The Mystery of Mr Daventry (Scandalous Sons 4)

She could hardly believe the word had fallen from Mr Daventry’s lips. Was this not the debauched devil who sauntered through ballrooms committing sin?

“My father possessed many admirable qualities.” Which was why someone had to fight for the supposed injustice. “If there is a hint of truth in what you suspect, then he did not deserve to meet such a dreadful end.”

The tears brimmed again, and Mr Daventry muttered a curse.

“Rest assured. I am working to prove my theory.” Even in the gloom, she saw a darkness pass over his features. “When I do, I shall exact the worst kind of revenge.” He paused, let her absorb the menacing undertone that suggested he had no qualms killing a man. “But now I have another problem. A pressing problem that requires my undivided attention.”

“You refer to me and my snooping. I can be persistent when I want something. But surely you understand my need to examine the books. What my father wrote in those journals might have cost him his life.”

“Your snooping is akin to a signature on your death warrant. You’re the most reckless woman I have ever known, and I have known many.” He straightened and glared. “In coming to the auction you’ve given your father’s enemies reason to believe you possess knowledge of his work.”

“Not necessarily. Men think me sentimental.”

“Men think you will stop at nothing to get what you want. You told everyone in the auction room you respect your father’s vision.”

“I do.”

“No, you respect your father. You know nothing about what he did with his time. You know nothing of the risks he took. But I can tell you it had nothing to do with science.”

Sybil blinked. Though loath to admit it, Mr Daventry was right. “I know he would never do anything nefarious.”

Mr Daventry rubbed his jaw in frustration. “Doing the right thing carries greater penalties than some criminal acts.”

The right thing?

She might have challenged his right to make the claim, but the gentleman strode over to the bell and tugged hard.

“Regardless of what you think of me, Miss Atwood, you will do exactly what I say without argument.” He moved behind the desk, unlocked the top drawer with a key from his coat pocket and removed a pistol.

“Blessed saints!” Sybil gasped. “You do not need to threaten me with a weapon.”

“Your father’s enemies watch from the shadows. After the debacle today, they will have followed you here, and will assume you’ve examined his journals.” He snatched a sheathed blade and slipped it into his boot. “Now they will attack us from all quarters.”

A knock on the study door brought the butler.

Servants who held such a prominent household position were often past middle age and carried an air of refinement. Mr Daventry’s man looked as if he’d come from a prizefight in the rookeries.

“Bower, I’m going to escort Miss Atwood home in the hackney.” Mr Daventry paused as if expecting her to protest. “You spoke to the jarvey and told him to wait on the corner of Brook Mews and Avery Row?”

“Yes, sir.” Bower’s voice was as deep as the scar cutting through his left brow. “The lady told him to wait on Davies Street where she’d alighted and paid half the fare.”

Mr Daventry turned those gunmetal eyes on her. “If you must behave recklessly, Miss Atwood, learn to be less predictable. In this game, one cannot afford to make such a blunder. Oh and never trust the word of a starving boy looking to earn a penny.” He switched his attention back to his servant. “You’ll find Ashby in the mews with Miss Atwood’s maid. Wait ten minutes before mentioning our departure.”

The last instruction forced Sybil to say, “You cannot expect me to leave Miriam behind. She must come with us in the hackney.”

Mr Daventry cleared his throat. “If you value your life and that of your maid don’t argue.” He scanned her attire. “Now remove your cloak.”

“My cloak? Is that necessary?”

“Would I waste time asking if not?”

There was something salacious about the look in Mr Daventry’s eyes as he watched her untie the ribbons and slip the garment off her shoulders. His jaw firmed when he glanced at her low décolletage.

With some annoyance, he snatched the cloak and threw it to Bower. “Wake Kitty and ask her to wear this. Make sure her red hair is visible but not her face.” He continued to bark orders. “Don my hat and greatcoat. When Furnis returns from his ride around town, you and Kitty will take my carriage and escort the maid home.”

It occurred to her that Mr Daventry and Bower were of a similar height. Both men had black hair. Both men had broad shoulders. Yet her host possessed an unnamed quality that marked him as unique. Memorable.

“Before venturing to Half Moon Street, visit Boodle’s. The majordomo will approach the carriage. Pay him to take my message to Lord Newberry and wait for a reply.”