The Mystery of Mr Daventry (Scandalous Sons 4)

“Yes, sir.”

Clearly, Bower had prior knowledge of this secret message as he did not take receipt of a note, but merely inclined his head and left the room when dismissed by his master.

Mr Daventry gestured to the door. “We will leave via the garden. Will you be warm enough?” Again, his gaze drifted to the neckline of her dress. He didn’t wait for a response but snatched the tartan blanket from the wingback chair and thrust it at her. “Cover your hair. It’s so vibrant it’s sure to catch a man’s eye.”

It came as a shock to hear concern in his voice.

More of a shock to hear a hint of admiration.

Sybil took the blanket and draped it over her hair like a shawl. The man who proved more confounding by the hour escorted her through the servants’ quarters and into the garden.

“You accuse me of making a blunder,” she said, hurrying to keep his fast pace. “Sneaking out of the back gate is the most predictable means of escape.”

“Who said we are sneaking out of the back gate?”

“Oh! As we’re marching through the garden, I assumed—”

“I’ve mastered the art of taking precautions, Miss Atwood. Trust me. When it comes to your safety, I have the situation under control.”

Chapter Four

Hellfire!

Lucius pasted a confident grin. With assured strides, he led Sybil Atwood to the summerhouse in the corner of the garden, though his heart hammered in his chest, and his mind whirled in turmoil.

Miss Atwood’s prying would be the death of him, the death of the ton’s most scandalous rogue. If some blighter didn’t shoot him for defending the woman who placed herself in perilous situations, he would expire from the effort it took to keep his real emotions at bay.

At least twice in the space of thirty minutes, he had let his guard slip. He had watched her intently, drooling like a randy schoolboy as she slipped the cloak off her shoulders. Like the most creative playwright, his mind acted out a seduction scene—a full-blown drama involving a ravishing on top of his mahogany desk.

“Forgive me,” the object of his torment began as she hurried to keep his pace, “but why are we going to the summerhouse? You said we were leaving here and taking a hackney.”

“What reason might two people have for heading to a secluded shelter in the garden?” Indeed, his rampant mind envisioned Act II of the play entitled The Desperate Desires of Lucius Daventry. Perhaps The Mystery of Mr Daventry was a more apt title. Devil take it, he could not explain the force that drove him to crave Miss Atwood’s company.

“Now you’re teasing me, trying to scare me with empty threats to steal my virtue.”

“What makes you think they’re empty threats?”

“Because tonight you’ve had the perfect opportunity to teach me a lesson and instead you asked if I was warm and gave me a blanket.”

The lady had a point. “You’re right. I’m not about to ravish you in the summerhouse.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who should have a care,” she blurted. “Perhaps I might ravish you to get what I want. Have you thought about that?”

Lucius laughed to prevent himself from imagining Act III. “Why would you do that when you despise me?”

“I don’t despise you, Mr Daventry. If you had explained your motive for holding the auction, we might have avoided this unnecessary conflict.”

The conflict was necessary if he was to keep his sanity.

“Miss Atwood, you’re a woman governed by her heart.” Damn. The comment sounded like a compliment. “You would never give yourself to a man you didn’t love.”

And that was his saving grace.

“Earlier you said I was reckless,” she countered. “And loneliness is as dangerous as a curious mind when it comes to behaving inappropriately.”

Lucius knew the anxious feelings that rose from isolation. He knew their destructive force, knew the way negative emotions played havoc with one’s thoughts. The memory of Miss Atwood sobbing on the stairs flashed before his eyes, and he didn’t want to dwell on all the ways they might ease each other’s suffering.

Thankfully, they came to a halt in front of the summerhouse, preventing him from saying something he might regret.