A glint of admiration flashed in the gentleman’s eyes. “You have gumption, Miss Atwood. I’ll give you that.”
“Enough gumption to decide whether I want to spend time in a locked library with Mr Daventry.” The memory of their illicit encounter brought heat to her cheeks. It didn’t help that Mr Daventry took the opportunity to stroke her nape.
“Cassandra was worried,” Mrs Wycliff said calmly. “You know what happened to her at Lord Craven’s ball. She would never forgive herself if something happened to you while in her care.”
Sybil’s heart sank. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Cassandra. Her poor friend had suffered enough.
“We were desperate,” Lucius interjected. “While I hate to sound dramatic, our lives are in danger. Under normal circumstances, I cannot imagine Miss Atwood would ever neglect her friends.”
Mr Wycliff turned to his wife. “Do you see what’s happening here?”
The lady smiled. “With astonishing clarity, which is why I think we should offer our assistance.”
Lucius lowered his arm and straightened. “We have managed well enough on our own.”
“From what you’ve told me, Daventry, Atticus Atwood passed almost a year ago and you’re still searching for the culprit.”
Lucius sucked in a sharp breath. “Months passed before I could examine Atticus’ notes. Months before I began piecing the information together. Other matters have slowed proceedings, matters I am in no position to discuss.”
He spoke of protecting her, protecting the men who served the Order. Preventing them from suffering the same fate as poor Mr Proctor.
“So, the bastard son of a duke is out to avenge the death of an eminent scientist,” Mr Wycliff mused. “I’m still baffled by your connection.”
“They met when Mr Daventry was at school,” Sybil said. Admiration filled her chest when she glanced at Lucius. “My father was an excellent judge of character. He came to respect Mr Daventry a great deal.”
Lucius swallowed deeply. “Atticus was my friend. The only person who visited me at school during my lengthy and harrowing ordeal in Yorkshire.”
The atmosphere in the carriage shifted.
All tension dissipated.
The Wycliffs looked at each other, understanding and pity swimming in their eyes. The gentleman brought his wife’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
“Well,” Mrs Wycliff began when her husband finally released his grip. “I know what it is like to sit alone in a seminary and have no one come visit. Your actions stem from loyalty, loyalty to the one person who cared.”
“School can be an unpleasant place for the illegitimate sons of the aristocracy.” Mr Wycliff clearly spoke from experience. “Do you stand by your earlier declaration?”
Lucius cast Sybil a sidelong glance. “I will do whatever it takes to protect Miss Atwood.”
Mr Wycliff seemed to find something amusing when he said, “And if marriage is the only means of saving her reputation?”
Marriage!
“Sir,” Sybil began, laughing at the absurdity of the question. Lucius Daventry was already married, married to the Order. He’d openly admitted that work was his life. “There is no need to—”
“Yes,” came Lucius’ steadfast reply. “Should the need arise, and Miss Atwood is willing.”
Sybil’s mouth dropped open. Yet while she found the notion ludicrous, the possibility of sharing her life with such a passionate, intelligent man roused a strange longing.
“Good,” Mr Wycliff replied. “Let me make you aware of our resources should you need assistance. You’ve heard of a gaming hell called The Silver Serpent.”
“Dermot Flannery’s establishment.”
“Dermot is as close as kin and can be called upon when needed.”
Lucius seemed impressed. “Flannery has the respect of the rogues in the rookeries, and the lords whose vowels he holds.”
“As such, he is extremely resourceful.” Mr Wycliff paused. “As you know, Mrs Crandall is fond of Cavanagh and is willing to negotiate when it comes to trading secrets. Assuming you have a secret worth trading. And you know my father, I’m sure. Blackbeck is a fountain of knowledge when it comes to the history of those in the upper echelons.”