Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have some lovely news to announce,” said Lady Dunbar, after following her butler into the drawing room. “Prince Gunther is resting quite comfortably.”

Glasses clinked as the guests joined Count Rupert in raising a toast to a quick recovery.

“Indeed, he wished to join us tonight,” continued the countess. “However the doctor insisted that he be prudent and remain abed until morning.”

“A wise decision,” said her husband, who was standing with the German contingent by the hearth.

“But what with the dismal hunting weather and the unfortunate accident, I think that the prince—and all of us—deserve a special celebration on the morrow to brighten our spirits,” she continued. “So I have arranged for a visit to Craigielochen Castle, a splendidly romantic fifteenth-century ruin situated on the ocean cliffs just up the coast. Mary, Queen of Scots, is said to have visited there.”

Lady Dunbar paused to smile. “And so shall we, though I daresay in far more comfortable style. There are wonderful grounds and gardens to explore, and the servants will set up a sumptuous midday picnic repast. However, you have no need to fear wind or rain. The old banquet hall is intact, and we shall dine there in case of inclement weather. The men may enjoy fishing for trout in the river, and the ladies will find all sorts of lovely vistas for sketching.”

A murmur of polite approval made its way around the room.

“The carriages will be waiting to transport us there after an early breakfast,” she added. “Our head gardener is predicting lovely weather, and as he is rarely wrong, we should have a very enjoyable day.”

“Assuming there are no further accidents,” said Devlin, just loudly enough for Anna to hear. “I would advise the prince not to walk too close to the cliff’s edge.”

“Just one last thing,” said the countess. “To start off a festive mood early, we shall have some dancing instead of cards after supper—just an informal interlude of country reels and gavottes.” A discreet wave signaled the footmen to pop open more champagne. “Though our local musicians do know how to play a waltz.”

To Anna’s relief, she and Devlin were joined by Colonel Polianov. At the present moment, even his austere features and sour expression were a welcome sight.

The Russian surprised her by essaying a smile. “Are you pleased by the prospect of an outing, Miss Sloane? I have been told that all English ladies have a great fondness for the outdoors.”

“Yes, fresh air and some exercise will be very welcome. I am looking forward to a leisurely stroll through the gardens,” answered Anna, though her mind was already planning how to evade the outing without drawing undue notice to he

r absence.

“Perhaps I may be permitted to escort you,” said the colonel.

For an instant, Anna thought that she must have misheard him. However, Devlin’s sarcastic laugh dispelled any doubts.

“There are no wild wolves or bears here in Scotland, Polianov. And if there were, Miss Sloane would likely be quite capable of defending herself.” He paused. “If a pistol or rifle weren’t within reach, I daresay she would slay the beast with her bare hands.”

Polianov’s cheeks turned a mottled red as he looked to her. “Forgive me,” he said stiffly, “but I fail to understand the very peculiar sense of humor you English have. Have I made some error in etiquette?”

“Lord Davenport’s sense of humor is entirely his own,” she assured him. “Please pay him no heed. You have been quite correct in your deportment.” Unlike some other men.

Looking somewhat mollified, the colonel smoothed at the sleeve of his gold braided tunic. “Then might I also request the pleasure of a dance—”

“My, my, it appears you have been polishing your manners along with your medals, Colonel.” Devlin’s sneer had turned even more offensive. “I hadn’t realized that you had taken such a sudden interest in the young lady. Dancing, long walks through the roses, private meanderings behind the bushes—just think of all the interesting opportunities.”

The colonel began to sputter. “What are you suggesting, sir?

“Simply that you’ll have a great deal of time for private conversation.”

“That’s hardly a crime,” snapped Anna, then immediately rued her choice of words when she saw the look that came to his eyes.

Polianov chose to ignore Devlin’s last provocation. “Until later, Miss Sloane,” he said, bowing as he stepped back several paces and turned to rejoin the group of men by the far hearth.

His departure gave Anna an opening for escape. Slipping past the pedestal, she nearly collided with Lady de Blois, who had been standing half hidden by the bouquet of flowers conversing with her brother-in-law.

“Pardon,” she muttered in French, brushing by the pair without slowing her step. She was in no mood for lingering near the widow, whose air of self-important superiority was beginning to grate on her nerves.

Spotting Caro and their mother in conversation with the other party from London, Anna quickly circled around the punch table and found a spot next to her sister.

Whatever addled twist of mind had provoked such wild fantasies in Devlin’s head, she hoped he would soon come to his senses. Sarcasm was one thing, madness was quite another.

A delusional man could be dangerous.