“And alert you to the dangers lurking outside your door?”
“You underestimate my ability to cope in difficult situations.”
“Madam, I have the full measure of your character.” She was wildly tenacious, spirited, would need a strong, virile man to hold her interest.
Her eyes grew wide, and she snorted. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
This was where matters became awkward. “I know more than you think.”
“But I’m a private person. You couldn’t possibly—”
“You have a fondness for poach
ed eggs in the morning.” He sighed. “Insist on reading the broadsheets with your afternoon tea.”
Miss Atwood gaped.
“You venture into town every Wednesday,” he continued, “and while you admire the gloves in Hatcher’s window, you never enter the shop to make a purchase.”
“The assistant is snooty. I live in hope Hatcher will hire a replacement.”
“You visit the circulating library weekly. Read gothic novels at a ridiculous rate.”
“Where else might an unmarried lady find excitement?”
“I’m hardly the best person to ask.” Although numerous suggestions sprang to mind. “Monsieur Messier designs your hats. You prefer the scent of roses to any other fragrance. You wear green, not because it enhances the vibrancy of your hair or because men tell you the colour makes your eyes sparkle like emeralds.”
She swallowed deeply. “Why do I wear green?”
“Because it was your mother’s favourite colour. When you feign a smile and move about in society, you feel as though she’s with you. Should I go on?”
“No, Mr Daventry.” She clutched the blanket to her chest as if finding herself shockingly exposed. “You have said more than enough.”
“You’re not the only person with a skill for snooping, Miss Atwood.”
After a moment’s silence, she said, “But you’re rude or ignore me when I see you at a ball or soirée.”
“Unlike you, I take a covert approach to work.” Protecting her had become more than a job to him. “I merely abide by your father’s request to allow you freedom from fear.”
“To take on such a dreadful burden, you must have respected my father a great deal.”
“More than you know.” Atticus Atwood had been a friend and mentor, and Lucius had dealt with his grief alone.
An air of melancholy filled the dark space. No doubt they were both consumed with memories of the past. Fond thoughts of a man who put the needs of others before his own. Angry thoughts at the injustice served by fate’s cruel hand.
Miss Atwood’s shoulders sagged, and she breathed a sigh. Numerous times she cleared her throat before saying, “Then I am at a disadvantage, sir. You have the measure of my character while I have made dreadful assumptions about yours.”
No one knew the man behind the facade. No one knew of his hopes and aspirations. No one knew the effort it took to keep his promise to Atticus Atwood.
“People see what I want them to see, Miss Atwood. A selfish rogue obsessed with the next conquest.” A man incapable of anything other than drinking and whoring his way around town.
She nodded, recognition flashing in her eyes. “You were right when you said I know nothing of the situation. It seems I am ill-informed on many counts.”
“Take heart. Your ignorance stems from your father’s need to protect you, protect you from the villains who disapproved of his work.”
She firmed her jaw and ground her teeth. “Villains who must be made accountable for their crimes.”
“It is not the thugs on the streets who pose a problem. Not the men who steal bread to feed their starving families. Men in positions of power wield the deadliest weapons.”