Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“I fear that is impossible.”

Damnation. She was right. He looked around to see the coach and four was already galloping on toward Shropshire.

“Besides, a second pair of eyes and hands will be helpful,” she went on.

“I don’t need your help,” he said. “My batman—”

“You haven’t time to fetch your batman, sir. There’s a good chance we can catch up to villains—and by the by, it’s Lord Lumley who is in charge—before they reach the place where they plan to imprison Prescott. But only if we fly without delay.”

John hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. Circling his team, he urged them back up the hill. “You have a good deal of explaining to do,” he growled, shifting his grip on the reins.

A slanted glance showed that beneath the wind-whipped highlights of color, her face had gone very pale. “Yes, I know. I’m aware that it’s my fault Prescott was snatched. You were meant to escort them to the Tower but because of me, you changed your plans.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said stiffly. “They were clearly watching and waiting for their opportunity. If not this morning, they would have found another way.”

Olivia turned to face him, the sunlight catching the bruise-dark shadows under her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. He made himself look away.

“Still, you’ve every right to be angry with me,” she went on, ignoring his attempt at reassurance. “However, let us put aside emotions and be practical, sir. Because of my father’s work in the wilds, I am very good at reading maps, and possess a number of other skills that may prove useful. If need be, I even know how to load and fire a weapon.”

Whatever her other faults, she had pluck, John conceded. Expelling a harried sigh, he muttered, “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Quite right.” Brushing a wind-snarled lock of hair from her cheek, Olivia tersely explained about her encounter with Davenport, and the information he had passed on.

“What he surmises makes sense,” said John, after thinking over what he had just heard. “Lumley will want to take Scottie somewhere secure from prying eyes. The hunting lodge is the most likely choice.”

And if I am wrong?

No, he wouldn’t think about that. The truth was, he had no other clues to pursue.

“Thank you,” he added in a tight voice. To give her credit, she had reacted with remarkable composure in quickly putting together a plan to alert him of the marquess’s news. Without those vital details, he would, at this moment, be blundering in the wrong direction. “I appreciate the risks you have taken to tell me this.”

Ducking her head, she began fumbling with the strings of the bag in her lap. “In addition to the map, Lord Davenport gave me this spotting scope. He seems to feel its special lenses may prove very useful to you once we get close to the dastards. Let me explain—”

“I know how to use a damn military spyglass,” snapped John, feeling torn between ire and admiration for her gritty resolve.

“Not this one,” said Olivia. “It’s awfully complicated.” The strings finally loosened, allowing her to strip off the felt. “You see, there are a number of levers and screws.”

The words triggered another fresh rush of anger. Yes, you are very good with screws, aren’t you?

Her expression turned even more shadowed, as if she were reading his thoughts. “No doubt you would figure it out on your own sir. The truth is, I wanted to be alone with you not only to apologize for unwittingly putting your son into danger, but also to make a confession.”

The wind tugged at her bonnet ribbons, tangling them into knots. “I’ve interfered with your life—and Prescott’s—more than you know. You see, I—I am Lady Loose Screw, whose clandestine correspondence has created such helter-pelter complications in your life.”

“Actually,” replied John, “I had just figured that out on my own.”

“Ah.” The wind nearly drowned out the sound. “No wonder you are furious. May I ask how?”

“Your handwriting. I happened to come across the letter you wrote to Scottie as I was working on notes for the speech.” John kept his eyes on the road. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, instead of keeping it a damn secret?”

Though their bodies were not quite touching, he sensed her stiffen. “I have had to keep secrets for most of my life, Lord Wrexham,” she replied in a low voice. “Men—and most of Society—give no quarter to a woman who dares to be different.”

Assuring himself that he had every right to feel betrayed, John intended to snap a sarcastic reply. But the words seemed stick in his throat. “You lied to me,” he muttered instead. “Or at least misled me.”

“I did,” agreed Olivia, making no effort to defend her actions. “And it was wrong of me.” He heard the whisper of leather clenching leather as she knotted her gloved hands together. “I wanted to tell you after you learned that I was The Beacon, but I worried that it would distract you from the speech. And then…well, and then I became very confused.”

She sat in silence for several moments. “I was tongued-tied I suppose. And afraid of your scorn.”

He released the pent-up air in his lungs. “Miss Sloane—”