Page 80 of Never a Duchess
Daventry?
Once alone, she descended the stairs to find Dounreay reading a letter. He looked up, his gaze roving over her mussed hair and thin chemise, the ravenous glint in his eyes warming her. “’Twas a penny boy with a note from Lucius Daventry. He was paid to ensure I received it within the hour. My groom told him I was home.”
“What does it say?” She reached his side, catching her breath when he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.
“He needs us at the Hart Street office tonight. One of his agents found Anne Grimes. Daventry wants us there when he questions her about the incident with Major Rowlands.”
“Anne Grimes? I don’t know why, but I thought she’d be on the next boat to Boston.” Or worse still. Lillian feared the poor woman was dead. “We should get dressed. He will have sent a letter to Hanover Square, not knowing I’m here.”
“This is addressed to both of us.”
“It is?” She shouldn’t be surprised. Mr Daventry knew everything about everyone. “The man is like the mystic at the fair. Heaven knows how he finds his information.”
“He pays well and punishes liars severely.”
“He leaves nothing to chance,” she agreed. But a sudden thought hit her, making her gasp. “Along with my brother, Mr Daventry escorted my friends and me to the Bartholomew Fair last September. He spoke to the mystic before we entered the tent.”
“What are ye suggesting?”
“Perhaps Mr Daventry told the mystic what to say because he knew something of our history.” He knew she lacked the courage to follow her heart. Did he know she secretly longed for a duke who bared his knees in public?
Dounreay chuckled. “I think Daventry has better things to do than make predictions about a lady’s marriage prospects.”
“I’m not so sure. The mystic told Ailsa her husband would cast an ancient spell over her, a spell found in an old tome. Mr Daventry is one of the few people who know of her hobby.”
“Daventry is many things, but he’s nae a matchmaker.”
“What if he is? What if it’s not a force of fate guiding us?” What if Adam and Mr Daventry had conspired to force her to marry the duke?
Being intelligent and intuitive, Dounreay grasped the train of her thoughts.
“Dinnae fret.” He pulled her against his hard chest and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. “We’ve wanted each other for five years. You went to the fair months ago. Whatever we feel has nothing to do with Daventry or a seer’s prediction.”
It was there again—the swell of raw emotion, the potent energy vibrating between them, the pulsing of something primal.
Something perfect.
Something precious.
“You’re right.” She held him, pressed her cheek to his chest, the rapid beat of his heart mirroring her own. “No one has the power to predict the future.”
He stroked her hair. “A seer didnae make ye moan my name. A mystic didnae make ye come so hard ye couldnae breathe.”
She looked up into eyes that made her melt. “No, that was you and your wicked Highland tongue.”
“And ye’ll be dining on a Highlander tomorrow if ye can slip away.” His fingers trailed slowly down her spine. “If not, I can always steal into yer chamber like a true heathen and carry ye off into the night.”
“Should I be ashamed to say I find that appealing?”
Dounreay laughed—a beautiful sound she’d not thought to hear again. He smacked her lightly on the bottom. “Come, love. Let’s dress and meet Daventry before I throw ye over my shoulder and have my wicked way.”
Her body reacted instantly. The memory of them joined together ignited a fire in her blood. “Is this what it would be like in the Highlands?” Would he be wild and carefree? Or when playing the duke, would duty dampen his ardour?
He winked and chucked her beneath her chin. “Ye’ll have to come home with me to find out.”
* * *
They arrived in Hart Street to find Mr Daventry seated behind his imposing desk, his chin resting on his clasped hands as he stared into the darkness.
