Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

She shrugged. “But once Pierre had gotten what he wanted, he suddenly saw no reason to be legshackled to a wife. We were both free spirits, he took pains to point out. So why, he asked, should we conform to the petty tyranny of Society. I could hardly complain—it would have been a little like the pot calling the kettle black.” A pause. “A week later, he left the island. I never saw him again.”

“What did your father have to say about it?” he asked softly.

“He never knew about it.”

“Miss Sloane—”

“It’s ancient history, Wrexham,” she quickly interjected. “What matters now is the present. And when you analyze the situation, it’s really quite simple. You feel compelled to offer marriage for your honor. I feel compelled to say no for my independence. We both come away happy.”

“I—”

She cut him off again. “You have offered, Wrexham. So honor is satisfied. Think of it as a duel—you gentlemen are often all afire to kill each other over some silly slight to your honor. And yet there is always a way to save face, is there not, if both parties are reasonable?”

He gave a curt nod.

“There, you see. No need to pull the trigger and kill off all chances of your future happiness.”

Clutching the coverlet to cover her nakedness, she slid off the bed and hurriedly began gathering her garments. Behind her, she heard John’s bare feet touch the floor, followed by the rustle of clothing.

“And you, Olivia?” he asked after several long moments.

The sound of her given name on his lips stirred an unwilling, unwanted longing. Emotion was all very well for romantics like Anna and Caro. But she was much happier with abstract ideas.

“What is it you have saved?”

“My sense of self, my independence,” Olivia answered quickly. “I’ve fought so hard to win them, Wrexham, and at times the cost of battle has been very dear. You, as a soldier should understand what I mean.” She looked away to the shuttered window and the tiny blades of sunlight slicing in through the slatted wood. “I won’t give them up.”

She heard his breath release in a tightly measured sigh. “If that is what you wish…”

“It is,” she said emphatically. Now dressed, Olivia turned to face him. “Good Heavens,” she added in a low voice, “According my father, many cultures consider virginity vastly overrated.”

John carefully brushed a wrinkle from his coat. “But London Society is not one of them.”

“Be that as it may, it is hard to respect any so-called code of honor made by people who, for the most part, are ruled by self-interest.”

Silence.

“I refuse to be bound by their silly strictures.”

He fixed her with a hooded gaze, his features unyielding, his expression unfathomable. “Very well. I cannot force your hand. So I shall have to accept your word on this.”

She couldn’t discern whether it was anger or relief in his tone.

“Thank you.” Olivia ignored the new pinch of pain in her chest. “Now, let us put aside petty, personal concerns and get back to the far more important matter—the speech.”

“Yes, the speech,” he said slowly. “What do you have in mind, Miss Sloane?” He turned his back. “I was under the impression that you were quite satisfied with our efforts.”

For an instant, Olivia felt a hot, humiliating prickle against the back of her eyelids. Blinking back tears, she drew a steadying breath. “I am. But it is not simply the words, but how you say them that matters. So I think we ought to meet again for one last rehearsal.”

“Here?”

“I see no other option. But I believe we can control our…passion for justice enough to ensure that there will be no further lapses in judgment.”

“Your suggestion has merit.” His voice was devoid of any emotion. “We must not overlook any detail that might give us an advantage over our opponents.”

“It’s just for one more time,” she pointed out. “Then we both will move on. You will return to Shropshire, and I—I will find a new cause.”

“An eloquent summation, as always.”