Page 85 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

Then Mayhew called, “I’ve got it!”

He pushed out from under the carriage, triumphantly brandishing the white scrap like a flag.

Felicia spared him a shocked glance, then her features hardened, and she returned to ferreting in the depths of her reticule.

The tone of the engine changed as the pressure in the boiler built, but William John hadn’t yet engaged the pistons and gears.

Without pausing in his desperate tugging at the silk band, Rand shot Mayhew a glance. “Get Miss Throgmorton out of here. Felicia—tell William John to shut the engine down and get everyone back.” The steam engine was going to blow—and the Prince was mere yards away, along with Ryder, Mary, and a host of others Rand cared far too much about.

“Don’t be daft.” Felicia dropped her reticule and waved a pair of embroidery scissors. “Let me at it.”

She pushed his shoulder to make him move aside, and despite every instinct screaming against it, Rand gave way.

The pitch of the engine continued to rise.

Felicia leaned in. “Keep holding the band taut. That’s it.”

A split second later, the band slid free.

The silk clutched in one hand, Rand fell back, sprawling to sit on the floor. Felicia overbalanced, toppled backward, and sat beside him.

Still crouching alongside the steam carriage, Mayhew looked at them with wide eyes. Now what? he mouthed.

Rand held up a staying hand. Both he and Felicia were listening intently to the sound of the engine.

Then Felicia grinned and turned to him. She reached for his arm and gripped hard. “The pressure’s leveled off—it’s going to be all right.”

He stared at her face, then he raised a hand to her nape, pulled her face to his, and kissed her.

For one second, he allowed the violent need that owned him to hold sway, to take control of the kiss and ravage and plunder, then he pulled back.

Mayhew had averted his eyes, looking upward as if listening to William John, who was giving Prince Albert a lecture on the Throgmorton engine’s finer points. The engine was now purring, a reassuringly benign and steady hum.

Felicia crawled back to the side of the carriage and carefully and silently closed the compartment Rand had opened.

Seconds later, they heard William John, closer now, open the engine’s other side and then lift the cover over the engine’s top to display the inner workings to Albert, who was predictably taking a very keen interest and asking relevant questions.

Rand took that as their cue to depart. He returned to a crouch and, using hand signals, directed Mayhew to shuffle to the rear of the carriage, then stand and walk out to the side. As, urging Felicia ahead of him, Rand moved to follow, he felt a draft, looked at the wall, and saw the door Winthrop must have used. Their guards hadn’t fallen down on the job. Winthrop had slithered in like the snake he was.

After helping Felicia to her feet, Rand guided her and Mayhew to the end of the cordon on that side. Rand paused there to take stock. The crowd was too dense and pressed too closely against the cordon for them to have any chance of slipping into the throng. Luckily, Ryder and Mary had joined the Prince’s party, and the pair now stood on the inside of the cordon, not far from William John, ready to support him if need be.

Rand drew Felicia’s hand through his arm. Over his shoulder, he said to Mayhew, “Stick close.” Then he led Felicia forward to join Ryder and Mary, which was where, according to their plan, they were supposed to be.

As Rand settled beside Ryder, without turning his head, Ryder inquired, “Where did you get to?”

“We’ve been nullifying our would-be saboteur’s efforts.” Rand sensed Ryder shoot a sharp glance at Mayhew and added, “Not him. He helped us.”

“Which is something you will both need to explain to me later,” Felicia muttered, glancing at Mayhew.

Rand raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “We will, but later. Definitely later.”

William John had noticed Felicia’s and Rand’s arrival. He flashed them a relieved smile, but his recitation of the wonders of the improvements he and his father had made to the steam engine didn’t falter. At Felicia’s insistence, William John had somewhat grudgingly agreed to omit her name from the discussion; while Rand had understood Felicia’s reasoning—the involvement of a female wouldn’t be viewed in a positive light by the majority of those present—he’d also sympathized with William John and his dislike of being forced, by default, to accept credit for her work.

Perhaps that would change in the future, but for now, Rand agreed with Felicia’s pragmatic stance.

So they stood and listened, and a slow but steady wave of relief and pride welled and rolled through him—through them. He read as much in Felicia’s fine eyes as she glanced at him, the green misty with pride and rising joy.

William John had come into his own. His confidence in discussing the invention with the Prince, the committee members, and several other inventors who had pressed close was impressive; not once did he falter.