Page 55 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

She nodded tersely and settled into step beside him. “Maybe he’ll follow us, and we’ll get a better sighting in the less-populated streets.”

He glanced at her. “Tell me the instant you sense him, but don’t stop or look around.”

Briefly, she met his eyes and nodded.

They remained on high alert all the way to Mrs. Macintyre’s house. As they approached the gate, in response to Kit’s inquiring look, her lips tight, Sylvia shook her head. “Nothing. He didn’t follow.”

Kit escorted her up the steps to the porch and waited while she hunted in her reticule and found her latchkey. She inserted it into the lock, then paused and looked up at him. “Thank you. It was less…bothersome because you were with me.”

She couldn’t have said anything better designed to soothe his flaring instincts.

He searched her eyes, then stated, “Obviously, your watcher isn’t Bill Johnson.”

“No.”

“And I doubt it was the Stenshaw lads, either.” He paused, then admitted, “My groom, Smiggs, and I caught up with the Stenshaws on Tuesday night. I wanted to make sure they hadn’t been behind the sabotage at the warehouse. But I seriously doubt they had any involvement in that incident, nor had they been watching you.”

She sighed, her gaze going past him to the street. “I wonder who it is—and even more importantly, why? A clergyman’s daughter already on the shelf is hardly an attractive target for abduction and ransom.”

He nearly disputed her description of herself, but decided how he saw her wasn’t germane to the discussion.

He debated doing something to appease his clawing instincts—such as demanding she allow him to escort her everywhere—but that, he felt sure, would put her back up. He was forced to settle for capturing her gaze and saying, “Please promise me you’ll take care when out walking and that you won’t venture out at night alone or anything similar.”

The look she bent on him was the same long-suffering, “don’t be foolish” look he’d seen Mary bestow on Ryder times beyond counting.

“Of course I won’t do anything senseless. Besides,” she said, finally turning the key, “I have no nighttime excursions planned other than Friday’s concert with you.”

The reminder of that event improved his mood considerably. Enough for him to share a last smile with her and bow gracefully in farewell. He waited on the step until she was inside and had closed the door, then swung around and strode quickly down the path and along the pavement to where he’d seen a hackney idling.

After hailing it, he climbed up and dropped onto the seat. As the jarvey turned his horse toward Queen’s Parade, Kit frowned into the softly gathering twilight.

Could the person who was watching Sylvia with malignant intent be somehow connected to the break-in at the workshop? No matter how he twisted the facts, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility.

As the hackney rattled on, Kit found himself facing the disturbing prospect that the reason behind Sylvia being watched might have more to do with him than her.

After eating a solitary dinner in a dining room that, courtesy of Gordon’s efforts, was starting to look like a dining room and no longer part of an empty house, Kit adjourned to his study.

Along with his bedroom, the study had been one of the first rooms to be completely furnished. Kit crossed to the tantalus, poured himself a good inch of French brandy, then sank into one of the comfortable wing chairs angled before the hearth.

Every now and then—usually every month or so—past experience prodded him to stop and take stock. To retreat to an appropriate mental distance and review what he’d accomplished and what he planned to do next, the better to keep his feet firmly on the most direct path to his ultimate goal.

The activity had become habit in the years during which circumstances had forced him to live under his mother’s thumb, subject to her manipulative whims. Of Lavinia’s four children, he’d been the least susceptible to her ploys; he’d quickly learned to plot and plan so she had as little chance as possible to dictate his actions. The other three—Rand, Stacie, and Godfrey—had been aware of Lavinia’s machinations and her interference in their lives, but although Rand, too, had resisted, the other two had had a harder time of it, Stacie especially.

Kit sipped and felt the fiery amber liquid slide smoothly down his throat. He hadn’t sat down intending to become mired in the past, yet…

Since Lavinia’s death six years ago, he’d been drifting, both physically and emotionally. Flitting here, then there, not settling anywhere.

Until now.

He considered that reality—the past from which he’d come—then took another larger sip of brandy and firmly turned his mind to his present.

To Cavanaugh Yachts and the progress made over the past two weeks.

When he’d driven into Bristol, Cavanaugh Yachts had been nothing more than a name and a concept—and a lot of hopes. Eleven days on, and Cavanaugh Yachts was a going concern, with suitable premises, a workforce more able than he and Wayland could have hoped to assemble so quickly, and despite the attempted sabotage, they had a first hull taking shape.

There was nothing in that with which to quibble. Satisfaction welled. They’d done well, laid a solid foundation, and could go forward from there.

Their next step? Orders. With luck, their sign would be up within the week. Once it was, he would start spreading word of their existence, yet realistically, until they had their first yacht completed and on the water, wise buyers would hang back.