Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

Turning her attention to Anna, Lady Trumbull softened her tone. “Now my dear, when you think of it, a retreat to the quiet of the country for a month will be a welcome interlude for rest and relaxation after the whirlwind weeks of the Season.” The predatory smile did not bode well for the unpronounceable prince and his peace of mind. “Don’t you agree?”

Anna was about to respond with a careful calculated list of reasons why the invitation ought to be rejected. But the words “retreat,” “quiet,” and “country” suddenly stirred second thoughts.

A remote Scottish castle. A month of precious few distractions, save for the prince and his party of noblemen—and they would be easy enough to deal with.

Perhaps meeting her deadline was not yet beyond hope. Her writing had always been a source of solace and satisfaction, providing an escape from the pressures of the real world. That she was suddenly struggling with her story was a little frightening, especially with all the other uncertainties tugging at her emotions. So the date had become a talisman of sorts. If she could reach it, all of her usual well-ordered discipline and detachment would return…

“I think,” said Anna slowly, “that Lady Dunbar’s hunting party would make a lovely getaway from London.”

Caro stared at her in confusion.

“Excellent, excellent! I knew you would adore the idea.” Clapping her hands together, Lady Trumbull lost no time in turning for the door. “I shall go write to Miriam right away.”

“Are you mad?” hissed Caro as soon as their mother had left the room.

Anna smiled.

“What about your deadline—” A look of dawning comprehension suddenly lit her sister’s face. “Oh, brilliant!”

Peace and quiet. A respite from the swarm of suitors in London.

“Yes, I rather thought so myself.”

Chapter Three

Ignoring the censorious stares from a trio of dowagers, Devlin continued whistling an aria from Mozart’s Don Giovanni as he sidestepped around their elegant barouche and turned down the side street. The morning hours were not often cause for songful celebration. For the most part he passed them sprawled in bed, sleeping off the long evenings spent drinking, gaming, or…indulging in other more engaging activities. Today, however, the grumbling protest from his weary bones took second fiddle to a more cheerful melody—the whisper of money.

Even though the blade of bright sunshine that cut across his path did make him wince.

It was, he decided wryly, an interesting question to ponder whether he, like the Vampyre in John Poldari’s novel, grew weaker in daylight…

But not at the present moment.

The early start had been impelled by the thick wad of bank notes that were at present making such a pleasant sound within in his waistcoat pocket. Thorncroft had, with surprisingly little argument, agreed to fund his request for a pair of special turn-off pocket pistols from Joseph Manton’s shop. Delighted with the stroke of luck, Devlin was itching to get his hands on them without delay and examine the workmanship, for the weapons were exquisitely crafted—not to speak of sinfully expensive.

But however superb, he had already come to the decision that he was only going to buy one. The other half of the funds would be spent at a nearby shop, procuring a special assortment of…

A high note of the aria died on his lips as a frown strangled all further sound.

He stared for a long moment at the front of Manton’s shop, trying to quell the erratic quickening of his pulse as he suddenly recognized the figure standing there. Shaking off the physical response to the person in question, Devlin made himself concentrate on the practical question her presence raised. What was she doing there? Ladies did not usually linger in front of a gunsmith’s display window.

Lightening his footsteps, Devlin approached in silence. “Planning on murdering someone, Miss Sloane?”

Anna started, nearly dropping the small notebook in her hands, and then whirled around. “Some men,” she snapped, “deserve to be shot.”

“More than a few,” he agreed, angling his head to try to catch a glimpse of what she had been writing.

The covers quickly snapped shut.

“If you like,” he went on, “I could draw up a list of the most offensive characters.”

Chuffing a rude sound, Anna darted one more look at the pistols on display before shoving her pencil and notebook into her reticule. “Come along, Nettie,” she called to the young maid hovering near the corner of the storefront. “Let us be on our way.”

Devlin shifted his stance just enough to block her path. “It’s unusual for a lady to have an interest in firearms. I confess, I am curious as to why.”

“There is an old adage about curiosity killing the cat,” she shot back.

He smiled, which appeared to annoy her even more. “Then it is lucky that I am an imp of Satan.”