The Mystery of Mr Daventry (Scandalous Sons 4)

That didn’t stop her touching the pillow and stroking the coverlet. She could have spent an hour in his room, inhaling the seductive scent that hung in the cool air. She might have shrugged into his shirt, sipped his brandy, read his book. Such was the depth of her growing obsession.

The sudden thud from the floor above tore a gasp from her lips. She strained to listen, was convinced she heard the rich rumble of Lucius’ voice, cursing.

A desire to see him drew her into the gloomy corridor. While her stomach lurched at the prospect of meeting a phantom dressed in Jacobean finery, she took command of her nerves and climbed the narrow staircase leading to the attic.

It wasn’t difficult to find the man who intrigued her more by the day. Light spilled from the narrow opening of a door. Sybil crept closer and peered through the gap.

Lucius Daventry was sprawled on an elegant chaise, wearing nothing but a white shirt open at the neck and buckskin breeches. His eyes were closed, and she might have thought him asleep had he not uttered another vile curse.

Without warning, he pushed to his feet and strode over to the bookcase. He scanned the row of cloth-covered books, picked one and studied the recto beneath the light of the standing candelabra.

“Beloved son,” the words left his lips on a wind of contempt. And then he hurled the volume at the wall before striding back to the chaise and resuming his relaxed position.

Sensing his distress and having witnessed his pensive mood earlier in the evening, she couldn’t leave him alone with his demons. Not when she feared the beasts might turn on their master.

“Lucius,” she called s

oftly and pushed open the door.

He didn’t reply but lay there consumed by his morbid mood.

“Lucius.” Sybil stepped into the room.

Her voice seemed to pull him back from the darkness. He turned his head a fraction and stared at her through tormented eyes. Tortured eyes. Eyes pleading to be dragged free from their miserable prison.

Her pulse pounded in her throat. “I heard a noise, thought I heard your voice.”

The intense stare that once roused her anger roused a host of different emotions now—pity, desire, a tenderness so consuming she could barely breathe.

“Tomas said you’d retired to your bedchamber.” His sharp gaze softened as he scanned the neckline of her gown. “Clearly he was wrong.”

“I was waiting for you,” she said, closing the gap between them. She noticed a pile of books discarded on the floor near the bookcase. “I took supper in the drawing room and fell asleep by the fire.”

“I ate up here.” He gestured to the plate and cutlery under the chaise. “You needed rest, and I didn’t want to cause a disturbance.” He brushed his hand through his coal-black hair, the action drawing her eyes to his bare chest visible beneath his open shirt.

Heat pooled between her thighs.

So hot.

So heavy.

So damned distracting.

“What do you need, Lucius?” she found herself saying. “Do you need to talk? Do you want to be alone? Can I do anything to ease your discomfort?”

“You shouldn’t be here, Sybil.” A weary sigh escaped him. “I don’t have the strength to fight it anymore. I don’t have the strength to keep pretending. Not tonight at least.”

“Tonight?” She thought to touch his sleeve, but hesitated. “Did something happen after I left the mews? Is it Newberry? Tell me the devil hasn’t called you out.”

He gave a weak chuckle, though she sensed his demons prowling, drooling and slapping their chops. “Newberry’s no threat. I could finish him with a shot from a rusty musket.”

“What then? Does it have to do with abandoning the carriage in the woods?”

“Possessions can be replaced.”

“You’re not helping me, Lucius.”

His gaze turned carnal as he focused on her bare toes. “Then let me help by insisting you return to your bedchamber. Return now, before heightened emotions force us to repeat our illicit encounter in the library.”