Page 93 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

Heat claimed her cheeks, but perversely, an inner confidence—her sensual confidence—welled. No—she couldn’t doubt that he wanted her.

Trying to suppress or at least mute a rather smug smile, she turned to sit more properly on the bench.

He shifted again, rearranging his long limbs, then settled beside her.

She seized the moment to ask, “I know I should thank you for your restraint—and I do—but can I ask why?”

He softly grunted. “You’re a clergyman’s daughter.” He paused as if collecting his thoughts, then offered, “Being that is an intrinsic part of you. I expect you have beliefs about indulging before our wedding, and in the same way that I respect you, I feel I should respect and honor any deep beliefs you hold.”

Without looking at him, she reached for his hand and lightly squeezed. “Thank you. And yes, I do hold those beliefs and sincerely thank you for calling a halt.”

If he hadn’t, she was perfectly certain she wouldn’t have, although she might well have regretted that later.

She felt him lightly shrug.

“We can wait until after the ceremony to go any further.”

She noted that declaration didn’t preclude them continuing to indulge at least as far as they had. Was it possible to go further without quite tipping over that forbidden edge? It was, she suspected, a point to ponder—and, possibly, explore.

Somewhat to his surprise, Kit didn’t feel as grumpy over the situation as he’d expected. Sylvia’s confirmation that she adhered to a more strait-laced code than ladies of his class generally favored made him feel vindicated in taking what was, for a gentleman of his ilk, a definitely unusual stance.

The knowledge that, in four weeks’ time, she would be his, declared before God and man as such, was all the assurance his inner self needed to be patient. And while he’d said his decision had been taken to honor her beliefs—and it had—and, indeed, having met her father, Kit felt compelled to honor the reverend’s expectations as well, his principal motivation had been even simpler. He would always do whatever it took to make her happy.

That had already become his touchstone—his guiding principle with respect to her.

Weighed in that scale, waiting until the wedding to have her in his bed was a minor price to pay.

His heart was still thudding a little too heavily, but it was calming and soothing sitting in the softly scented moonlight beside his soon-to-be wife.

He freed his hand from hers, raised that arm, draped it over her shoulders, and urged her closer.

She accepted the unvoiced invitation and snuggled nearer, then leaned her head on his chest.

“I never did tell you why I behaved as I did to you at Felicia and Rand’s wedding.”

Cautiously, not wanting to sound demanding, he admitted, “No, you didn’t.”

Sylvia sighed. “You’re not allowed to laugh.” But as a reward for honoring her wishes and exercising restraint for them both, he deserved to know her old secret.

“I promise I won’t.”

She drew breath and said, “You never knew, but during the Season I spent in London, going about with Felicia among the ton, supposedly to find suitable husbands, I saw you—as they say, across a crowded ballroom. Not once, but many times at various events. Yet from my very first sighting of you, you captured my attention. You became a lodestone of sorts—if you were in the same ballroom, no matter how much of a crush the event was, my eyes would find you, even when I was trying my damnedest not to encourage my obsession.”

“Your obsession?”

Clearly, she’d piqued his interest.

Lips firming, she nodded. “Yes, my obsession with you. That’s really the only word for it. You became my fantasy gentleman—the gentleman who inhabited my dreams. Or more correctly, who I constructed dreams around.” A quick upward glance showed him looking faintly stunned. “You can imagine what sort of dreams those were. But it wasn’t hard to learn of your reputation.”

That jolted him to focused attention. “I feel compelled to point out that, although supported by a scant framework of truth, my reputation within the ton at that time was a carefully fabricated façade designed to render me persona non grata with every matchmaking mama in town.”

So she’d come to suspect, but hearing the confirmation from his lips was nevertheless reassuring. She pressed her head against his chest in wordless acceptance. “I understand that now, but I had no way of knowing it then, so your reputation ensured that I steered well clear of you.” She paused, then forced herself to admit, “However, far from dousing my obsession, learning the length and breadth of your reputation—based on your reputed deeds—only made my obsessive fascination with you all the more intense.”

She could almost hear him thinking, remembering things she’d said before she’d come to know him better.

“That’s why,” he eventually said, dawning understanding in his voice, “you behaved so repellingly at the wedding.”

“Until I arrived at Throgmorton Hall on the day before the wedding, I had no idea I would be partnered with you in the bridal party.” She softly snorted. “You can imagine my dismay. Which, I might add, only grew when I discovered—as I walked down the aisle, no less—that my obsession with you hadn’t faded over the years, but instead, had become even more intense. That my senses were even more fixated on you—my forbidden fantasy lord.”