For months he had behaved badly, been rude, blunt. It was different then. He was keeping an oath, protecting her life. Now, standing outside her bedchamber in a corridor lit only by a wall lantern, he found he couldn’t walk away and pretend he didn’t care.
“I spoke out of turn. Forgive me.” He never apologised for his conduct. “When under attack, one draws on their opponent’s weaknesses.”
Miss Atwood swallowed deeply. “It wasn’t an attack. I loved my father, but I saw how work took its toll.” She gave a light laugh. “Of course, I believed he was suffering from anxiety over solving a scientific equation.”
“Righting the injustices of the world was important to him, as it is to me.”
Miss Atwood nodded, though her downturned mouth still spoke of concern. “I’m sure many people welcome your intervention.” Then she did something that heated his blood, something that tormented his heart and teased his cock. She placed her hand on his coat sleeve and said, “Thank you, Lucius. I know you wish it were otherwise, but I am so grateful for your honesty tonight.”
There was another awkward silence.
He had to walk away before his imagination took to forming another act in the play entitled The Desperate Desires of Lucius Daventry.
“Good night, Miss Atwood.” He turned on his heel and strode down the corridor. A large glass of brandy awaited. He could not enter his bedchamber until satisfied she was asleep.
“Mr Daventry,” she called. “May I ask you something?”
He came to an abrupt halt, held himself rigid as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes.”
“Will you dismiss Ashby?”
The question surprised and delighted him. Their lives were in danger and she was worried about his servant.
“Dismissing a man for falling in love would make me the heartless cad who saunters through the ballrooms.” A man just like his father.
“But men are rarely tolerant when it comes to betrayal.”
“Is it betrayal to follow one’s heart? Should loyalty always prevail? It is a complicated dilemma.” One he knew only too well. “Good night, Miss Atwood.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Perhaps because I find the puzzle somewhat perplexing.”
Chapter Seven
Locating the dining room was easy when all one had to do was follow the smell of coffee and cooked bacon. Sybil entered to find Mr Daventry reading the newspaper while tucking into a hearty breakfast. A man with his strength and stamina must have quite the appetite. He was so engrossed in reading the article he failed to hear her enter.
“Good morning, Mr Daventry. Please, don’t get up.”
Last night, she had spoken his given name with ease.
In the cold light of day, the word felt too intimate.
On the subject of intimacy, and their cozy sleeping arrangements, she wondered if he knew he’d called her name during the throes of his nightmare? The painful cries had tugged at her heart. It had taken all her strength not to unlock the adjoining door and rush to his aid.
The gentleman looked up from the absorbing article. Those intense grey eyes spent an age surveying her copper curls hanging loosely over her shoulders.
Sybil tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m far too impatient to style it myself, and there’s no one here to object.” When he failed to respond, she said, “I presume you have no complaint?”
“No, no complaint. Your hair is as wild and as temperamental as your character. When restrained, it makes me a little nervous.”
She smiled, pulled out the chair opposite and sat down. Her stomach rumbled as she caught a whiff of bacon. “So you do have some weaknesses, sir.”
“Some.”
“I heard you last night.” The man lived for the truth, and so there was little point avoiding the subject. “You called out in your sleep.”
From the firming of his jaw, he knew what she had heard. “My demons appear when I’m at my most vulnerable. Perhaps I should have given you some warning. The problem occurs whenever the environment is unsettled.”