Page 57 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

Indeed, even after the revelations of that meeting in his office, if she hadn’t needed his help with the school, he doubted he would have got closer to her; she would have held him at a distance, as she had at the wedding.

The somewhat unnerving thought that she might, at any time, revert to viewing him as she previously had left him understandably wary.

On top of that, he’d never interacted with a lady of her ilk before, not with any amorous intent. She was a very different proposition from ladies reared within the bosom of the ton. As their acquaintance deepened, that, more than any other factor, was what was undermining his native confidence and making him second-guess himself over every little step he thought to take.

In short, the seduction of Sylvia Buckleberry would be a very different dance set to a very different beat than any seduction he’d undertaken before. When it came to capturing the affections of a clergyman’s daughter in Bristol, he had no experience to fall back on at all.

She’d only just consented to take his arm and walk more definitely by his side.

Somewhat grimly dwelling on that, he drained the last drops of brandy from his glass, then set it aside and pushed to his feet.

In the matter of securing Sylvia Buckleberry as his wife, he had a long way to go.

He was determined that their excursion on Friday night would significantly advance his cause.

Turning down the lamp, he headed for the door—and his empty bed, which he fervently hoped would not remain empty for much longer.

The next morning, Kit walked into the workshop to see Wayland scowling at a heavy chain, examining the links he was passing between his hands.

Kit focused on the chain and felt his hackles rise. It was the chain they’d used to secure the workshop doors. He halted beside Wayland. “Problem?”

Grimly, Wayland said, “Some blighter tried to cut this. See?” He held up a thick iron link and pointed to the telltale scratches. “He failed. But…”

Now equally grim, Kit nodded. “He tried. Therefore, he’ll return better equipped and try again.”

Wayland sighed, lowered the chain, and met Kit’s gaze. “Whoever he is, he’s intent on causing us harm.” His brow furrowed. “I still can’t imagine who he could be.”

Kit shook his head, then paused.

Wayland read his expression. “What?”

Lips compressed, Kit thought, then said, “Yesterday, after I left here in the afternoon and was walking with Sylvia along High Street, she felt the eyes of the watcher again.”

Wayland glanced to where their teams of carpenters were hard at work on the new hull; the incessant hammering would drown out his and Kit’s conversation. Puzzled, Wayland said, “I thought it was Johnson watching her, wanting to speak with her.” The big man was holding one of the huge ribs in place while two of the others hammered nails into its base.

“That’s what I’d put the sensation down to, but yesterday, Johnson would have been here with Ned. It couldn’t have been him.” Kit slid his hands into his pockets. “I’d already started wondering if the watcher’s real target all along was me. Me and this place. And unlike Sylvia, I’m oblivious to his surveillance.”

Wayland’s eyes widened. “You think he started watching Sylvia after seeing her with you?”

Kit nodded. “The timing fits. She first started sensing him after we’d been walking together around town for several days.”

“Hmm.” Wayland looked as troubled as Kit felt. After a moment, Wayland glanced at the men, then tipped his head toward his office.

Kit followed his partner into the relative quiet and shut the door.

Wayland put the chain on his drafting table and turned to Kit. “We’ve got to put a stop to this. I don’t like the fact he—whoever he is—is stalking your Miss Buckleberry any more than I imagine you do.”

“Indeed.” Kit’s tone was terse. “We have to catch the bastard—preferably red-handed.”

“What about the authorities?” Wayland asked. “Should we report this?”

Kit considered, then shook his head. “What can we tell them? That someone broke in here on Monday night and caused minor damage. That earlier on Monday, I glimpsed a man who might have been watching the workshop walking away down an alley I was passing. And that on several occasions, Sylvia has sensed someone watching her, but when she looks, he stops, and she and I have searched but failed to spot anyone paying her undue attention.”

Wayland grimaced. “Put like that, I agree—there’s no sense in involving the magistrates.” He paused, then said, “Whoever he is, he’s tested our security.” Wayland waved at the chain. “That was what last night’s visit accomplished. He’ll be back, and I imagine that, next time, he’ll bring the right tools to pry open the padlock.”

Kit nodded. “There’s no other way into the workshop other than through those doors—and there’s no lock that’s impossible for a determined man to pick.”

“Precisely.” Wayland stared at the chain. “But he won’t know we know he’s been back—that he’s still trying to break in and wreak havoc. I only found the evidence because Jack, with his sharp eyes, spotted the scratches. I doubt anyone else would have.”