Page 86 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

Smiggs headed for the lane, calling, “I’ll fetch the curricle.”

The boys, Sylvia was touched to note, hovered protectively beside her; if she wasn’t much mistaken, the Cavanaugh effect was rubbing off on them. She summoned a smile and focused it on Jack. “Jack, isn’t it?”

He blushed and essayed an awkward bow. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”

She smiled more broadly. “Not half as pleased as I am to meet you.” She included Ollie and Ned with a glance. “All I know is that Jack somehow ended up in the boot of Nunsworth’s gig.” She arched her brows at the three. “How did that happen? How is it that all three of you are here?”

They told her, with a great deal of color and explanation thrown in.

By the time they’d finished recounting it all, and she’d commented appropriately along the way, they were quite puffed up with pride—in her opinion, entirely justifiably—and, with the usual resilience of youth, had already forgotten the tenser moments of the drama and were inclined to cast the whole as a magnificent adventure.

She envied them that ability. It would be a long time before she forgot Nunsworth and his terrible plan.

Smiggs drove Kit’s curricle into the clearing and drew up before the open mill door.

Along with Smiggs, the three boys, and even the watchman, Sylvia looked at Kit.

Kit read the question writ large in all the faces turned his way. What now?

He glanced through the open mill door, beyond which Nunsworth remained securely hog-tied, then looked at Sylvia. “I believe it’s time we called on your father.”

CHAPTER 17

The watchman—Gibson—agreed to remain at the mill and watch over their captive; Sylvia assured him they would send relief as soon as they could, then Kit handed her up into the curricle, climbed up, and accepted the reins from Smiggs. Kit waited while Smiggs and the boys crammed in behind, then, with a flick of the reins, sent the bays in a wide turn and set them pacing back toward the lane.

Sylvia pointed to their right. “It’s faster to continue along the river.”

Kit turned the horses that way. Once they were bowling along, he glanced at Sylvia, his gaze lingering for a long moment on her face before he was forced to look to his horses. Under the cover of the noise of the rattling wheels, he murmured, “Are you truly all right?”

He felt her gaze, soft and warm, trace his cheek. “Yes, I am.” After a second, she went on, “We reached the mill before I had the slightest inkling that I had anything to fear. Prior to that, I was consumed by anxiety over my father.” She lightly touched his thigh. “Did you hear about that—the story Nunsworth used to get me to go with him?”

He nodded. “The boys overheard and told me.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught her swift smile. “They really are amazing. I had no idea they’d got so close.”

“Apparently, they’ve been following you on and off for days, seeking to keep you safe from whoever was watching you. It was Ned who got close enough to you and Nunsworth to hear what was said. Evidently, Ned is the sneakiest of the three—or so I’ve been told.”

She laughed—and the sound teased apart the remaining knot of his own anxiety.

After a moment, she went on, “I saw Jack slip out of the boot before Nunsworth dragged me into the mill, so despite not knowing who Jack was, I realized someone had gone to fetch help, yet not knowing you were already on the way, I truly didn’t think anyone would reach the mill in time.” She paused, then said, “I suspect I should have been much more frightened than I was. Instead, I was trying to keep Nunsworth occupied with telling me how clever he’d been until I could get free of his bindings.”

“Thank God you did.” The desolation that had threatened in the instant he’d thought she would die would stay with him for the rest of his life—an evocatively effective reminder of just how much she mattered to him.

“Looking back,” she said, her tone considering, “I was only truly terrified in that moment after I’d avoided his first blow, but thought I had no chance of escaping the second.”

Kit felt his jaw clench and fixed his gaze on the narrow lane ahead.

Then he felt her gaze on his face again, a softly radiant touch tracing his profile.

“But then you were there, between me and him. And I wasn’t afraid for myself anymore—I was afraid for you. That Nunsworth would somehow overwhelm you—he was so violent and ferocious.”

Kit admitted, “I’m not entirely sure he was sane—not in those moments after I intervened.”

She went on, “But then the boys were there, and… I have to say I’m finding it hard to be afraid of a man with a pail on his head.”

Kit felt his lips lift in what was assuredly his first smile in hours. “They did lighten the drama somewhat.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw she was smiling.