Sinfully Yours (16 page)

She didn’t miss the edge in his voice. As soon as they had passed through the opening, she said, “But I’m assuming the drama isn’t over.”

Once again the gears in her head were whirring with military precision.

“Correct,” he admitted. “Yours is not the only room I’ve examined for telltale evidence. As of yet, I haven’t found anything to indicate there is a plot to harm the prince. The hunting incident could have been just what it appears—an unfortunate accident.”

“However, you aren’t convinced the threat is a farrididdle.”

“No.”

“Good Lord. Having seen me sneak into the Gun Room, it is no wonder you thought the worst.” Anna grimaced. “Though I am curious—for whom did you think I was working? I live an awfully staid life in London and have precious little opportunity for involving myself in nefarious intrigue.” She cleared her throat with a cough—or maybe she was simply disguising a laugh. “That is, except for those I create in my head.”

“That was certainly something I had to consider.”

This time, there was no mistaking her mirth. “Mayfair ballrooms are hardly a hotbed of treasonous plots and international deceptions. The only betrayals going on are those between husbands, wives, and lovers.”

“You might be shocked at what people will do for money or power,” said Devlin softly. “Or the simple thrill of doing something dangerous.”

Anna’s face paled. “And seeing as I was willing to sell myself to a rich husband in order to take care of my family, why wouldn’t I sell myself for any task if the price were right.”

Seeing her haunted expression, he quickly replied. “I didn’t really consider you a likely suspect. However I had to be sure.”

“Are you now?” she challenged. “Perhaps I’m clever enough to conceal my true motives behind the ruse of penning a book.”

Devlin shook his head. “That won’t fadge—the writing is too good.”

Her mouth slowly stretched into a grin. “You know exactly how to disarm an author.”

“I shall remember that when you’ve got your book knife pointed at my liver.”

“I’m not your enemy,” replied Anna. “But I imagine you have some ideas on who is—or might be.”

“There are several who stand out as possible suspects,” admitted Devlin.

“Who?” she asked eagerly, turning so quickly that her shawl snagged in the thorny vines.

“Anna,” he murmured, reaching out to untangle the finespun wool.

“That,” she snapped, “is exactly the tone of voice men use when they are about to say ‘don’t worry your pretty little head about such things.’”

“It is an exceedingly pretty little head,” he drawled. “And there really is no need to worry it with such things.”

“That’s not amusing.” A yank freed the shawl. “I would like to help.”

“I don’t see how you can,” he replied coolly.

“To begin with, if any one of your suspects is a lady—and I would wager that’s a good possibility—I have a far better chance of entering her room for a clandestine look around. My presence in that part of the castle will draw no undue attention, while you will have a much harder time of gaining access.”

She had a good point. He was not anxious to initiate another amorous encounter with Lady de Blois. Sacrifices for King and country were all very well, but the idea of taking her to bed had lost its allure.

Still, what she was suggesting was too…

“And as for the men,” went on Anna. She paused to flash a brilliant smile. “I can employ certain wiles to charm information out of them that you cannot.”

His jaw tightened. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because. It. Is. Dangerous.”

She uttered an oath that he had not ever heard outside the slums of Southwark. “Oh, and you are not facing peril if there is an assassin among us?”

“It’s different,” he muttered.

Her gaze sharpened to a steely stare. “If you are implying that I am helpless because of my sex, I just might fetch my book knife after all.”

Bloody Hell.
How was it that Anna Sloane always found a way to put him on the defensive? He was usually adept at dealing with women and the diabolically complex way their brains worked. She, however, had gears and levers he had never encountered before.

Reminding himself that he was good at figuring out new mechanisms, he tried another approach. “Anna, this is not one of Emmalina’s exciting little adventures. It’s all very well to go dashing around courting danger on paper, but it’s quite another thing when the stakes are real.”

When she didn’t answer right away, Devlin began to congratulate himself. Conundrums were easy to solve if one simply exercised some patience and fortitude—

“Adventures on paper.” She stopped abruptly and perched a hip on one of the stone urns dotting the path’s verge. “Come to think of it, a prince in danger would add a very exciting element to my book. Emmalina has just arrived at a remote Scottish castle, and…”

“You swore an oath to tell no one!” exclaimed Devlin, adding a few words that ought never be uttered in front of a lady.

The breeze had tugged a few locks of hair free from her bonnet. Gleaming gold in the sunlight, they waved like tiny naval flags signaling the start of a battle.

Sure enough, the rumble of the big guns rolling out immediately followed.

“I swore to tell no one about this specific mission,” pointed out Anna. “Using it to inspire fiction was not part of the agreement.”

“The devil it wasn’t!” he snapped.

She lifted a brow.

“You are an imp of Satan in disguise,” he growled.

“Then we are well matched, aren’t we?” she countered.

Devlin sucked in his cheeks, trying to control the fierce twisting in his gut. It wasn’t just anger but fear. Fear for her safety…

Fear for his own detachment going up in smoke.

“I’m not a feather-headed widget,” she added. “I won’t do anything to imperil your mission.”

“And what of yourself, Anna?”

She looked away. “Lord Davenport—Devlin—I have become quite skilled at playing a role. You have seen for yourself that London Society sees me as a demure, dutiful young lady, a perfect patterncard of propriety, when at heart, that isn’t the real me at all. I am tougher than I might seem, and more of a pragmatist than you might think, because my family circumstances demanded I be so.”

It was true, conceded Devlin. She had unselfishly accepted a heavy responsibility, and had proved herself strong and steady with its weight on her shoulders.

Anna seemed to sense his wavering, for she quickly added, “And because people see me as naught but a sweet, biddable girl, you would be amazed at how comfortable they feel in confiding things to me.”

Devlin watched a scudding of shadows pass over her profile. “I’m frightened for your safety,” he finally confessed.

Her lips curled ever so slightly upward. “First of all, I can’t imagine you afraid of anything.”

Ha! I’m terrified of your wonderfully clever mind. I’m terrified of your intriguingly impish smile. I’m terrified of your sweetly sensual body. I’m terrified at how the walls around my heart seem to be crumbling into dust.

“And secondly,” she explained, “I am willing to set some parameters. I’m not a fool, and so I won’t do anything foolish.”

“Our definitions of ‘foolish’ may be at odds,” he pointed out.

She pondered that for a drawn-out moment. “Fair enough. Then how about we settle on a compromise. Let us agree to work together to discover if there is a plot to harm Prince Gunther. However, if and when you feel it’s getting too dangerous for me to be involved, I will stop.”

“You will obey my order?”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What verbal loopholes am I missing here?”

She laughed. “None that I can think of at the moment.”

“Anna, I—”

“That was a jest. You have my promise. A word from you and I shall back off.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, Devlin took a silent turn around the urn. Did he dare make a deal with the Devil? She was right—her assistance would be invaluable. And no doubt Thorncroft would expect him to accept it without batting an eye. No sacrifice was too great for King and country. Including her life as well as his own.

“Damnation,” he muttered, uncertain, undecided. “If I say yes, I shall likely regret it.”

Anna crossed her ankles and smoothed at her wind-ruffled skirts.

“Damn, damn, damn.”

“Swearing and walking in circles is not the best way to come to a reasonable decision,” she murmured.

“I’m not feeling very reasonable,” retorted Devlin.

Because I’m devil-damned if I can describe the unreasonable emotions twisting my innards into a knot at this moment.

She eyed him as if he were a slightly slow-witted schoolboy struggling to add up a simple sum.

Her look provoked a fresh scowl. “You promise there will be no mechanical eagle or plot to murder a prince in your new book?”

“You drive a very hard bargain, sir. It is a great artistic sacrifice that you demand, but yes, you have my promise.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he conceded, after pacing through another turn. “Very well. We have a deal. But I warn you, if you try to wiggle out of your promise I shall find the deepest, darkest dungeon in Christendom and lock you there until Doomsday.”

“Fair enough.” A smile bloomed on her lips. “Now enough of sparring with each other. Tell me whom you consider to be the most likely suspects.”

Y
ou were missed at the picnic,” said Caro, turning around from her dressing table as Anna entered her bedchamber. “I have much to tell you—”

“
Alors
, please sit still, Mademoiselle Carolina, while I fasten the last hairpins in place,” chided Josette. “The supper bell rang several minutes ago and I should not like for you to be late in joining the other guests.”

“Yes, do hurry. We ought not be rude,” said Anna, impatient to join the party in the drawing room. Her sister’s late return from the outing had precluded a private chat before the evening’s activities began. And while she was curious to hear about the day, it would have to wait. “We can talk about it when we retire for the night.”

“One of the carriages became stuck in a rut on the way back, and the one I was in stopped to help,” explained Caro. “So a number the others will be making a late entrance to the drawing room.” Looking unhappy at having to hold her tongue, she added, “You ought to know before we go down that Colonel Polianov seemed upset that you had not come. He kept dogging my steps all afternoon, asking all sorts of impertinent questions about you.”

“Indeed?” Anna’s attention snapped to full alert. Devlin had seen her nocturnal wanderings, so it was possible that Polianov had too. “How very odd. What sort of questions?”

“Oh, ones concerning your likes and dislikes, your habits. That sort of thing. I found it exceedingly odd too, especially as he’s been rather rude up until now.” Caro’s reflection in the looking glass sharpened to a speculative stare. “You must have had a reason for warning me to not to go off alone with him.”

“I was simply worried that he seemed an aggressive sort of man,” she answered, hoping to put an end to the subject. Given any encouragement, her sister’s vivid imagination could prove an impediment to the investigation. It would take some adroit handling to keep her off the scent. “His behavior was unsettling, but I think I was merely overreacting. Russians are simply…very Russian.”

“Lord McClellan’s behavior was even more unsettling. He kept staring and scowling…and trying to overhear what Polianov and I were talking about,” muttered Caro.

Yet another of Devlin’s prime suspects.
The conversation was veering onto treacherous ground.

Before she could react, her sister asked, “You’ve had more worldly experience with men than we have, Josette. What’s your impression of the colonel and the baron?”

“I do not see much of the gentlemen guests,” replied the maid. “But downstairs there is always gossip. The colonel’s valet says he is a cold fish, and the house servants say Lord McClellan can be very moody.”

“It’s clear he dislikes the English,” murmured Anna. Servants often knew a great deal of intimate information about the people they served. Perhaps she could learn some useful information. “Do they give any reason why?”

“They say he has some very radical views on politics and equality for all men.”

“That must earn favor with the servants,” she mused.

Josette shrugged. “Most people do not like change, mademoiselle.”

A very keen observation. With her sharp eye and lively intelligence, the maid could be a very helpful ally, if handled with the utmost discretion, decided Anna.

Which would make it impossible for Devlin to deny the wisdom of sharing his secret and allowing her to be a partner in the hunt.

“I can’t help but be curious,” she said. “Is any other reason mentioned for Lord McClellan’s feelings for the English. It almost seems that there is a personal grudge of some sort?”

“Not that I have heard,” answered Josette. She finished threading a ribbon through Caro’s topknot and set the brush down. “Would you like me to ask?”

Yes or no?

Taking a moment to think, Anna bent down to retrieve a cast-off stocking from the carpet. Creating compelling stories was something she was very good at. This simply required a slightly different twist.

“Actually, I would,” she said softly. “I can’t help but notice Lord McClellan’s interest in my sister—”

Caro made a rude noise.

“And a lady can’t be too careful about knowing what a man is really like,” she finished. “Our mother thinks only of a title, so I feel that I must be the one to consider the man behind the trappings of privilege.”

“It is very wise to look at a man’s character as well as his purse, mademoiselle. The world can be a harsh place for those of our sex, So yes, it is important for a lady to keep her eyes open so that she may look out for herself.”

Once again Anna was grateful that her maid was so sensible and pragmatic, rather than a flighty featherhead.

The reflection in the looking glass showed Caro appeared thoughtful as she mulled over Josette’s words. Which was all well and good, mused Anna. Such advice helped temper her sister’s natural exuberance.

“Speaking of Mama,” said Caro, slowly twisting around in her chair. “She said that the carriage ride gave her a beastly headache and she means to spend the evening in bed.”

How fortuitous.
Not having to contend with their mother’s ham-handed matchmaking would be one less distraction from her newfound sleuthing duties. “What a relief,” she replied with a wry smile. “I can pass the evening without fear of finding myself engaged to the prince before bedtime.”

“According to his valet, the prince is not likely to ask for the hand of an English lady,” murmured Josette. She took a moment to shift the box of hairpins. “Nor, for that matter, the hand of
any
lady.”

It took several ticks of the mantle clock for the maid’s meaning to sink in. “The prince does not…favor females?”

“Apparently he much prefers to spend his time with the other members of his club, a very small and exclusive group of gentlemen who are interested in rare books and fine art.”

“You appear to be intimately acquainted with the details of his private life,” mused Anna.

Josette gave another lift of her shoulders. “As I said, servants do like to gossip. Especially when trying to impress one another.”

Ha—yet another reason Devlin had to admit that having a lady as an ally was useful.

The
tick, tick
seemed to grow louder in the flutter of silence. “Voilà, your toilette is finished, Mademoiselle Caro,” said the maid, stepping back and casting a critical eye over both her charges. “The two of you look very well. Now you had best hurry to join the others.”

“Thank you,” murmured Anna, as Caro slid off her seat and fluffed her skirts. “We are very fortunate to have a person of your skills, Josette.”

Devlin surveyed the room over the rim of his drink, trying to quell his impatience. He was
never
impatient, and most certainly not when a lady was concerned.

But this was no ordinary lady, he reminded himself.

A fact that he wasn’t quite sure was very good or very bad.

His brain, however, had little time to parse the question. As Anna floated through the doorway in a rippling of shimmering sea-green silk, it went utterly blank, and all rational thoughts sunk into…

Some depth of demented crosscurrents he had never experienced before.

Breathe.
Basic instincts seemed to be the only messages emanating from his head. His lungs slowly obeyed, and the rush of fresh oxygen seemed to dispel the sensation of drowning, drowning, drowning.

Turning away, Devlin gulped down a swallow of wine to steady his shaking hand.

“Where were you today?” growled McClellan, bringing him back onto firmer ground.

“I was feeling lazy,” he replied. “We indolent idlers are not used to the rigors of tramping your moors. Satan must have been Scottish to have formed such hellishly steep climbs and bone-chilling mists to torture us soft Sassanach creatures.”

McClellan’s mouth twitched, showing the man wasn’t completely devoid of a sense of humor. “Aye. How perceptive of you to have noticed that his cloven hooves are those of a shaggy Highland steer.”

“Actually it was more of a lucky guess,” drawled Devlin, the exchange stirring his senses back to some semblance of normal. “Next time I am in his presence, I shall be sure to take a closer look.”

“A closer look? And here I had assumed the two of you were already intimately acquainted.”

McClellan was drinking a dark red-gold whisky rather than champagne, and his eyes were already a little overbright. “It’s never wise to make assumptions when the Devil is involved,” said Devlin. “All too often you will find that his red-hot pitchfork ends up jabbing you in the arse.”

“Is that supposed to make me fearful, Davenport?”

He widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Good Heavens, no—it’s supposed to make you laugh.” He lifted his glass to his lips, this time to take a smaller sip. “What reason would I have to make you fearful?”

“A good question,” answered the baron.

“What is a good question?” asked Caro, as she and her sister approached.

“Lord McClellan and I were just discussing theology,” replied Devlin.

At that, the baron did let out a snort of laughter. “Good and Evil is such an interesting topic, but let us not bore you ladies with such talk.”

“Oh, Lord Davenport is never boring,” replied Caro, in a voice that left little doubt as to what she was leaving unsaid.

Devlin remained silent, noting the glitter in the baron’s eyes was now more like a dancing of fullblown flames. Heeding his own advice, he decided not to make any assumptions on why the fellow seemed in a volatile mood.

“I’m sure that Lord McClellan can converse intelligently on a number of topics,” interjected Anna. “Like the poetry of Goethe. I happened to note that the assistant secretary had set several volumes aside in his name when I visited the library this morning.”

Caro’s expression went through an odd little series of contortions. “You read Goethe’s poetry?”

A flush rose to McClellan’s cheeks. “Unlike much verse, his work at least strives to capture the full range of human emotion.”

Rather than respond with a caustic comment, the younger Sloane sister swallowed hard and asked, “Have you a favorite, sir?”

Anna quickly hooked Devlin’s arm. “Let us leave these two to debate poetry. If you will kindly escort me to the refreshment table, I have a question to ask you concerning card games.”

“Card games?” repeated Devlin, once they were out of earshot.

“I had to make up something that wouldn’t stir Caro’s suspicions,” she replied. “It won’t be easy to keep her from guessing something havey-cavey is afoot.”

“You claimed to be good at intrigue.”

“And so I am.” Drawing him to a secluded spot by the bank of windows, she quickly explained what she had learned from her lady’s maid.

“Interesting,” he conceded, “though at the moment I don’t see what relevance it has to my mission. If the prince is in danger, it’s because of politics, not personal peccadilloes.”

“I’m not sure it does have any relevance,” answered Anna. “Save for the fact that Josette is privy to a great deal of gossip, and I’ve come up with a plausible reason for asking her details about the private lives of our two most likely male suspects.”

“One of whom is now, thanks to your encouragement, conversing with your sister.”

Anna waved off the comment. “Even if Lord McClellan is our villain—which by the by I think unlikely—he has absolutely no reason to suspect that Caro knows anything about his secrets.” Her gaze lingered for a moment on the gardens outside the glass. Moonlight mizzled the orderly rows of ornamental bushes with a silvery light, softening the spiky edges of the sturdy hollies and yews. “If I were truly pragmatic, I might even point out that allowing her to befriend McClellan would also make him less likely to be suspicious of me.”

Damnation.
She was frighteningly familiar with thinking out how a villain’s mind might work.

“Be that as it may,” she went on, “my maid may prove helpful.”

Devlin nodded slowly, unable to think of any reason for objecting. It was an excellent idea, but he didn’t like it a whit. “As long as you are—”

“Careful. Yes, I know.” She slanted a look around. “We’ve spent enough time together. You ought to go flirt with Lady de Blois, as we planned. She’s been watching us and looks miffed, which will work in your favor.”

A glance showed Anna was right. In the past, the provocative pout, the revealing gown, the flick of a fan would have stirred the desire for a casual dalliance. Now it did quite the opposite.

There must be something in the Scottish air. A Gaelic curse perhaps, meant to rob all Sassenach males of their manhood.

“Davenport?”

“Throwing me to the wolves?” he murmured.

Her flash of teeth had a faintly predatory gleam. “There are no wolves in Scotland, remember?”

“Perhaps not the four-footed kind.”

“You don’t sound overly pleased with giving chase. I thought you said all rakes were hunters,” said Anna.

A clever quip seemed to elude his grasp. Instead, he quaffed the last of his wine and set the empty glass aside.

“You will need to keep her occupied for at least a half hour, after I retire from the card table. It will be too chilly for a stroll outdoors, but perhaps a walk to the conservatory to a look at the specimen plantings—”

“Thank you,” he interrupted, “But as you so politely pointed out, we rakes have experience in pursuing our quarry. I don’t need you to plot it out for me.”

“My apologies,” she said, sounding a little flustered. “I—I was merely making a suggestion.”

Her face turned a very sweet shade of pink. It took all of his mental discipline—not overly steady except with his
automata
—to keep from leaning in and pressing his lips to the ridge of her cheekbone, where the color was at its most intense.

“You are adorable when you are angry,” he murmured.

Her lashes dropped, not quite quickly enough to hide a flutter of…

Of what?

“I—I’m not angry,” she answered.

“Shall I make another guess?”

“I would rather you didn’t.” Her eyes once again darted away to the windowpanes. Rain had begun to tap against the glass.