Sybil narrowed her gaze. “And why would you help us, sir?”
Mr Wycliff smirked. “As sons who’ve suffered as a result of our illegitimacy, Daventry and I share a kinship. And I like honest men, Miss Atwood.”
Silence ensued, though Sybil could almost hear the cogs turning in Lucius’ mind. Eventually he said, “A man died during a riot in Smithfield Market, a Mr Cribb who lodged above the china dealer in Saffron Hill. I’ve spoken to his neighbours, but like his death, the man’s life is a mystery. If Flannery could use his connections to discover anything pertinent, it would be an immense help.”
“Consider it done.”
“And I’m curious whether Flannery has ever heard of the term Gorget’s Garrett.”
Mr Wycliff inclined his head. “I shall visit Flannery tonight and make enquiries.”
“Can I ask that you escort Miss Atwood home?”
Panic tightened Sybil’s chest.
Surely Lucius still planned for her to stay with him at Bronygarth.
“There’s every chance Cassandra will visit me in Half Moon Street tomorrow,” she said, attempting to remind him of their prearranged plan. “Perhaps you need to offer the Wycliffs more information regarding my whereabouts.”
Lucius grimaced but gave a curt nod. He glanced at the gentleman seated opposite. “Hired thugs tried to kidnap Miss Atwood some nights ago. Consequently, she is staying at a secret location. Should anyone call after midnight this evening, they will not find her in Half Moon Street.” He paused. “I assume I can trust your discretion in this matter.”
“You can,” Mrs Wycliff quickly replied when a disapproving grumble escaped her husband. “And yes, we will see Miss Atwood home.”
“May I ask that you remain with her until my coachman calls?”
The lady smiled. “You may, and we will.”
Sybil silently groaned. Midnight felt like days away. Perhaps Mrs Wycliff was right. Perhaps she was a little obsessed with Lucius Daventry. Surely it wasn’t normal to ache for a man’s company.
“Then you have my utmost gratitude,” Lucius replied. “Miss Atwood’s safety is extremely important to me.”
Mrs Wycliff glanced at her husband. “I think that is plain for all to see.”
Chapter Twelve
Minutes had passed since Damian Wycliff’s burly coachwoman flicked the reins and guided the carriage out of the mews. Yet Lucius stood, staring through the soft glow from the lit braziers, trying to make sense of the internal chaos.
He held his fists clenched so tight it would take effort to unfurl his fingers. His ragged breaths sent puffs of white mist into the night air—the smoke of fury’s flames. Grooms and stable hands working in the cobblestone alley froze when Lucius blurted a vile curse.
No one dared utter a word.
No one dared approach.
Not since his youth had he been forced to account for his actions. What he did with Sybil Atwood in the privacy of a locked library was his own damned affair. And yet fragments of logical thought said he should be grateful, grateful there were people who cared for Sybil’s welfare.
To make matters worse, the Wycliffs had offered their assistance—as if they possessed more skill than those working the murky streets solving crimes. But having access to a man as knowledgeable as Dermot Flannery was worth the trouble of dealing with Damian Wycliff’s arrogance.
Lucius might have spent the next few minutes considering why Sir Melrose had trinkets hidden in a secret cupboard. He might have considered Newberry’s vile threats. Might have spouted another vicious profanity. But the only event that demanded his consideration was the passionate kiss he had shared with Sybil Atwood.
Merciful Lord. It had taken every ounce of strength he had not to settle between her soft thighs and drive long and deep into the only place he belonged. During sleepless nights, when woken by a nightmare, he’d often imagined taking her in his arms and delving into her warm, wet mouth.
Nothing prepared him for the reality.
Even now, her captivating scent clung to his clothes, obliterating the acrid aroma of damp stables, piss and wood smoke. When he moistened his lips, he could still taste the sweet essence that drove him wild.
Upon their return to Bronygarth, he would need to maintain some distance. Their priority was to find the person responsible for Atticus’ death. To ensure Miss Atwood could live life without the constant fear of threats.
Those thoughts proved sobering.