His gaze searched her face before drifting down to her white-stocking feet. “I considered letting you rest and calling tomorrow, but I gave my word I would return.”
“And you always keep your word.”
“Indeed.”
Silence ensued.
A strange heat formed in her stomach when their eyes met. For some foolish reason, her tongue felt thick in her mouth.
After swallowing numerous times, she managed to say, “Did you discover who hired the thugs to attack us?” She wanted to ask what on earth possessed him to dart off into the night, to risk his life in such a reckless fashion.
“You mean who hired them to kidnap you and hold you for ransom,” he corrected. His jaw firmed. “I’m sure you can guess what they would have demanded in exchange.”
“My father’s journals.” Guilt festered. Had she not attended the auction, this wouldn’t have happened. If only he’d told her why he didn’t want her there. “You’re angry. I’ve made things difficult.”
“It is not anger that holds me rigid in this chair, Miss Atwood. It is not anger that makes my stomach lurch at the thought of what they might have done to you.”
“You’re frustrated. You swore an oath to my father, and I’m making it impossible for you to honour your vow.”
“Unbelievably impossible.” He brushed his hand through his thick black hair and sighed. “Where you’re concerned, frustrated is a word I would use to describe my current state.”
If his suspicions about her father’s death were correct, she wanted to help him not be a hindrance. “What can I do to ease your suffering?”
An amused snort escaped him. “Oh, I can think of a few things you might do, Miss Atwood. You can start by agreeing to heed my advice.”
Sybil sat forward. “If you mean to tell me to find a husband and take up painting, save your breath.”
“Have no fear. I doubt there’s a man in the ton who can handle your wild temperament.”
“No, sadly, I find them all rather lacking. Or, more to the point, they find me lacking. Who wants a wife who gallivants about town like an incompetent constable from Bow Street?”
“Who indeed?”
The air thrummed with that strange energy again, and she found it almost impossible to hold his gaze.
“Thankfully, you have returned unscathed,” she said to ease the nervous fluttering in her chest. “And what of the men foolish enough to mount an assault? I assume you didn’t deposit them at Bow Street.”
“No. I would need to accuse them of a crime, and we have enough to contend with at present.”
“We?” Her heart leapt in excitement, and she clasped her hands to her chest. “So you agree I might assist you in this case?”
His expression turned solemn. “Numerous men are trying to obtain your father’s journals. Once they have proof of the contents, they will presume we are party to the incriminating information. Then they will kill us, kill us both.”
Perhaps it was his grave tone or the hard look in his eyes, but Mr Daventry had a way of striking fear into her heart. After the incident in the street, she believed his concerns were not unfounded.
“Whether I like it or not, our paths are entwined,” he continued. “Though it goes against my better judgement, we have no option but to remain together until we resolve this matter. Until we eradicate the threat.”
Remain together?
What on earth did he mean?
“You cannot stay here.” She swallowed at the thought of meeting him on a dark staircase in the middle of the night. “While my father was a champion of women’s rights, there are limits to what he considered acceptable. Even under such dire circumstances.”
“Agreed. Besides, I cannot catch a murderer when confined to this house.”
“Oh!” Surely he didn’t expect her to stay in Brook Street, in the home of a known seducer. “If people discover I’m living in Brook Street, they will assume I’m your new mistress of the month.” And Mrs Sinclair would certainly have something to say about that.
He watched her through dark, sensual eyes. “And who would want the inconvenience of being labelled a mistress without receiving any of the pleasure?”