The Mystery of Mr Daventry (Scandalous Sons 4)

Was that supposed to send her scuttling back to her room?

Was that supposed to have her hunting for a chastity belt?

“You know I like it when you’re reckless,” she said in the seductive tone of a skilled courtesan. But these all-consuming feelings went beyond the need for physical pleasure. She would be just as happy to sit and hold his hand.

“Damn it, Sybil. We’re on dangerous ground.” He pushed his hand into the opening of his shirt to massage his chest muscle, and she struggled to keep her mouth closed. “What I want, and what is right are two entirely different things.”

“Are you saying you want me?” Never had she been so bold. But life was precarious. One had to grab these precious moments.

His hand stilled on his chest. “In every way a man might want a woman. I’m like a wanderer lost in the desert, so hot, so parched, so damn thirsty. A single drop from the heavens would prove immensely satisfying. There, is that what you wanted to hear?”

It was exactly what she wanted to hear.

The temptation to reach out and touch him proved too great, but he captured her wrist before her fingers made contact. For a few heartbeats, they stared into each other’s eyes.

She gazed deep, willing him to surrender.

Willing him not to predict or plan.

Willing him to be wild and reckless.

Chapter Fourteen

The emptiness he carried in his chest seemed to dissipate in Sybil Atwood’s company. Lucius had been ready to throw on his greatcoat and ride through the thunder and rain until he reached Bideford Park. He was ready to throw Warner against the wall and show him the pencil etching that bore such a striking likeness. He was ready to drag his father from his deathbed and demand to know what the hell had happened twenty years ago.

The mental torment—years of bitterness and anguish—proved too much to bear. But then an angel appeared at his door. An angel in a sumptuous green gown offering a wealth of heavenly delights.

The sensual glint in those emerald eyes told him she had a grasp of the situation. A situation that might begin with raging lust, proceed to immense pleasure, love, marriage. Maybe a full, enriched life beyond his responsibility to the Order.

Lucius brought the lady’s hand to his lips, closed his eyes and pressed a long, lingering kiss on her palm. Instantly, his tense shoulders relaxed.

“I saw my mother tonight.” The words sounded incredulous. Unbelievable. He drew her hand to his chest and placed it over his heart, let her feel its wild uncertainty beating an erratic rhythm. “She was hiding in the carriage house and approached me not long after you left the mews.”

Sybil opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to speak through her shock. Eventually, she said, “Hiding? Why?”

“Hiding from my father’s spies.” Not that the duke had the power to hurt her anymore. The man couldn’t raise a cross word, let alone his fist.

“So she’s alive.”

“It would appear so.”

“Where has she been all this time?”

He shrugged. “Somewhere north of London.” Imagine if she had lived in Wetherby or a mile from Bronygarth. “Fear kept her away by all accounts.”

Sybil studied him intently. “You don’t sound pleased. I thought you’d be happy, relieved to see her again, to know what happened. Did she say something to cause your distress?”

“I’m not distressed.” Though he still felt the need to keep Sybil’s dainty hand pressed to his heart. “Confused. Sad. Bloody angry.” So bloody angry.

“You’re suffering from every conceivable emotion, then.” She gestured to the chaise. “May I sit?” But before he could move from his lounging position, she promptly dropped down onto his lap.

All thoughts of his parents, of his failure to punish the person responsible for Atticus’ murder, of the stranded carriage, abandoned him.

She ran her hand up over his chest to cup his nape. “Ashby had the right idea,” she whispered as she pressed her forehead to his, pressed her lush breasts to his chest.

Lucius closed his eyes briefly and inhaled her natural perfume. The aroma teased those deep carnal cravings. It infused his being, touching him in the secret place beyond the material world. A place without maps or coordinates. A place some people denied existed.

“Are you suggesting we follow our hearts, Miss Atwood?”