Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)
“And likely one of them will get burned,” remarked Anna dryly.
“Don’t be a pess…a pessimist, mademoiselle.”
“I’m not. I’m simply being a pragmatist.”
Josette shook her head. “Fire can burn, but it can also be a source of warmth and light.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Caro pushed open the bedchamber door, interrupting the exchange. “You look…like a completely different person in that gown.”
Josette set a hand on her hip. “Is that good or bad?”
“Most definitely good,” said Caro. “Marvelous, in fact. That shade of smoky blue suits you perfectly, though I can’t explain why.”
Anna felt a shiver skate across her skin. Strangely enough, it felt as if a layer of herself had been peeled off, leaving her naked.
Ye gods, my thoughts are in such a tangle that nothing is making any sense.
“You look,” mused Caro, tilting her head to one side and then to the other, “not only beautiful but a little…I dunno…”
“Dangerous?” suggested Josette. “Even better than good. A lady should be little dangerous.”
Anna cast a last sidelong look at her reflection before turning for the dressing table. Come-hither shadows seemed to ripple within the folds of silk as she moved, whispering softly, softly.
Siren songs, luring unsuspecting men…
Jerking her eyes away from the glass, Anna gave herself a mental scold. Far more dangerous than a lady in the flesh were the wild fancies that could spring to life inside her head.
“We had better go downstairs,” she murmured, taking up her shawl and reticule. “You know how cross Mama gets if we keep her waiting.”
Slouching a shoulder to the faux marble column, Devlin quaffed a swallow of his champagne and watched the dancing couples caper through the figures of a country gavotte.
“What brings you out into the gilded glitter of Mayfair, Davenport?” Lord Osborne, a rake with nearly as dreadful a reputation as his own, strolled into the recessed alcove. “I thought that you, like a toadstool, much prefer dank, dark spots that never see a sliver of light.”
“I am surprised that you are so conversant with the habits of primitive plant life like Lepista nuda. I thought your specialty was the female species of Homo sapiens,” replied Devlin.
“Ha, ha, ha.” Osborne smiled. “I did attend Oxford, you know.”
“For less than a term. As I recall, you were sent down for seducing the Provost’s wife.”
“Actually, it was the other way around,” corrected Osborne. “But nonetheless, I had already decided that a scholar’s life was not for me.”
“Neither is that of a monk,” quipped Devlin.
“I don’t pretend to be a saint.” Osborne regarded a group of young ladies fresh from the schoolroom who were waiting their turn at dancing. “Nor do you.” He flicked a mote of dust from his sleeve. “Though I daresay there isn’t much here to tempt a man to sin. Innocence is so terribly boring, don’t you think?”
Devlin didn’t answer right away. His gaze was on the arched entryway at the far end of the ballroom, where a quicksilver flutter of blonde and blue had just disappeared into one of the side salons.
“What a pity that a plump purse is so rarely attached to aught but a dewy-eyed virgin.”
“I wasn’t aware that you had to marry for money,” said Devlin absently. He shifted his stance, trying to find a better vantage point. Quite likely it was just a quirk of the swaying candlelight that had him imagining things.
“I don’t. Which is why I have no intention of riveting on a legshackle any time soon. Word is that you, however, are sinking fast in the River Tick and need a rich heiress to bail you out of your debts.”
“Perhaps,” said Devlin softly, “you have been listening in the wrong places.”
“I keep my ears open wherever I go,” replied Osborne. “And I find it curious…” He paused to watch a new set of dancers take their places for a cotillion. “Speaking of dewy-eyed virgins, the only one who has a glimmer of interest to her is Miss Anna Sloane.”
Damnation, swore Devlin to himself, as the lady in question turned to face her partner, setting off a soft swirl of smoke-dark silk around her ankles—and sin-dark thoughts inside his head.