Miss Atwood sat quietly for a moment before narrowing her gaze. “I’m beginning to see what my father saw in you, sir. You’re remarkably perceptive.”
“I had an excellent teacher.”
Lucius peered through the window, noted they were approaching Curzon Street, and so rapped on the roof. He welcomed the distraction, welcomed a means of focusing his mind on anything other than her compliment. It was better if Miss Atwood disliked him, better if she found him rude and obnoxious.
The jarvey brought the hackney to a halt near Chesterfield House—a Palladian-style mansion with gardens that ran half the length of the street. With some reluctance, Lucius offered his hand and assisted Miss Atwood’s descent.
“We should walk in silence,” he said, trying to shift his awareness to something other than inhaling the perfume of her hair.
She walked next to the mansion’s garden wall, and he fell into step beside her. He didn’t offer his arm, for that would cause problems on many fronts. With the pistol weighing heavily in his pocket, he couldn’t offer his coat to protect her from the chilly breeze but did insist she draw the blanket across her chest.
“I get the sense we’re waiting for something,” she whispered just as he became aware of faint footsteps padding behind.
“Yes, waiting for proof my theory is correct.” He kept his voice low.
“What theory?”
“That having appeared at the auction house and declaring a desire to obtain Atticus’ books, you have marked yourself as a potential target.” He paused. “If I’m not mistaken, we’re being followed.”
Her eyes grew wide with alarm. She took ragged breaths, sending puffs of white mist to mingle with the night air. “You think he means to do us harm?”
“Keep calm. He will make his intention known.”
Miss Atwood gulped. “As this is a night for honesty, sir, I should inform you that I’ve been followed home numerous times these last two weeks.”
Fear almost rendered him immobile. He wanted to grab her upper arms, press her against the wall and demand to know why she’d not mentioned it sooner.
“Are you certain it wasn’t an admirer?” he said, though concern weighed heavily in his voice. “Or Ashby hoping to catch a glimpse of your maid when he should be running errands?”
“Most certain. Particularly if one considers the threatening letters I received, letters demanding I obtain the journals.”
What the devil!
Again, it took every effort to keep walking. Her butler mentioned she’d received upsetting news but couldn’t find the evidence of her distress. What was the point of having a spy in her house if not to keep abreast of potential threats?
Lucius took hold of her arm and led her across the street. He brought her to an abrupt halt outside Mayfair Chapel.
“Move your mouth as though you’re talking but don’t speak,” he said. It wasn’t an indulgent request, but it gave him a moment to survey their surroundings.
Gazing beyond her luscious lips, he squinted through the gloom. A well-dressed gentleman passed beneath the street lamp on the opposite side of the road before turning left into Chesterfield Street and disappearing into the night.
“Perhaps my fears were unfounded,” he said, drawing her past the chapel towards Half Moon Street. “Still, when we reach our destination, I want to see these threatening letters, if I may.”
“There’s no need, I can recite the words from memory.” Though she seemed composed, he heard the cracks in her voice, fractures of suppressed fear.
“You’re good friends with Mrs Cavanagh. You should have approached her husband and spoken of your concerns.”
“They’ve had their own problems to contend with. I didn’t want to add to their burden.”
He didn’t like that she’d dealt with this trauma alone. Distancing himself from Miss Atwood was a mistake. But a scoundrel couldn’t court a friendship with an unmarried woman without ruining her reputation.
“From now on, you will be my burden, Miss Atwood. Is that understood?”
The lady drew a sharp breath. “You may have inherited his possessions, sir, but you’re not my father. I—”
“Trust me, Miss Atwood. I definitely don’t think of you as a daughter. But you will inform me should you receive another note, should a devil follow you home or a thug break your kitchen window.”
As soon as the last comment left his lips, he realised his error.