“No, it will be good to spend time with those who have helped champion our cause.”
With them all in agreement, Blackbeck escorted Scarlett and Verity from the damp warehouse. Trent set about blowing out the lamps before accompanying Wycliff and Tregarth to the door.
The two devils sitting on the chairs rose nervously to their feet.
“I hope never to lay eyes on the two of you again,” Benedict said, draping his arm around Cassandra’s shoulder as they made to leave, too.
“Wh-what about us?” Lady Murray protested. “How are we to get home?”
Benedict glanced behind and grinned. “You like concocting plans, like conspiring in dark places. I’m sure you will think of something.”
Cassandra rubbed the jasmine-scented bar soap along the length of her arm as she lounged in the bathtub in front of the fire. Ten times she had repeated the action hoping to attract Benedict’s attention as he sat propped against a mound of pillows in bed.
“Anything of interest in the broadsheets?” Her desire to have her husband join her in the tub was surely evident in her tone. The water was almost cold. Her fingers and toes were wrinkled. Perhaps it was time to be less subtle.
Benedict scanned the page while snatching a piece of toast from the silver tray on the bed. “Not unless you wish to purchase an Arabian stallion or attend a floral display hosted by the Botanical Society. Nothing to match the excitement we’ve experienced.”
“Do you speak of our chase about town to catch villains or of our rampant sessions in bed?”
“Both.” He took a bite of toast and continued to stare at the page. “It’s been one hell of a week.”
One hell of a week, indeed!
With all the lies and deceit behind them, they could focus on what mattered most. Love, and building a happy future together. Her father was hundreds of miles away in Yorkshire. The marquis had secured a special licence for Lord Murray to marry quickly, and so Rosamund, Timothy and Lady Murray were in Portsmouth awaiting passage to Greece.
“I’m meeting Scarlett and Verity at noon.” That would leave just enough time for a little morning play before she had to dress and make her way to Oxford Street. “Sybil might join us if she’s not darting about town stalking Mr Daventry.”
“Oh, on the subject of Daventry,” he said, daring to glance up from the broadsheet. “I saw him briefly last night when visiting Mrs Crandall.”
“You did? Why didn’t you mention it before?”
He had gon
e to Theobolds Road with Mr Wycliff and Mr Trent as part of the agreement made when Mrs Crandall gave them the clerk’s letters. The madam wished to know what had occurred in the damp warehouse. A secret in exchange for a secret.
“Daventry was entering the premises as we were leaving. We exchanged no more than a few sentences.” A sinful grin formed on his lips. “As for not mentioning it before, you were in a rather amorous mood when I returned home if you recall.”
She seemed to be in an amorous mood most of the time.
But when one had suffered heartbreak, when one thought their love was lost to them, they grasped every chance of happiness.
“Did you ask about the auction?” Now she had his attention, she raised her leg and took extra care washing her limbs.
Benedict watched her attend to her ablutions for a few seconds before saying, “I mentioned you were friends with Miss Atwood and that the lady had heard he was selling her father’s curiosities.”
“Excellent. What did he say?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” He folded the newspaper and placed it on the bed.
“Of course I want to know.” Although talk of her friend’s frustrations was beginning to dampen her ardour. “Sybil is desperate to regain possession of her father’s belongings.”
“As one would expect from a notorious rake, he said something highly inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?” She waited and when he neglected to divulge the details, said, “Something about Sybil?”
Benedict nodded. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”