After mastering the basement’s creaking staircase without alerting the staff, Sybil crept to the room at the end of the dim hallway. In most grand houses, the study was a place where men struggled with the pressures of making financial decisions. Not that she expected Mr Daventry to use the room for such a purpose. No, she envisioned finding the rogue sprawled semi-naked on the chaise, Mrs Sinclair straddling his thighs while he feasted on mounds of bare flesh.
Sybil cursed her vivid imagination.
She had made sure Mr Daventry was not at home. He visited his mistress nightly, always before the stroke of twelve. Indeed, Sybil had sat hidden in a hackney on Davies Street for the best part of an hour, watching the entrance to the mews. The urchin she’d paid to spy on her quarry confirmed Mr Daventry’s departure.
And yet the man’s powerful presence still lingered.
The pang of apprehension did not act as a deterrent. Despite her heart hammering against her chest, she turned the doorknob and slipped into the dark room.
The thrill of invading dangerous territory left her weak at the knees. It took a moment to settle her ragged breathing as she stared into the gloom.
Mr Daventry’s potent energy invaded the darkness. She narrowed her gaze and focused on the empty chair behind the desk. The rogue’s unique smell reached her nostrils, although that was no surprise. She often woke at night and caught a whiff of his seductive scent.
Pushing aside her trepidation, she moved to the bookcase left of the desk. The glass doors were locked, the keys missing. A quick scan of the gold lettering on the spines confirmed Mr Daventry liked philosophy and law, though she would lay odds he never read them. Why would a man who enjoyed lascivious pursuits be interested in moral principles?
She turned her attention to the desk, to the quill next to the sheet of paper. While it was the height of bad manners to read a person’s missive, she couldn’t help but notice the single sentence scrawled in black ink.
Ignorance, the root and stem of every evil.
Strange.
It was one of her father’s favourite quotes, yet it sounded more like a personal message. To some extent, she was ignorant. A quest for knowledge had brought her to Mr Daventry’s home tonight.
Shadows of doubt held her rigid.
Had Mr Daventry discovered how she’d learned of the auction? Had the valet confessed to his friendship with her abigail? Was Mr Daventry aware of her plan and had faked his departure?
As her mind ran amok and her pulse soared, something else struck her as peculiar. So peculiar, she padded over to the fireplace.
The room was so warm one would expect to find flames dancing in the grate. But a quick prod with the poker confirmed someone had recently piled fresh coal on top of the glowing embers.
“A man visiting his mistress would have no cause to keep his study warm.” Mr Daventry’s rich, masculine voice echoed from the shadows. “That would have been your next logical thought, Miss Atwood.”
Shock made her gasp.
The urge to flee quickly followed.
“Now you’re wondering how I returned to the house without you noticing.” He sighed. “You waited at least twenty minutes before entering the garden. Of course, you needed Ashby to unlock the gate, and the man can be somewhat tardy.”
Sybil put her hand to her heart for fear the organ might burst through her chest. She peered into the darkest corner of the room—the gentleman’s excellent hiding place.
“One would think a man besotted with a woman would be early for his secret rendezvous,” she replied, stepping closer to the only person who roused her interest and her temper. “Not arrive ten minutes late.”
As her eyes grew accustomed to the blackness, she noted the outline of his broad shoulders as he lounged in a wingback chair.
“Oh, I have no doubt Ashby thinks himself in love. How long did it take your shameless maid to lure him with her womanly wiles?”
“I assure you, sir, Miriam is far from shameless.” An unmarried lady could hardly keep a maid with loose morals.
“Is she not frolicking in the mews as we speak?”
“Frolicking? They mean to marry.”
“So I gather.”
“I imagine they are discussing how they might keep their positions and still make a lifelong commitment. Of course, they will have to find lodgings.”
“I’m sure a discussion of any sort is the last thing on their minds.” From the realms of his secret lair, the devil snorted. “If Ashby is anything like his master, he will be stroking the tops of your maid’s stockings by now.”