Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

Anna ignored the bait and went back to eating her lemon ice.

Curiosity got the better of Caro. “Which is?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

Olivia was surprised when in answer, Davenport looked at her. “You might wish to warn Lord Wrexham that he would do well to stay on guard, Miss Sloane. I happened to overhear a snatch of conversation last night that leads me to believe he has made some very unpleasant enemies.”

“W-what makes you think that I have any contact with the earl?” she stammered.

“You were dancing with him the other evening. That seems to signify some sort of connection.”

“You are mistaken,

” she said quickly. “The earl’s sister insisted on bringing us together. As a gentleman, he had no choice but to ask me for a turn around the ballroom. It won’t happen again.”

“Ah.” Davenport flicked a mote of dust from his sleeve. “Then I suppose that Wrexham will have to fend for himself.”

“You could tell him yourself,” pointed out Olivia.

“Unlike the earl, I don’t consider myself bound by the strictures of gentlemanly honor. So I don’t feel compelled to go out of my way to pass on the warning. I simply happened to see you here.” Touching a hand to the brim of his hat, he turned away. “Good day, ladies.”

“Oooo, what a thoroughly intriguing man,” said Caro, sneaking a last peek as Davenport left the shop. “I have always wondered what a ruthless rake was like.”

“He is not intriguing, he is insufferable,” snapped Anna.

“What has he done to earn your dislike?” asked Olivia.

“Nothing.” Anna set down her spoon and sighed. “Oh, if you must know, it’s the fact that he seems to take great delight in irritating me. Every time I turn around at a rout or a ball, he is watching me with that supercilious smile of his. It is as if he means to tell me that he knows…”

“Knows what?” pressed Olivia when her sister did not go on.

The question hung for a long moment in the sugar-scented air—so long, in fact, that she was sure that her younger sister did not intend to answer.

The silence, however, gave way to a rustle of muslin as Anna shifted in her chair. “Knows that I am no different than he is. For you see, I, too, am a predator of sorts, who is on the hunt to marry for money.

“That’s not true,” began Caro.

Anna cut her off with a curt laugh. “Yes it is. Mama is desperate to match me with a rich husband. And in many ways, I can’t blame her. Despite all her faults, she wishes to secure the family’s future. Our finances are, as you both know, precarious.”

“Still, I should hope that you would marry for love, not money,” said Olivia softly.

“Be assured I won’t accept the hand of someone I cannot respect. However, a fat purse will allow me to take care of us all. So—”

“I would rather live in poverty,” interrupted Caro, “than see you sacrifice yourself on the Altar of Unhappiness.”

Olivia had to repress a smile. Caro did have a knack for composing dramatic phrases. That one was sure to end up in one of her next poems.

“And I know Livvie feels the same way.”

Anna ran a fingertip around the rim of her empty cup. “No one could have more supportive sisters. But you might feel differently if you were cold and hungry.”

“Never,” replied Caro, stoutly. “If need be, I could find work as a governess or a lady’s companion.”

“You would have little time to write,” pointed out Olivia. “There is nothing romantic about having to earn your bread. Toiling in the service of others would keep you busy from morning until night.”

Her youngest sister opened her mouth to reply but after a moment’s hesitation slumped back in her seat.

“Don’t look so stricken, Caro,” counseled Anna. “It is the way of our world. For the beau monde, marriage is all about the bartering of assets—wealth, privilege, power, beauty. A love match rarely happens outside the pages of a novel.”

“Lord Wrexham is here to see you, Miss Olivia.” The lone footman of the house—for the family had no funds to employ a proper butler—cleared his throat. “I have put him in the drawing room.”