The Mystery of Mr Daventry: Scandalous Sons - Book 4

by Clee, Adele

  He would have enjoyed tormenting Sir Melrose, picking the man’s mind apart, establishing if his reasons for bidding were genuine. But Lucius’ only focus had been the vivacious woman in green silk, dancing the waltz in Newberry’s blasted arms.

  Miss Atwood had looked happy and radiant as she twirled about the floor, but the sick feeling in Lucius’ gut said something was wrong. He studied her when she rejoined the Cavanaghs, watched her interaction with Newberry, saw the pain behind her smile.

  Despite agreeing to keep his distance, he’d been compelled to approach. And so he had conversed with the Cavanaghs, played the disreputable rogue while Miss Atwood acted the disgruntled nemesis. Through her confident façade, he had noted the throbbing pulse in her neck, the tremor of suppressed fear in her voice.

  Damn Newberry to hell!

  Lucius mounted the stairs to the first floor, hunting for the lord who had entered the mansion house with an arrogant swagger and who would leave shuffling on his arse with two broken kneecaps.

  Locating Newberry wasn’t his only reason for venturing upstairs. After a brief conversation with Mrs Cockborne—a notorious widow who rode her conquests so hard those in the demimonde referred to her as Mrs Cockburn—Lucius discovered that Sir Melrose Crampton had a private office and a library on the first floor.

  Both the office and the library were locked, which might have posed a problem had Lucius not designed a skeleton key capable of bypassing warded locks. But the stifling heat in the ballroom had forced a host of guests upstairs, seeking refuge in the family’s private drawing room. Lady Crampton—a woman half her husband’s age—sat in a wingback chair near the window, holding court with an entourage of admirers. Consequently, Lucius only managed to unlock the library door before hearing the pad of footsteps on the stairs.

  Returning to the task of finding Lord Newberry, Lucius headed towards the other three rooms on the floor. Those doors were locked, too. Perhaps the fop had ventured up to the maids’ quarters in the attic. Discovering the peer in a compromising position with a servant girl would give Lucius a perfect excuse to throw a punch.

  “Lucius.”

  He was about to mount the stairs to the upper floor when he heard the feminine voice call out to him. A choking panic rose to his throat. Miss Atwood knew better than to repeat his given name in public. She knew better than to follow a rogue upstairs. Although on reflection, he knew it to be Larissa Sinclair’s sibilant hiss.

  “Lucius. Darling.” The widow called him again, and he had no option but to turn around lest Newberry learn of his impending arrival. She glanced at the upper staircase. “Don’t tell me you’ve cast me aside to frolic with the maids.”

  Lucius forced a smile and strode towards the woman who looked keen to flex her jaw and swallow him whole. Strands of black hair had escaped her coiffure. Swollen lips suggested she had recently enjoyed a wild romp in a bedchamber.

  “Larissa. I wasn’t sure you’d be here tonight.” He hoped to avoid her. “As for casting you aside, ours was only ever a temporary arrangement.”

  The widow’s dark, sensual eyes devoured every inch of his body. “If it’s a temporary arrangement you want, I’m not doing anything for the next hour.”

  Lucius cleared his throat. “I’m otherwise engaged. On a matter of business, not pleasure.”

  She glanced at the upper staircase again. “Does your business involve bedding Lady Crampton or one of her maids? As the lady is currently pandering to a host of sycophants in the drawing room, one must suppose the latter is true.”

  “I’m not interested in bedding Lady Crampton or her maids.” Truth be told, he had no interest in bedding anyone but Miss Atwood. Perhaps the infamous Lucius Daventry would have to live life as a monk.

  “I understand. You want me to wait until you’ve concluded your business.” Larissa stroked her fingers over the swell of her breasts, breasts that were in no way as magnificent as Miss Atwood’s. “Perhaps you might come to me later so I might ease the tension in those muscular shoulders.”

  He stood and stared.

  His motivation for keeping company with Larissa Sinclair stemmed from a need to find Atticus’ murderer. Having spent the last two days in Miss Atwood’s company—being himself—he found he no longer had the stomach to play games. Indeed, the thought of locking lips with the widow made him nauseous.

  Hellfire!

  The truth hit him squarely on the jaw, and he mentally reeled. Yes, the copper-haired beauty in the captivating green dress was the only woman he wanted. Until now, he’d been able to ignore the cravings, ignore the internal ache, ignore the intense longing that sometimes woke him in the dead of night.

  Not anymore.

  He didn’t want to be cruel—although Larissa had no problem shedding her skin and starting anew. “I don’t want you, Larissa. I cannot lie to myself anymore.”

  Larissa laughed. “Of course you don’t. You’ve got someone else in mind.” She placed her hands on his chest, fiddled with the gold buttons on his waistcoat. “Although I guarantee she lacks my experience and stamina in the bedchamber.”

  Lucius snatched the widow’s hands, for he found her touch repulsive. But then his senses alerted him to movement at the end of the hall. Numerous people milled about, but he knew Miss Atwood’s energy the moment it came within twenty feet of his own.

  For a brief second their gazes locked, though Miss Atwood looked away as quickly as he did. The guilt rising like acid in his gullet must have been evident on his face. He knew how it looked—like a rake stealing an intimate moment with his mistress.

  What the devil was she doing upstairs?

  Knowing Miss Atwood’s curious mind, she had come to spy on Lord Newberry. So much for the Cavanaghs playing chaperone.

  Lucius was aware of her quickly trying the office door before moving to the library and stealing inside. In a bid to distract Larissa’s attention, he backed her into the doorway of the room she had just vacated.

  “You’re not interested in me, Larissa.” Lucius reached behind her, turned the doorknob and forced her back into the room. “You cannot abide the fact I’m not fawning over you.”

  Fawning was not his style.

  “Oh, poor darling. Newberry told me who’s taken your fancy.” Larissa gestured to the arrogant lord standing in the corner of the dim bedchamber, tucking his shirt into his black satin breeches. So that’s where the devil was hiding. “You want the clever little virgin with the large breasts.”

  Anger flared.

  When tasked with protecting Miss Atwood, this was precisely the problem he wished to avoid. He should have left her at Bronygarth. But it was easier to rescue a ruined reputation than save her from an unforeseen attack.

  “Perhaps you need to assess your skill between the sheets, Newberry,” Lucius said, desperate to change the subject. “It’s been five minutes since your passionate encounter, and Larissa is already seeking satisfaction elsewhere.”

  Larissa sniggered. “Newberry did spend more time asking questions about some stuffy journals than he did pleasuring me.” She turned to the handsome lord. “Didn’t you, darling?”

  Lucius imagined grabbing the lord and throttling an explanation from his devious lips. But removing Miss Atwood from the library was his pressing priority. If the lady had any sense, she’d have snuck back to the ballroom.

  “A woman hates feeling exploited, Newberry,” he said, keen to start a row between the pair. “Larissa can’t be happy that you used her to gain information about me.”

  Newberry scowled.

  “I knew you had an ulterior motive.” Larissa turned on the devil. “You said you were hunting for a mistress. That we might suit.”

  “Newberry wants answers, not a mistress,” Lucius countered. “He wants to know if I’ve spoken about the contents of Atticus Atwood’s journals.” Perhaps it was time to add a pinch of spice to the cooking pot. “And he wants to know if Lord Talbot told you about his investments in Wigan.”

  Newberry
’s mumbled curse punctuated the tense atmosphere. “What the devil are you talking about, Daventry?” In a panic, he crossed the room and captured Larissa’s hands. “Can’t you see he is trying to cause an argument, sweeting?”

  Larissa glared at the lord. “But you did ask questions about Talbot.”

  Newberry huffed. “I asked if he was a good lover, not about his personal investments.”

  “And you asked if I had ever stayed in Brook Street, if I’d ever seen those old tomes.”

  While the conversation might prove useful in the investigation to find Atticus’ murderer, saving Miss Atwood’s fall from grace was his primary concern. And so Lucius backed out of the room and left the couple to their heated discussion.

  In the drawing room, the sycophants were still gathered around Lady Crampton, laughing and nodding and hanging on her every word as if she were the next Messiah.

  Lucius crept past, opened the library door, slipped inside and eased it closed with both hands. The moment he entered the dark room, he knew Sybil Atwood was still inside. The sweet scent of her rose perfume hung in the air. His heart hammered against his chest as every nerve in his body sprang to life.

  “I know you’re here, Miss Atwood,” he whispered into the gloom before locking the door. “I saw you enter.”

  Silence.

  “Sybil?” Desperation forced him to use her given name. Oh, but he loved how it sounded. “Sybil. We shouldn’t be alone in here.”

  The curtain twitched. The mere sight of her peering through the gap in the material sent blood racing through his body at a rapid rate.

  “What the devil are you doing upstairs?” He kept his voice low. “We agreed you would remain with Mrs Cavanagh for the entire evening.”

  She slipped out from behind the curtain, and he rather wished she hadn’t. The muscles in his abdomen clenched at the sight of that damned green silk clinging to every lush curve.

  “I saw you mounting the stairs and wished to snatch a moment alone.” The silk swished as she moved towards him. “But you were engaged in a clinch with your mistress, and so I thought to wait in here.”

  “I was not engaged in a clinch. And Mrs Sinclair is no longer my mistress.”

  “So why did the widow look like you’d ravished her in the alcove?” Jealousy weaved through her tone.

  “Newberry ravished her in a bedchamber.” Though it must have been a rather quick affair. Nothing like the long hours he’d spend lavishing Miss Atwood’s body. “He used the opportunity to question her about the journals, about Talbot, about us.”

  Us.

  The word settled in his chest, so warm, so damnably satisfying.

  “Us?” She swallowed deeply, drawing his eye to that teasing pearl choker and the milky-white column of her throat. Lord, how he longed to settle his mouth there, longed to feel the rapid beat of her pulse against his lips.

  “Mrs Sinclair believes I have cast her aside because I have set my cap elsewhere.” Her essence reached for him like sensual fingers in the dark, gripping his coat, pulling him forward, forcing him to close the gap between them. “That I’ve cast her aside because I want to bed you.”

  “Me? What gave her that idea?”

  Lucius couldn’t help but smile. He was to blame. Sometimes lust was hard to hide. “Not what, but who. Newberry must have mentioned our conversation at the auction. I defended your character far too quickly.”

  She pursed her lips. “Only out of respect for my father.”

  “Out of respect for you.” Respect was the only thing preventing him from speaking openly about his need for this woman.

  Her emerald eyes twinkled in the darkness. “You were prowling around the dance floor like a wolf assessing his prey. Lord Newberry doesn’t know that you promised to protect me. He must have assumed you were jealous.”

  Jealousy had flooded his body with bitter poison. “I sensed he made you uneasy.”

  “Lord Newberry is an odious creature.” She shuddered. “Threatening women comes naturally to him. He did his utmost to frighten me.”

  “Frighten you? How?” He made a mental note to pounce on the lord in the darkness. To teach him the true meaning of terror.

  “He suggested someone might kidnap me from bed and lock me away in an asylum.”

  “Kidnap you?” Suspicion flared. Perhaps Newberry hired the solemn-looking Scot to assist in his duplicity. “Kidnap you because you have an interest in your father’s books?”

  The moment her gaze dropped to her slippers, he knew she’d given Newberry some provocation. “I said I had read my father’s journals. I said they contain more than scientific theories and practically accused him of deception and betrayal.”

  What the devil?

  “Have you lost your mind?” It took strength not to raise his voice and punch the air. He stepped closer, and she shuffled back against the row of bookcases. “If Newberry is guilty of a crime, you can be damn sure his next task will involve getting rid of you.”

  “What is the point of firing a measly arrow at the castle walls? I thought it better to load the trebuchet and hurl a fireball over the battlements.”

  “A fireball!” His mouth dropped open.

  Miss Atwood smiled and tapped him under the chin. “There is sense in my madness. This way, we will force the villain to attack. It is far better than waiting like sitting ducks.”

  Sitting ducks?

  Her comment hit a nerve.

  Did she think he wanted to play the rational investigator? Did she think he enjoyed being the pragmatic one? No, he wanted to throw caution to the wind. Take risks. Dance with danger.

  He braced his hands on the bookshelf above her head, locking her in his masculine prison, pressing his body closer than he had ever dared before. “Being vigilant doesn’t make me a damn duck.”

  Miss Atwood laughed nervously, her hot breath breezing across his cheek. Oh, she was so achingly close. “Your promise to my father has made you too cautious. This matter calls for a little recklessness. It calls for the devil-may-care attitude you display in the ballroom.”

  Oh, so she wanted reckless.

  “I’m the ton’s most scandalous rogue. I can be irresponsible.” Indeed, his ropes of restraint were already frayed. A hint of encouragement from Miss Atwood would snap the bindings in two. “Don’t taunt me about being impulsive when we’re locked in a dark room. Not when I’m as randy as the devil. Not when I’m fighting against taking what I so desperately crave.”

  Long lashes fluttered against her porcelain skin. “But you don’t find me attractive in that way.”

  Damn, how could an intelligent woman be so blind?

  “Madam, I find everything about you so damnably appealing.” He moved closer until those magnificent breasts were squashed against his waistcoat. He was already harder than he’d been in his life. Mother of all saints. If he didn’t kiss her now, he might die. “If you don’t say no, Miss Atwood, I’m going to devour your mouth. I’m going to plunder you senseless.”

  She stared at his lips as her breath grew short and shallow.

  “Say it, Sybil. Say no. Say it now before we enter into something neither of us—”

  She pressed her mouth to his in a soft, sweet kiss. So innocent. So sensual. A rush of euphoria robbed him of rational thought. The rehearsed skills needed to seduce a woman abandoned him, too.

  This was something new.

  Something exquisite.

  Something precious.

  Abruptly, she broke contact and pressed her fingers to her lips in shock. “Forgive me. Heavens. My insatiable curiosity got the better of me.”

  “Is that all it was—a quest for knowledge? If all you want is an education, I’m afraid I cannot oblige.”

  Silence ensued, though it did nothing to dampen his ardour.

  “I can’t seem to control these strange feelings when I’m in your company.” She struggled to hold his gaze. “I don’t know what it means, but I wanted to feel your mouth on mine.”

 
; He wasn’t sure what it meant either, but it didn’t stop him saying, “Would you care to feel my mouth on yours again?” She replied by leaning forward and tilting her chin, but he tapped his finger on her lips. “It’s my turn to kiss you.”

  When she nodded, he pinned her to the bookcase, let her feel the power of his body as he angled his head to feast. He rocked against her as he coaxed her lips apart and slipped his tongue slowly into her wet mouth.

  Holy mother Mary.

  The smell of roses filled his head. She tasted of innocence mingled with hidden secrets and untamed passion. Her powerful essence penetrated his steely composure, seeping into his body to stir Lucifer’s lust. A ravenous hunger surfaced. He tried to maintain control—tried to drink with care—but he had no defence against her potent allure. Not when she arched her back and moaned into his mouth. Not when her hands snaked inside his coat and clutched his hips.

  Passion’s fire blazed.

  Retreat proved impossible.

  He needed to strip her naked. He needed to indulge every wild and wicked fantasy. He needed to stroke her sex and cradle her as she shuddered and cried his name.

  Before he knew what was happening, they were writhing against the bookcase with reckless abandon. They couldn’t open their mouths wide enough to feed the flames, couldn’t taste each other deeply enough to ease the heavy ache.

  The bookcase shook. Volumes fell to the floor with a thud. Their ragged pants filled the air as they clawed at each other’s clothes. He stole under her gown and gripped her thigh. The need to push deep into her body left his cock throbbing. He wanted to touch her, fuck her, love her.

  “Say no.” He forced the words from his lips before kissing her neck just below her choker, before inhaling the perfume of her hair. “Say no, Sybil. Say no now.” He was stroking her thigh, caressing her bare buttock. “I don’t have the strength to stop.”

  “I can’t stop, either,” she panted.

  “I don’t think you have the measure of the situation.” The words kicked logic from its lazy slumber. Still, as her head fell back against the bookcase, he couldn’t resist settling his mouth to the sweet spot just behind her ear.