The Mystery of Mr Daventry (Scandalous Sons 4)

Surely not.

“Not until I have claimed ownership of my father’s journals.” If necessary, it would be a fight to draw first blood. “I’m prepared to pay more than any man here.”

A wicked smile played at the corners of his mouth. Hard, flint-grey eyes pinned her to the seat as he called at the top of his voice, “Gentlemen, I wish to inform you that I’ve had a change of heart. As Miss Atwood kindly pointed out, it was never her father’s intention to sell his work to the highest bidder.”

Curse the saints!

It seems Mr Daventry would go to any lengths to prevent her from owning the journals.

Grumbles of disapproval grew into whining complaints. Men shot spears of scorn, spears that might have had her shrinking in her seat had she not learned to ignore public opinion. Confusion marred other men’s brows. How had a mere woman manipulated such a merciless monster as Lucius Daventry?

One man found the courage to stand. Had there been other ladies in attendance, a collective sigh would have echoed through the room, for Lord Newberry was considered quite the catch.

“For weeks you’ve teased us, boasted of the contents of Atticus Atwood’s private works.” Lord Newberry’s mouth thinned in disgust. “Is this a ruse to increase the bids? What reason can Miss Atwood have for being here other than to assist in your devious plan?”

“Devious?” Mr Daventry straightened to his full, intimidating height, and the air turned frigid. Indeed, some men drew their coats across their chests and shivered. “May I advise you to observe your tone, Newberry? In light of your disappointment, I shall permit one mistake, never two.”

Lord Newberry shuffled uncomfortably. “Miss Atwood has no understanding of what is at stake. Sentimentality forms the basis of her opinion.”

Mr Daventry glanced at her, and wearing a smug grin said, “I happen to agree. The lady is ill-informed. Her logic is severely lacking.”

Oh, the odious devil!

Sybil jumped up, outraged that men who professed to respect her father could treat his daughter so abominably.

“Atticus would be appalled.” She lifted her chin and glared at the aggrieved, whose pouting lips and sulky faces spoke of their displeasure. “His modern views were often condemned. Condemned by men in this room, I might add.” While she failed to identify anyone personally, the odds were favourable. “And so I can only conclude that you want to obtain his work so you can ridicule his claims.”

“Curiosity is their primary motivation,” Mr Daventry informed as his gaze journeyed from the tip of the feather in her hat slowly down to the hem of her dark green pelisse. The depth of his scrutiny brought heat to her cheeks. “But curiosity is a weakness, a weakness wrought with danger.”

Sybil swallowed.

Was that a veiled threat?

“Please, do not insult me by pretending we share a common goal, sir. You stand with those who would rip my father’s reputation to shreds.”

Why else was he holding an auction?

Mr Daventry fixed her with a penetrating stare. “Know that I would never permit anyone to speak ill of Atticus Atwood. I would never give his enemies the means to trample over his memory.”

“Enemies?” A shiver ran the length of Sybil’s spine. “That’s a strong

word to describe those with differing opinions.” Did men really fight over theories on magnetism and electrical currents?

Something strange was afoot.

Did Lucius Daventry know the real reason she had come? The reason that had nothing to do with sentimentality and everything to do with self-preservation?

“Men often commit evil acts to support their beliefs, Miss Atwood.”

Sybil feigned a light laugh. “I hardly think books filled with scientific theories and some dusty old artefacts warrant a call for violence.”

In truth, she knew nothing of the journals’ contents. When at home, her father never discussed his work. But someone was desperate to discover the words written on the pages. So desperate, they had sent threatening letter after threatening letter, demanding she obtain the records of Atticus Atwood’s theories.

Another peer came to his feet. Sir Melrose Crampton was a lean man of middling years with greasy black hair streaked grey at the temples. The angles of his skeletal features were as severe as his manners.

“I’ll give you three thousand for the lot, Daventry.” Sir Melrose removed his hat to push his lank hair behind his ears. “Three thousand is more than any man here will pay. Accept the offer and let’s be done with it.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir Melrose. Three thousand is not more than any woman might pay.” Sybil pushed her fingers firmly into her kid gloves and with a grin added, “I’m willing to bid four thousand to secure my father’s possessions.”