After watching the young lady’s lively face warm with spontaneous laughter, her embarrassment ratcheted up another notch. Prescott was naught but a boy of ten. That he had taken an unreasonable dislike to a lovely lady was something that no doubt would soon be rectified.

As for herself, she felt even more like an idiot. Angling the brim of her bonnet to a lower tilt, she clasped her hands together in her lap and offered up a silent prayer that the earl and his soon-to-be-bride were not in the mood for sweets.

“Well, well, speak of the devil,” murmured Anna.

Olivia resigned herself to an unspeakably awkward encounter. After all, just yesterday she had been locked in a passionate kiss with the young lady’s future husband. Her only consolation was that John would likely feel just as uncomfortable.

But then, men were used to such peccadilloes. He would probably take it in stride.

As the click of boot heels on the polished tiles grew louder, she made herself look up, unwilling to appear a coward.

“Miss Sloane,” drawled a deep voice. “Miss Anna.”

Thank God for small favors.

The tall, dark-haired gentleman approaching their table wasn’t the earl, but rather the debauched, devil-may-care Lord Davenport.

Olivia felt a rush of relief—a quick glance out the window showed the earl and his companion had turned away from the shop and were entering the square’s gardens.

“Alas, I am not acquainted with the third member of your party,” went on the marquess.

Anna stiffened slightly at the sound of his low laugh.

“And here I thought that I knew every beautiful lady in London.”

“Our sister Carolina is not yet out in Society,” replied Olivia as he sauntered up to her chair and inclined a casual bow. She decided to make the formal introductions, though her mother would likely swoon in shock if she even heard about it.

Davenport smiled at her youngest sister. “Charmed, Miss Carolina,” he murmured, flashing a seductive wink.

No gentleman ought to have such long, luxurious lashes or such glittering sapphire eyes, thought Olivia. Especially when he was reputed to be Lucifer in Hessians.

Caro was staring in mute fascination.

As for Anna, she, too, was eyeing the marquess with a silent, strangely speculative look.

Perhaps she was considering him as a character in her current novel-in-progress, reflected Olivia. Her hero, Count Alessandro was in need of a new adversary, and The Devil Davenport certainly presented the perfect model for a dangerous, dastardly villain.

“I would not have thought you enjoyed such innocent pleasures as eating ice cream, milord,” she said, when it became apparent that neither of her sisters was going to speak.

“You are correct, Miss Sloane.” His wicked smile stretched a touch wider. “Innocence is not at all to my taste. However, I happened to spot the three of you through the shop window as I was passing and decided to stop and pay my respects.”

“I was under the impression that you don’t ‘respect’ anything, much less conventional manners,” murmured Anna.

“Correct again,” replied Davenport. “However, in this case I do have an ulterior motive.”