Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

Strategy. John wished he felt confident about his plan of attack for the coming days. There were still too many pieces on the board to know how this particular chess game would play out.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The trip back to Shropshire was a good deal more comfortable than the helter-pelter dash in pursuit of the villains, mused Olivia as she tucked the carriage blanket around her feet and snuggled back against the borrowed coach’s plush leather squabs.

Padded seats, protection from the elements—and sleep, blessed sleep! Though pressing the pace, John was allowing them more than a few snatched hours of rest at night. To avoid scandal, he was still traveling as a mere “mister” rather than the Earl of Wrexham. But Lumley’s innkeeper, ever anxious for whatever goodwill he could buy, had been happy to augment their dwindling purse, so the lodgings had been comfortable, even though they had deliberately avoided the fanciest establishments along the way.

“We should be home before dusk,” said John, looking up from teaching Prescott the fundamentals of chess on his travel set. The carnelian pawn had been found lodged between the floorboards, undamaged save for a tiny chip on its rounded helmet.

A battle scar was a mark of valor, John had announced, dismissing the suggestion of purchasing a new set.

“I shall not be unhappy to see the last of the coach, comfortable as it is,” she replied.

As to what would come next…

Olivia watched Prescott consider the board and then carefully move his knight. He appeared unmarked by his ordeal, she noted, offering up a silent prayer of thanks for the resilience of youth. Indeed, he had been more angry at having his London interlude with Lucy interrupted than frightened, for he had never doubted that his father would rescue him.

“Have a care, Scottie,” murmured John, gesturing at the chessboard. “You must look carefully at the dangers, even when they are not staring you right in the face.”

“Oh.” The lad studied the positions of his father’s forces and then nodded. “Your knight is poised to attack my rook.”

“Precisely.”

Prescott made a face. “Chess is complicated.”

So is life, mused Olivia with an inward sigh. The earl’s announcement of his intentions regarding Lady Serena Wells had occupied her thoughts for much of the journey.

John doesn’t love the Steel Corset.

A flutter, soft as the beating of butterfly wings, started to rise from the depth of her ribcage. But a ruthless slap of reason sent it plummeting back down into the darkness. That the lady wasn’t going to marry him was neither here nor there.

For neither am I.

Olivia recalled her response to his proposal with piercing clarity. Even now, the force with which she had uttered the word “NO” made her wince. What man in his right mind would ask again? John could rightfully feel that honor had been satisfied and turn his attention elsewhere.

Rejection, as she knew all too well, was painful.

She turned her gaze to the mullioned window, where a passing shower was pattering the glass with rain. Rat-tat-tat—the staccato sounds echoed her own unsettled mood.

Rejection. Yes, the past was a painful memory. For years, she had refused to admit just how much her erstwhile lover’s abandonment had hurt. Devoting her passions to abstract ideas rather emotions seemed oh-so-much safer. She had been determined never to let love anywhere near her heart again…

“A penny for your thoughts,” murmured John.

Looking around, she replied lightly, “They aren’t worth a farthing.”

He smiled, but a pinch of concern seemed to linger between his brows. “On the cont

rary, they are always of value to me.”

Olivia watched a flicker of light from the carriage lamp dance along the sensuous curl of his mouth. What a fool she had been to blithely believe that the head was so much smarter than the heart. Too late—she had realized too late that she loved him.

Now it mattered naught.

“You’ve far more important things to occupy your mind. The parliamentary debate is only several days away.” He would make it in time to give his speech, but only by the breadth of a hair.

That left no margin to moon about love, and her regrets for keeping it at arm’s length.

“Whatever the ultimate outcome of the vote, your speech shall show that the voice of Reason and Right cannot be silenced by threats and intimidation. That in itself is a victory.”