Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

The count looked uncertain of how to reply. Clearing his throat with an embarrassed cough, he shot an appealing look at their hostess.

“Ah, I see that the crown prince has come down from his quarters,” announced Lady Dunbar loudly. Offering her arm to the beleaguered count, she signaled her footmen to throw open the double doors leading to the dining salon.

“Come, let us all go in to supper.”

Chapter Six

The meal over, the ladies returned to the drawing room for tea and cakes while the gentlemen remained in the dining salon to enjoy their postprandial cigars and port. The French duo immediately chose to sit together and seemed little inclined to socialize, despite the efforts of their hostess. The two German countesses were a little more gregarious observed Anna, although their loud voices and brusque comments did not bode well for prolonged conversation. As for the two local Scottish gentry, they quietly helped to pass the cups, and when they did speak, it was hard to understand their burred speech.

No doubt the initial reserve would soon melt, but for the moment, an air of stiff formality seemed to pervade the room.

After exchanging pleasantries with the other group of ladies from London, Anna sought refuge in one of the side display alcoves, where a collection of hand-colored botanical engravings offered the perfect opportunity to enjoy an interlude of quiet contemplation.

Perfect, that is, until the murmur of male voices announced that the gentlemen guests hadn’t lingered long over their masculine rites of pleasure.

Anna slipped deeper into the alcove, hoping her presence would go unnoticed. The candles in the wall sconces had burned low, and the encroaching shadows were deepening the fluttery light to a soft, bronze-hued glow. With any luck, no one would think to enter the secluded space.

Just then, the light tread of steps sounded just outside the narrow archway…

Anna held herself very still. But Luck appeared to be in a perversely mischievous mood this evening.

“I wasn’t aware that you are fluent in German,” said Devlin as he slid through the opening and slouched a shoulder against the wall. “Or Russian.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Lord Davenport,” answered Anna. “Do be careful of the engravings,” she added. “I imagine that they are quite valuable.”

“No doubt. I’ve heard that the castle is full of priceless art.” The wavering flame caught the spark of amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps you would care to explore some of the other dark nooks and crannies together. I’m sure we would discover some very interesting things.”

Anna turned away to hide the smile tugging at her lips. She shouldn’t find his humor appealing. He was too dissolute.

Too dangerous.

“Please go away, Lord Davenport.”

He shifted his stance and somehow his lean body was now too close for comfort. “But we’ve barely begun to talk.”

“I’m in no mood for conversation, if you don’t mind.” Suddenly feeling a bit breathless, she inhaled, only to find her nostrils filled with the faint sweetness of the wine on his breath and the earthier spice of his sandalwood cologne.

“Oh?” He leaned in closer, the movement causing a lock of his hair to brush against his jaw. Anna was intimately aware of the subtle fragrance of pine soap clinging to the dark strands.

Was it possible to become intoxicated from mere scent? All at once her head was feeling woozy. Leaning back, she steadied herself against the wainscoting.

“No matter—I can think of other activities that don’t require speech.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t dare.” As soon as she said it, Anna realized her mistake.

“That,” replied Devlin slowly, “is exactly the wrong thing to say to a Devil like me.”

“I—I meant…” She wasn’t sure what she meant. But it was not to be staring at the sinuous shape of his mouth and wondering what the trace of port would taste like on his lips.

“Perhaps you meant that you wouldn’t dare,” whispered Devlin, after the silence had stretched out for several heartbeats.

Anna wanted to respond with a clever answer, and yet some force seemed to have squeezed the air from her lungs.

“But I think you are wrong,” he went on. “I have a feeling that deep down inside that delectable body, the well-behaved Miss Sloane is not quite as angelic as she wishes to appear.”

A light touch of his finger tipped her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his. A strange sound—something akin to the crackling of burning coals—began to echo in her ears.

“Unless I am much mistaken,” he said in a whisper, “there are devilish desires swirling in intimate places you don’t wish to admit exist.”