Pleasure!
The word caressed her mind, worked its way slowly down through her body—as smooth and as rich as the finest cognac—to ignite an internal flame.
“Who indeed?” she breathed.
Mr Daventry’s gaze brought tingles to her skin as he studied her from the comfort of his chair. “Every nerve in my body tells me it is unwise to draw you into this partnership. Logic says there is no other option.”
“What do you suggest?”
A weary sigh escaped him. “I’m going to take you away, to a secret place ten miles from here. We will conduct our investigation from there. Only venture to town to implement parts of the plan.”
She should have been nervous at the prospect of leaving town with the scandalous son of a duke. But her father had trusted this man. When she took a few seconds to examine her heart, it came as some surprise to find she trusted him, too.
“Don’t look so glum,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “It is only a temporary measure, and I can be entertaining company.”
“That is my fear.”
“What? Can you not enjoy the company of a woman you don’t want to bed?”
“Who said I don’t want to bed you?”
Sybil laughed to suppress a pleasurable shiver. No doubt the man was extremely skilled between the bedsheets.
“Mr Daventry, if we are to become colleagues, you must cease with the teasing.” Her heartbeat pounded in her chest though she had done an excellent job of hiding the wild rush of emotions.
The gentleman stood and straightened his coat. “I shall return for you tomorrow at midnight. In the meantime, Bower will remain here and keep watch. I ask that you tell no one of your plans. Not even your maid.”
“I cannot bring my maid?”
“No.”
Sybil stood though her legs were shaking. “Are you going to tell me where we are going?”
“No. The house is large and draughty. Bring warm clothes.” He spoke with the cold indifference she was used to. “When we arrive at our destination, I will explain how I came to know your father, and why these men want to kill us. I will let you read what he wrote in the books.”
Chapter Six
Lust wasn’t meant to be a complicated emotion.
Lucius knew what it was like to be held in the grip of desire. But he feared his obsession with Sybil Atwood went beyond satisfying a craving.
He’d lived with the hunger for years, long before Atticus’ demise. He’d done everything to banish the yearning. The confusing part was that he found gratification in ridiculous things—in her smile, her laugh, in the way her cheeks flushed red when he’d spoken of pleasure, the way she inhaled the scent on his handkerchief before drying her tears.
He might have analysed the last point further, had the rumbling of an approaching carriage not drawn him from his reverie.
Sitting astride his black stallion and hidden deep amongst the shadows of beech and oak trees, Lucius kept his gaze trained on the narrow woodland road. On such a gloomy night as this, he was invisible to passersby. But Miss Atwood would be perched on the edge of the seat, gripping the overhead strap, her gaze pinned to the window, wondering when he would appear.
He waited for the unmarked carriage to pass as it climbed up towards Bronygarth. Perhaps he should have warned Miss Atwood she would be travelling alone. Perhaps he should have explained the need for detours, for changing vehicles, for his absence.
Doubtless, the lady would take pleasure in berating him, which would calm the rush of longing he’d experienced since d
eciding they would sleep in the same house.
Lucius hung back in the darkness to ensure hired thugs weren’t trailing behind. Once confident they had eluded their pursuers, he edged his horse onto the muddy track and headed for the seventeenth-century castle near the edge of the woods.
Samuel—a young groom whose golden hair was as bright as his temperament—stood near the steps leading to the castle’s studded oak door.
Lucius dismounted. He waited for the boy to hang the lit lantern on the metal crook in the ground and then gave him the reins. “Have your father ride Phaedrus down to the toll road and then scout the perimeter.”