Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)
“Our wedding.”
His words took a moment to sink in. And then…
She sat bolt upright. For just an instant, a pinch of pure, girlish longing squeezed at her heart, but she quickly slapped it away. “Don’t be daft!” Practical, pragmatic—Olivia ruthlessly reminded herself that she was The Beacon, not some bacon-brained romantic schoolgirl. “You don’t want to marry me.”
“That is beside the point,” he said softly. “There are rules governing Society. An honorable man must abide by them.”
“For God’s sake, Wrexham!” She no longer felt comfortable calling him John. “No one knows of this interlude. Nor will they.”
“I know,” he replied. “And I can’t deny that knowledge.”
Her chest felt as if an iron band were tightening around her ribs. “And neither can you deny that you are meant to marry the Steel Corset.”
His face went rigid.
“She’ll make a far better countess than I will,” argued Olivia, ignoring the painful squeeze. “I’d only embarrass you, sir. I’m outspoken, opinionated. And I don’t take orders well.” She forced a grim smile in hopes of defusing the tension between them. “You have to admit, that’s not a good quality for the wife of a military officer or a member of the House of Lords.”
John raked a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “After this, I can’t, in good conscience, marry the Steel—Lady Serena Wells.”
“Well you can’t marry me, either,” retorted Olivia. “Because my answer is no!”
“I’ve compromised you, Miss Sloane. I’ve ruined your chances of ever making a respectable match.”
“That is a moot point, sir, for I’ve told you from the beginning that I don’t ever plan to marry.”
A martial glint came to his eyes. “But honor demands—”
“Honor be damned!” she said hotly. “Men make women play by different rules, but in this case I absolutely refuse to jump through the hoops of conformity.”
“You are being stubborn, Miss Sloane.”
“And you are being tyrannical.”
His teeth clenched—in another instant she fully expected to hear the molars crack.
“I told you I wasn’t a virgin when we crossed the threshold of this room, if that’s what you are worried about.” She traced a fingertip along the hard line of his jaw. “My father had very radical notions about women and the fact that they ought to enjoy the same freedoms as men. So I was…”
She hesitated. “…More adventurous than I should have been.” Her hand stilled. “So unlike you, I am not perfect in any sense of the word. Which may repel you.”
“Nobody is perfect,” he growled. “Least of all me. However, I’m trying mightily to behave as a proper gentleman.”
“Well, since I
’m not a proper lady, there’s no need to conform to the strictures of proper behavior.”
Their eyes locked for an instant.
“And what of the cursed man who compromised you?” The sudden change in subject caught her by surprise. “Whoever the fellow might be, he’s a damnable blackguard.”
“He was French,” replied Olivia, trying to make her voice light. “And we all know the Frogs have a different view of amour.”
If anything, his expression turned darker.
“It happened in Crete, long enough ago that it really doesn’t matter.” She decided a certain amount of explanation might help ease his conscience. “My father had asked me to accompany his expedition and serve as his secretary. I was young, and giddy with excitement at being part of such a grand adventure. Pierre was one of the French scholars from the Académie d’Histoire who were invited to join the group for the summer. He was suave, sophisticated, and oozing with Gallic charm.”
When he didn’t react, she went on, “What happened is an age-old story. He courted me—in secret, which I suppose was part of the allure. In a fit of passion, I agreed to his plea that we not wait for our marriage vows to consummate our love.”
John finally spoke. A muttered oath. In French.