Page 60 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

Relaxing somewhat—reminding himself that even if this felt like the first time, he’d done this sort of thing countless times before— he held out his hand. When, coloring faintly, she glided the last feet to him and laid her fingers in his, he swept her an elegant bow. Straightening, he met her eyes—and saw something of her usual dry wit appear, as if she’d recognized the gesture for the extravagance it was. “Good evening, my dear Sylvia. You look…utterly divine.” He reached out and took the cloak of midnight velvet her landlady offered and held it up for Sylvia to don.

She sent him a faintly warning look and swiveled to give him her back.

He gently draped the cloak in place, then lightly rested his palms on her shoulders. Tipping his head, he met her eyes. “If you’re ready, our carriage awaits.”

Throughout the next minutes, Sylvia felt like some magical princess floating on air. Kit swept her out of the door, down the steps, and into a carriage so new she could still smell the faint scent of varnish. Inside, the carriage was the epitome of luxurious comfort, with well-padded leather-covered seats and paneling of golden oak accented with brass fittings.

Kit sat beside her and the carriage moved off. As the equipage turned into Back Street and rolled smoothly north toward the Council House, it seemed that the latest in modern engineering had eliminated a great deal of the usual rocking.

Even through the dimness, she could feel Kit’s gaze on her—mostly on her face, her profile—yet even though she was swathed in her cloak, occasionally, that heated gaze slipped lower before he raised it again.

After a second’s silence in which she didn’t think he or she breathed, he softly said, “You really are a stunning sight. You’ve taken my breath away—literally—and it might take a while for me to get it back.”

Surprised, she glanced at him.

Through the fluctuating darkness, he met her eyes, and she saw his lips curve in what she thought was a self-deprecatory smile. “And yes, I really mean that.” His eyes searched hers, then he said, “I won’t say more on that head and disturb you…I just wanted you to know.”

She blinked, her mind and wits tumbling anew.

His smile deepened, and he gracefully waved. “You must tell me what you think of this carriage. I’ve hired it from the maker for tonight—I’m thinking of ordering one similar.”

She recognized a diversion when she heard one. She grabbed it with both hands. “It’s exceedingly comfortable. I appreciate how well-sprung it is.”

“It’s a new type of spring. Rand has a share in the company that makes them, but thus far, only a few carriage makers are using them. I was lucky to find one here.”

“How are Rand and Felicia getting on—have you heard from them since you arrived?”

He shook his head. “Rand isn’t a great letter-writer, but then, neither am I.”

She chuckled. “However bad you and Rand are, I can assure you Felicia is worse. Once, I hadn’t heard from her for so long, I felt moved to visit—simply to reassure myself that she was still alive.”

He grinned—a flash of white teeth in the dimness. “In that case, I’ll have to rely on Mary—she believes in keeping abreast of all developments in the family and letting everyone know. The counterside to that is that woe betide you if you do not respond to one of her chatty and informative letters with information of your own.”

From the affectionate amusement that colored his tone, she could tell he was fond of his senior sister-in-law. Looking out at the streetscapes, she mentally arched her brows. That Mary, Marchioness of Raventhorne, corresponded with Kit—ergo, approved of him—told a tale of its own. Sylvia had met Mary only once, but it had been obvious the marchioness was no one’s fool.

Indeed, given Mary dealt with Kit’s half brother, Ryder, on a daily basis, that she was as shrewd as she could hold together went without saying.

And she approved of Kit.

Before Sylvia could dwell further on that, or on the fact that she, too, approved of Kit—this Kit, the man she’d recently come to know—the carriage slowed to a plod, then drew up directly before the steps leading up to the Council House doors.

She blinked in surprise, then the carriage door swung open. Kit descended, turned, and offered her his hand.

She took it, aware of his firm clasp and how safe his touch made her feel. Nonsensical, really; if there was any threat to her here, it lay with him.

Then she was on the pavement. After smoothing down her skirts, she looked around—and saw, as she’d expected, a long line of carriages waiting to disgorge their occupants before the steps.

Eyes widening, she looked at Kit. “How…?”

His rakish grin flashed. “Livery is still good for something.”

She glanced at the groom holding her door—and was stunned again. “Ollie?”

Manfully restraining his usual big smile, Ollie executed a neat bow. “Miss.”

He looked utterly different in perfect livery; now she’d looked, she recognized the Raventhorne colors. She glanced briefly at the coachman on the box—also resplendent in livery—then felt Kit take her arm. All she could think to say to Ollie was “Don’t get cold.”

At that, his grin broke through. “I won’t, miss. We’ve blankets and a flask of cocoa and seed cake.”