“Well, you certainly have a lot in common with Lord Newberry.” Cassandra’s gaze burned with curiosity. “I took a quick peek, and you never stopped talking the whole time you were dancing.”
“Conversation is an excellent way to gauge a person’s character.”
Cassandra laughed. “That all depends on whether one’s partner is spinning a yarn.”
“As you can imagine, Lord Newberry is rather frank when giving his opinion.” His warning rang of desperation. Only frightened men threatened women. Lord Newberry was guilty of something. She just had to discover what.
A sudden shiver ran the length of Sybil’s spine, though it had nothing to do with her fear of Lord Newberry. This was a different sensation. And it came as no surprise when Mr Daventry appeared and bid the Cavanaghs good evening.
“Mr Daventry?” Sybil feigned surprise. He looked splendid in his black evening coat, though his trousers didn’t grip his thighs the way breeches did. “Have you reconsidered your position, sir? Have you come to say you’ll accept my offer of six thousand pounds?”
“Six thousand?” Benedict Cavanagh sucked in a sharp breath upon hearing the extortionate sum. “I’m sure Daventry understands that the books belong with their rightful owner. Morally, money shouldn’t matter.”
“I came merely to tell Miss Atwood that I have decided to keep her father’s books.” Mr Daventry’s confident stance and arrogant grin made him look just like the disreputable rogue whose list of mistresses could fill a journal. “The last thing I need is her stalking me in the dark while I am otherwise engaged.”
“I am standing here, sir.” Sybil rather liked this game. Yes, she hated being dishonest, but the truth could endanger the lives of her friends. “Can you not address me directly?”
Mr Daventry’s jaw firmed as he met her gaze. “Wearing that gown, Miss Atwood, you risk me making good on my earlier threats to steal your virtue. For your safety, I believe it is better if I direct all conversation to your friends.”
She had made a deliberate effort tonight and was glad he’d noticed. Yes, the scooped neckline was a little low, and the pearl choker added an air of decadence. Not to mention her gown was the perfect shade of green to complement her unruly copper curls.
Cassandra inhaled deeply. “Sir, if it’s a deterrent you seek, it will take more than a threat to Miss Atwood’s virtue. I’m afraid she doesn’t frighten easily.”
Lucius Daventry’s intense grey gaze drifted from Sybil’s hair slowly down to the valley of her breasts. “Perhaps Miss Atwood wishes to court my attention for some reason other than an interest in scientific theories.”
“You approached me, sir. Perhaps you wish to court my attention for some reason other than to tell me you won’t sell.” While she tried to sound amused, her tone held a flirtatious note that was sure to rouse the Cavanaghs’ suspicions.
Heat swirled in her stomach when Mr Daventry moistened his lips and said, “I’m a man who takes what he wants, Miss Atwood. Cavanagh will tell you. I could offer a crude retort, but it would only incite you to retaliate. And I like a good fight as much as I like a good—”
“Did you catch the thief?” Cassandra said in a panic. “Did you find the man who stole the fake book?”
Mr Daventry turned his attention to Cassandra, though the air continued to thrum with excitable energy. “No, madam, though I believe he is of Scottish descent.”
“Scottish? I imagine quite a few people would want to steal important scientific theories and take praise for their discovery.”
“Who can say what motivates the criminal fraternity.”
Silence ensued.
Sybil found it difficult not to stare at Lucius Daventry’s broad shoulders or the errant ebony lock falling over his brow, though a glance at Benedict Cavanagh caused a pang of alarm. The tilt of his head and the odd shooting glances said he was mentally assessing their interactions.
“Well, don’t let us keep you,” Sybil said, quick to avert suspicion. “I’m sure Mrs Sinclair is pining for your company.”
Mr Daventry arched a brow. “A man must have some means of relieving his frustrations.” He inclined his head. “I wish you all an enjoyable evening.”
Mr Daventry turned on his heel and stalked through the crowd, who quickly parted to create a wide walkway. Some men shuffled nervously as he passed. Some gave a curt nod, while various ladies stroked the necklines of their gowns in open invitation.
Sadness touched Sybil’s heart.
People thought they had the measure of his character.
People were wrong.
“Daventr
y is up to something.” Benedict Cavanagh’s comment captured Sybil’s attention. “I’ve known the man for years, and that’s the first time he has ever approached a lady in a ballroom.”
Heat flooded Sybil’s cheeks. She tried to appear indifferent, but she was equally intrigued. Why had he felt the need to approach her in public? Was there any truth in his heated gaze?