Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

A harbinger that all would be rosy in the coming day?

Olivia fisted her hands in the folds of her cloak. Omens were all very well, but there was no question of trusting in Fate or Chance. They would, she vowed, make their own luck.

“The shutters are open.” John spun a few dials and rotated a latch on the telescope. “This instrument has an uncanny ability to magnify the low light. I can see a man giving orders to a charwoman. I think it a good bet that he is the proprietor.” He shifted the lens. “And there is a stirring of activity in the stable. I see a light within.

“Then we should not waste any time in putting our plan into action,” she said, turning to make her way down to the paddock area.

“Olivia…”

“We have been through this all, John. My role has little risk. It is you who will face whatever danger arises.” And Prescott, of course, but that had no need to be said.

She heard him exhale sharply, but he said nothing as he fell in step beside her. They descended in silence through the trees, stepping lightly and keeping close to the shadows.

A brief pause by the storage sheds, where they had agreed to part paths…no last-minute review, just a fierce squeeze of her arm…a fleeting brush of his lips to her brow.

“Be careful,” he growled, and then was gone.

Forcing herself to focus on the coming confrontation rather than the nebulous swirls of grays left in his wake, Olivia quickly loosened her hairpins and added another smudge of dirt to her cheeks. Sounding half-hysterical would require little dramatic talent, she thought wryly. Her nerves were stretched tighter than a drum.

Tha-thump, tha-thump. And her heart was pounding loud enough to wake the dead.

A last tug at her skirts, and then she set out at a stumbling run for the inn’s entrance. Pounding a fist upon the heavy oak door, she raised her voice in a plaintiff plea.

“Please, oh please, open up! There’s been an accident…my carriage…” Olivia let her words trail off into incoherent sobs.

For several agonizing moments there was no response to her cries. But at last she heard shuffling steps approaching.

“Who’s there?” came the gruff query.

“Lady Willis,” she answered, choosing a name at random. “From Lincolnshire. My husband and I were on our way to Plymouth…snapped axle…deep ditch.” Ratcheting her anxiety up another notch, she let out a loud moan. “Leg pinned…Frantic with worry…walking half the night.”

The bolt slid back with a metallic rasp.

“Thank God!” A swooning lurch forced the man to catch her awkwardly around the waist.

“Steady now, madam,” he growled, trying to control the wobbling of both her body and guttering candle in his other hand. “An accident, you say?”

“Yes, yes.” Olivia kept a hard clutch on his coat. “We lost our way in the dark, I…” She let out another whimper. “F-forgive me. M-might I sit for a moment and perhaps have a sip of some restorative beverage? I fear my s-strength is nearly gone.”

A grunt. “Ye had best come along to the private parlor and have a tipple of sherry while I fetch my wife from the kitchen.”

That confirmed he was the proprietor.

“Bless you,” she mumbled, hitching her weight against his hip to force him another step back from the door.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, the man shuffled a half-turn and lifted his light. “This way.”

Pressing close to the age-blackened door frame, John listened to the retreating tread of their steps.

One, two…He counted to ten before slipping inside and following the wavering flame.

“Th-thank you, sir,” stammered Olivia, accepting the glass of sherry with a trembling hand.

The innkeeper gave a curt grunt. “Rest here and regain your strength, madam. My ostler will take you to rescue your husband as soon we have finished helping our overnight guests to depart.”

“But…” she said weakly, darting a quick look at the half-open parlor door. To her relief, there was a stirring in the shadows.

“It won’t take long,” said the man brusquely. “I’ve a duty to those who have paid for my services—”