Page 56 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

He plotted his course. He would make for the part of the wood nearest the kitchen garden, then risk crossing the lawn to the wall; the wall was taller than he was and would allow him to reach the workshop with little chance of Mayhew spotting him.

Again, he glanced back. Mayhew was still sketching, and Felicia was still posing; neither had altered their position.

Rand faced forward, lengthened his stride, and headed for the workshop.

Felicia remained all but boneless in the chair. Her mind, however, was elsewhere, focused on the engine in the workshop. Trying to imagine what had caused the noise, she turned her thoughts to the diagrams on the board. What had she missed? Where among the pipes, pistons, and tubes could an excess of pressure have built up?

She was engrossed in reviewing the design of the engine when Mayhew looked at her, then rose from his stool.

Felicia blinked. Was it the shifting shadows of the oak beneath which he sat, or had his features hardened?

But then he smiled. “This is truly excellent. It’ll be one of my best works to date. I just need you to hold that pose for a few minutes more.” He stepped around the easel and, with one hand, indicated his satchel, which he’d left leaning against the rear corner of the armchair. “I need a different pencil for the final strokes.”

Felicia faintly smiled and obediently held her pose, her chin at the required angle and her gaze on the trees at the end of the lawn to her left.

Mayhew approached and crouched down beside the chair. She heard him open the satchel, heard the rustle of paper as he searched inside.

After a moment, she sensed him straighten.

Still in the wood, Rand drew level with the wall enclosing the kitchen garden. He pushed through the undergrowth to the edge of the lawn. Pausing just inside the wood, before walking into the open and across to the screening wall, he looked down the lawn, intending to time his emergence to a moment when Mayhew looked down at his sketch⁠—

The artist was no longer behind his easel.

Felicia wasn’t in the chair.

Her parasol lay to one side, discarded.

Rand swore. He burst from the undergrowth and raced onto the lawn. He ran full tilt down the slope and on, toward where Felicia had been.

His thoughts churned like a raging river, then abruptly cleared.

He and Felicia had been right—Mayhew was their villain.

Mayhew hadn’t seen any way of getting to the invention to sabotage it, so had taken Felicia instead.

Mayhew intended to use her as a hostage to ensure the Throgmorton engine never made it to the exhibition.

Rand swore between his teeth and ran faster.

For a host of desperate reasons—of which the invention was the least—he had to catch them.

He had to reach Felicia and seize her back.

Deep in the wood beyond the end of the south lawn, Felicia struggled and fought, but Mayhew’s hold seemed unbreakable.

Instead of fetching any pencil, he’d come up behind her, and before she’d had a chance to react—to turn her head and look at him—he’d clapped a hand over her mouth, seized her arm with his other hand, and hauled her out of the chair.

Then he’d propelled her straight into the wood—onto this path that led more or less directly away from the Hall.

He held her with her back to his chest, one hand still wrapped across her face, immobilizing her head and holding it hard against his shoulder. His other arm was cinched tightly across her waist, allowing him to force her to walk ahead of him, step after step.

She knew all the paths through these woods. This one eventually led to a track along which it was possible to drive a gig.

She’d been in the drawing room when Mayhew had arrived, but—now she thought of it—she hadn’t heard the sound of wheels on gravel; she would wager a considerable sum that his gig would be waiting on the track at the end of the path.

Frantically, she struggled against his hold, but he was far stronger than she and continued to force her along the path.

She’d agreed to sit for him to learn whether he was a saboteur or not, to prick him into revealing himself as either innocent artist or dangerous threat, but at no point had she imagined this. The damned villain was kidnapping her!