Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)
“Excellent! Then I shall expect you to join us on the morrow,” bellowed McClellan as he emerged from one of the side corridors. “We leave at first light, so as to have a full day tramping the moors.”
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nbsp; “There may be more guests dropping dead than game birds,” observed Devlin dryly.
An evil glint momentarily lightened McClellan’s granite-gray eyes. “Nay, nay. I’m a very good shot.”
“As I said, more guests than birds might expire on the morrow.”
The baron didn’t crack a smile. “I shall be counting on your presence, too, Verdemont.”
“I had planned on taking the day to finish some correspondence—” began the vicomte.
“Letters can wait.” McClellan dismissed the excuse with a curt wave. “I need you to make up our line of fire. Several of the older gentlemen have already begged off, and Lady Dunbar would hate to disappoint the prince and his friends by not having enough shooters.”
“If you insist,” said the vicomte ungraciously.
“Then it’s settled. We’ll meet in the Gun Room at five.”
Devlin heaved a martyred sigh. “As you see, there is a reason the Scots have a reputation for being a dour, grim-minded race,” he said to Verdemont. “Rising before dawn just to shed blood is unnatural.”
“Have you never fought a duel, Davenport?” demanded McClellan.
“Good heavens, no!” he drawled. “I have no honor to defend, so why would I bother?”
The exchange of barbs was brought to an end by the appearance of their hostess, who was escorting a half dozen of the ladies to the drawing room.
“Oh, dear, is my cousin offending everyone?” the countess inquired lightly.
Verdemont shrugged in wordless answer and walked away to join his wife by the hearth.
“Oh, please don’t worry, milady,” piped up Caro, who had come down from her rooms ahead of the rest of her family. “We have all learned to ignore his ill-tempered remarks.”
Lady Dunbar laughed, but Devlin noted that McClellan did not appear at all amused.
“If you live by the proverbial sword, you must expect to die by the proverbial sword,” he murmured, as he strolled past the baron to offer his arm to Anna’s sister. “The young lady appears to have an even sharper tongue than you.”
Alec responded with a phrase in Gaelic that needed no translation.
Suppressing a grin, Devlin turned his attention to Caro. “I see that your sister is not with you. I trust she is not feeling ill?”
“No, no, she is simply taking a little longer than usual in dressing for supper,” Caro assured him. “Which is rather odd.”
“Indeed? I was under the impression that most young ladies spend an inordinate amount of time on their toilette.”
“Not Anna,” replied her sister. “Fashion bores her. She’s much more interested in…um, other things.”
What things?
His curiosity piqued, he quickly asked, “Such as?”
A guilty flush flooded her face. “B-books.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Devlin.
“I’m not supposed to mention it,” mumbled Caro. “Mama says gentlemen do not like ladies who are too clever.”
“Your mother’s pronouncements on what men like or don’t like should not be taken as gospel,” he said softly.