Page 21 of No One's Bride
“Miss MacTavish!” came the echoes of a voice Sebastian knew.
“Good God. Is that Lucius Daventry?” Why in blazes would the master of London’s most skilled enquiry agents visit the lady’s home at midnight? Unless he knew there had been some mishap at the auction house. Though how did a mistake in a warehouse constitute a crime?
“Fail to open the door, and I shall have no choice but to force my way inside.” For a man who prided himself on his calm composure, Daventry sounded somewhat anxious.
“Wait here.” Sebastian grabbed his coat. “Daventry is not one to judge, and my being here can be easily explained.”
Despite her soft gasp when he draped his coat around her shoulders, he drew it firmly across her chest. He’d be damned if he’d let anyone else gaze upon her womanly charms.
Sebastian strode to the door and welcomed the man who thrived on intrigue. “Come inside quickly,” he said from behind the door. The street was wide but gossips were resourceful.
“Ah, Denton. I thought that was your coach parked near Schomberg House and wondered if you’d come to readUtopia.” Daventry did not appear shocked to see Sebastian standing in his shirtsleeves. “Studying old texts must be tiring work.”
Sebastian grumbled to himself and broke into a garbled story of how he’d been passing and noticed an intruder. Guilt clung to every word, which was doubtless a result of his lascivious thoughts about his Scottish companion.
“How fortuitous,” Daventry said calmly. His gaze drifted to the open study door. “You may come out, Miss MacTavish. I assure you, I’m here on the King’s business not to question your morals.”
Swamped in Sebastian’s coat, the lady slipped out from the shadows. Her cheeks were as red as her hair. Her bare feet poked out from beneath the hem of her nightgown.
His traitorous body reacted instantly.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
He should have insisted she dress.
“Something wrong, Denton?”
“No. As you’re a master at keeping secrets, this should pose no problem.” Though it was the closest Sebastian had ever come to being shamed into marrying.
Daventry grinned. “Your nightly habits are your own affair.”
The implication they were indulging in a romantic liaison roused Sebastian’s temper. “Think what you like about me, but do not presume to tarnish Miss MacTavish’s character.”
“I merely suggest your passion for old books has led to this unlikely encounter.” Daventry did not give the lady time to defend her position. “In truth, I’m thankful you’re here. It saves me scouring every club in town.”
Miss MacTavish found her voice. “What wicked business keeps ye out at this time of night, sir?”
“Murder, madam. I came to warn you to stay alert.”
“Murder?” Miss MacTavish gulped.
“Mr Murden’s assistant was found dead at the auction house earlier this evening. The scene bore the markings of a similar case I investigated many years ago. Such is the unusual nature, I feel it’s important to explain what occurred.”
“Unusual nature?” The lady glanced at the dark study.
“Might we find somewhere comfortable to sit? This will take time, and you may find some elements disturbing.”
Sebastian snorted. “Nothing could shock me more than what has occurred this evening.”
How often did one race through foggy streets to apprehend a villain? How often did a man lust for a woman he could barely tolerate? How many times did one find oneself crippled by a spell?
“Trust me. This tale will make every hair stand on end.”
Miss MacTavish visibly shivered. “We’ll sit in the study. Make yerselves comfortable, and I shall join ye in a few minutes. Ye’ll find the brandy decanter in the drawing room.”
Daventry inclined his head.
Sebastian fought the urge to watch her mount the stairs, to watch the cotton gown slide over her peachy buttocks. While pouring drinks, he tried not to think about her standing naked in the darkness, her chemise slipping over her porcelain skin.
