Page 65 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

She smiled and lightly touched her lips to his chest.

He smoothed a hand over her hair, then she sensed him settle, his heavy body relaxing just that touch more as sleep crept up on him.

She closed her eyes and felt slumber ease its clouds over her, too.

This was the first time in her life that she’d slept with anyone else. It should have felt odd. Instead, it felt perfect.

She’d found her place—the place that was right for her, a place into which she fitted perfectly.

On the cusp of sleep, revelation shone in her mind.

This was the place she’d spent her life waiting to find—lying in the arms of a good, kind, caring, passionate, protective, and purposeful man.

CHAPTER 12

When Rand opened his eyes, the sun was well up, and soft sunshine streamed across the foot of the bed. During the night, he’d turned onto his stomach, and Felicia—his wife bar the ceremony—lay facing him, her head on the pillow beside his.

From beneath still-heavy lids, he drank in the sight of her and felt his heart swell. She was, quite simply, the woman for him.

As his mind drifted over the events of the night—the feelings, the sensations, the glory—awareness tugged at his mind.

Something had woken him. What?

Then he saw Felicia’s fine brows draw down, a slight frown forming, then her lashes rose.

She looked into his eyes. For several heartbeats, they stared at each other—the simple fact of them sharing a bed underscoring just how much between them had changed since the previous day.

Her gaze softened, and her lips curved. But then the frown, which had lightened, returned.

She blinked and, still frowning, lifted her head from the pillow. “What’s that noise?”

Rand turned to his side and came up on one elbow, looking down the bed toward the source of a distant rumbling. That was what had woken him—an unexpected cough, followed by that purring murmur.

It was coming from outside…

He looked at Felicia as she turned to look at him.

Dawning realization lit both their faces.

“It’s the engine,” she breathed.

They both looked toward the window. The noise had to be escaping through the open workshop doors.

Rand flicked a glance at the carriage clock on Felicia’s dressing table. “It’s barely six o’clock.” He looked back at the window. “William John must have thought of something.”

Her brother had spent the previous afternoon and evening working feverishly to repair the damage from and rectify the cause of the latest setback.

Felicia was listening intently to the steady purr; in the quiet of the morning, it was just loud enough to reach them. The thrum of sound remained steady, but the tone changed—increasing in pitch, then decreasing, then, after several minutes, increasing smoothly again.

On tenterhooks, she waited, but no sudden bang or even a hiccup disturbed the steady, rumbling purr.

Then, from below, they heard William John bellow to the morning, “It works!”

Felicia looked at Rand, wonder in her face. “He’s fixed it!”

Rand met her eyes, then together, they thrust back the covers and lunged for their clothes.

Minutes later, Rand stuffed his cravat into his coat pocket and opened the bedroom door for Felicia. She’d thrown on a day gown, but hadn’t bothered with petticoats; the material of her skirt clung to her hips and legs as she hurried along the gallery and down the stairs ahead of him.