Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

Thump, thump. In the silence of the alcove, Anna could suddenly hear the quickening beat of her heart.

The sound grew louder, and she realized it was Devlin drumming his pencil on the tabletop.

“Blast,” he muttered. “I’ve an idea about what one part of message might mean. But as for the other…it may take some time to figure out.” Thump, thump. “Assuming, of course, that it’s not simply some private lover’s code.”

Which was, Anna realized, the most likely explanation. She had been too flushed with her own cleverness to consider the obvious.

“So I haven’t really accomplished anything.” Anna tried to mimic his nonchalant shrug but she feared her voice gave away her dismay. That she had risked life and limb for a mere billet-doux sent her spirits plummeting. “Save to force you to fritter away time in discerning their secret endearments.”

A frown formed between his brows. “You’ve accomplished a great deal. Just knowing for sure that Verdemont and Lady de Blois are lovers is very important. Missions like this one rarely have such swashbuckling drama as you portray in your novels. The villains are usually foiled by painstakingly piecing together bits of evidence, rather than catching them red-handed.”

“You seem to know a lot about all this. Does the government hire you often?”

His expression turned shuttered. “Let us concentrate on this particular assignment.” Devlin nudged the paper toward her. “You’ve a creative mind. Any ideas on what this could mean?”

She started to answer, but the stealthy footfalls of someone moving through the rows of bookcases nearby made her pause.

Devlin was instantly alert to the intruder. His body tensed and he cocked an ear to listen.

More steps, followed by the sound of books being pulled from the shelves. The ruffle of turning pages.

A low oath.

Anna cast a questioning look at Devlin.

He nodded.

McClellan.

Her eyes widened Devlin drew the Manton pocket pistol from inside his coat.

“But—” she began in a soft whisper.

He pressed a finger to lips. A tiny gesture, yet Anna immediately fell silent. Any lingering hint of the indolent rake was gone—in an instant he had taken command of the moment.

Rising, Devlin slipped to the side of the alcove’s narrow entrance. His eyes steeled to a gunmetal gray glitter.

She found herself holding her breath.

A book snapped shut, nearly causing her to jump out of her skin. The air suddenly stirred, setting off a dance of dust motes through the trickle of sunlight coming in through the lone window.

McClellan stalked into the alcove, muttering darkly under his breath. It took him a moment to look up from his book and see that he wasn’t alone.

“Miss Sloane.” He didn’t sound happy about the encounter.

Anna tried to speak, but her throat was dry as parchment. All that came out was a croak.

“Forgive me,” growled the baron. “I’ll find somewhere else to read.”

“Actually, I’d prefer that you didn’t.”

McClellan whipped around to find Devlin blocking the entrance.

“Now that you are here, why don’t we have a cozy little chat?”

The baron calmly eyed the weapon pointed at his chest. “About what? How high and mighty English lords are too lily-livered to settle their quarrels like men?”

“No, we can talk about that subject at another time. Right now, I’ve a more pressing topic to discuss.” Devlin gave a flick of the cocked pistol at the chair opposite hers. “Have a seat.”