Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)
“Please try to keep a rein on your exuberance,” murmured Anna. “This isn’t a scene out of a Lord Byron poem.”
“Or a novel,” added Devlin.
How he was feeling about this unexpected turn of events was impossible to tell, she decided. His face was a cipher.
McClellan, like her sister, was far easier to read. At the moment his stormy expression was darker than a North Sea squall. “What in the name of Satan is going on here?” he demanded. “Murder? Mayhem?” Scowling at Devlin, he added, “And am I really supposed to believe that you are involved with the Sassenach government?”
“It’s true,” responded Anna.
“Ha! No wonder Napoleon is riding roughshod over England and her allies.”
“Sarcasm is not helpful, Lord McClellan,” snapped Caro. “If you wish to be part of our efforts to prevent a vile assassination, you must have a more positive attitude. Otherwise, I suggest you leave.”
Anna fully expected the baron to stalk off in a huff. Instead he slouched back in his chair, lips pursed, and appeared to be giving her sister’s challenge serious thought.
Interesting, she mused, before forcing her attention back to the threat facing the prince. The tangle of personal feelings was far too confusing to try to sort out when a murderer was lurking close by.
“It’s not your fight,” observed Devlin. “I don’t expect you to give a rooster’s tailfeather for whether the assassination of an obscure German prince causes trouble for England.”
The room went very still, the only sound the faint scrabbling of a mouse behind the age-dark paneling.
McClellan finally broke his brooding silence. “Bloody hell. You’re right—as far as I am concerned, your Mad King and rakehell Regent can go the Devil, along with your oppressive Parliament and laws. But Prince Gunther is a decent fellow, and assassination is a cowardly act. So I’ll do what I can to help.”
“Thank you,” said Devlin.
Oddly enough, thought Anna, he sounded sincere.
The baron seemed to note the same nuance. Giving a grimace, he muttered, “Ye gods, just don’t expect me to exchange comradely kisses.” There was, however, no edge to his words.
Caro eyed both men but refrained from adding her own comment.
“Excellent,” said Anna quickly. “Now that we’ve agreed to join forces, I’m sure that Dev—that is, Lord Davenport—will share what we’ve discovered so far.”
Devlin fingered the paper on which he had written the puzzling phrase. A brusque flick moved it to the center of the table. “The prime suspects are Lord Verdemont and Lady de Blois. We managed to find some private correspondence hidden in the lady’s rooms—never mind how—and have reason to suspect these phrases might be some sort of code, for they make no sense on their own.”
“Of course, their meaning may only be of a personal nature,” added Anna. “But it certainly does raise suspicions.”
“As Miss Sloane so sagely pointed out to me, if they don’t
bat an eye at the fundamental betrayal of their own sister and wife, then they are likely capable of any evil.”
“Like murder?” murmured Caro. “But why?”
“Money, for one thing,” muttered McClellan. “Its power can corrupt most any conscience.”
“That’s awfully cynical, sir,” replied her sister. “I would rather starve than betray my principles of right and wrong.”
The baron regarded her for a long moment. “Yes, I rather believe you would.” A shrug shifted his gaze. “But be that as it may, it is the French couple that concerns us. And it seems to me that in addition to money, there’s also another powerful force to consider.”
“Passion,” said Devlin, before the baron could go on. “Verdemont has presented himself as an ardent French Royalist, a nobleman who lost his lands and wealth to Napoleon. But there are some of the Old Guard exiles living in England who secretly believe fervently in the revolutionary ideas, and they serve as spies for the current French government.”
“Precisely.” McClellan tapped his fingertips together. “Passion can be a dangerous thing.”
Danger. Like a sinuous serpent, the word seemed intent on slithering over her skin and capturing her in its coils. Repressing a small shiver, Anna shook off the sensation.
A frown seemed to flit over Devlin’s face. Had he sensed her reaction? If so, he let it pass unremarked.
“Any thoughts on what this blasted phrase might mean?” he asked the others.