Page 94 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “You hid it well.”

“I had to.” She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “I was terrified the whole time. Terrified I would do or say something hideously embarrassing that would give me away…and then you claimed me for that waltz!”

He didn’t look repentant in the least. “It was my waltz to claim. Others would have noticed if I hadn’t led you out.”

She jabbed a fingertip into his chest. “Yes, but you enjoyed it.”

His wicked smile bloomed. “I did. And I didn’t.”

Kit looked into her eyes, then softly said, “I was attracted to you, too. I tracked you through the crowd, chose my moment, and pounced. But I couldn’t work out what you were about—what game you were playing. It wasn’t one I recognized, much less understood. You kept your shields up, and I couldn’t get past them. With me, you were a cold and disdainful lady, yet I saw you laughing and smiling with others…and I wanted your smiles, even then.”

She arched her brows. “Really? I thought I’d succeeded in putting you off.”

He nodded. “You had. I drove away thinking I would never see you again, so attraction aside, I should just put you down as a peculiar and unattainable lady, forget you, and be done with it.”

“I watched you drive away and thought the same—that I’d survived the encounter, and I wouldn’t see you again.”

His lips curved, and he smiled into her eyes. “Luckily for us, Fate had other plans. The instant you stormed into my office and started berating me over the school, I knew my view of you was grossly in error. After that, of course, I was never going to rest until I learned all your secrets.”

He paused, looking into her eyes and reveling in the wordless connection, then he bent his head and brushed a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for telling me. Our past now makes sense, and I don’t have to worry that you’ll suddenly revert to ice-maiden again.”

She laughed. “I can promise you that.” After a moment, she added, “You might have had a false façade, but I had one, too.”

“Mind you,” he mused, “I doubt any man can live up to a lady’s forbidden fantasy, even if that fantasy is about him.”

Her chuckle turned innocently sultry, a contradiction that tightened his groin. “In that, my lord, you’re once again in error.” Her teasing eyes suggested she was enjoying setting him straight. Her gaze lowered to his lips. “I decided some days ago that, on closer acquaintance, the real you possessed the abilities to significantly trump every fantasy I’ve ever fashioned.”

She had to mean the kiss they’d shared on Mrs. Macintyre’s porch. He widened his eyes at her, but her gaze remained on his lips. They curved as, unable to resist, he inquired, “Really?”

“Definitely.” Siren-like, she turned in his arms and lifted her face to kiss him—but then she paused and, at tantalizingly close quarters, met his eyes and breathed, “Of course, that means you’ve already set a high standard, one you’ll have to strive to live up to for the rest of our lives.”

Kit smiled wolfishly, then lowered his head, closing the last half inch to murmur against her lips, “My darling wife-to-be, you perceive me ready, willing, and very able to take up that challenge.” He touched his lips to hers in the lightest, most delicate of kisses, before adding, “Now and forever.”

Then he kissed her, and she kissed him, and he let her lead him as she would, into the future they both desired with every iota of their beings and with all their hearts.

EPILOGUE

Lord Christopher Cavanaugh and Miss Sylvia Buckleberry were married on the fourth of November in Christ Church in Bristol. The bride wore white satin lightly ornamented with pearl-encrusted lace, with a glorious trailing veil fashioned from the same lace anchored in her golden-blond hair by a fabulous pearl-and-diamond band—a wedding gift from the proud bridegroom. Everyone in attendance agreed that no happier, more serene bride had ever been walked down an aisle. There was an air of confidence in Sylvia’s step that was echoed in her bridegroom’s eyes, signaling that here were two people who knew what they wanted from life and were acting determinedly to secure it.

Indeed, Kit looked like a man eager to plunge into matrimony. His responses to the Bishop of Bath and Wells—a friend of the bride’s family who had volunteered to officiate—were uttered in a voice that rang with commitment.

Although in terms of ton invitees, the guest list had been restricted to close family, when the couple were duly proclaimed man and wife and, after sharing a chaste kiss, turned to the body of the nave, there was a horde of well-wishers filling the space between the newlyweds and the church door.

As had been the case at the previous weddings of her older brothers, Lady Eustacia Cavanaugh had acted as one of three bridesmaids. Together with Mary and Felicia, Stacie stood on the altar steps and, smiling, watched as the crowd closed around Kit and Sylvia, people pressing in from all sides to shake Kit’s hand or thump his back and to press kisses to Sylvia’s gloved hands.

Kit had lived in Bristol for only a few short months, yet, as usual, he’d fallen on his feet. And judging by the way the onlookers were greeting her, Sylvia plainly belonged. As well as those Stacie had expected to see—Wayland Cobworth and several of Kit’s other gentlemen friends plus local adults from Bristol and Saltford, Sylvia’s home village—a gaggle of schoolboys were eagerly pushing close to shake Kit’s and Sylvia’s hands, and behind the boys came a troop of smiling laborers and tradesmen, all decked out in their Sunday best.

Two older ladies seemed to have taken charge; one flanking Kit and the other by Sylvia’s side, the pair appeared to be imposing some degree of order on the milling throng.

Standing beside Stacie, Felicia sighed. “I’d almost given up hope of seeing Sylvia wed, but to have her marry Kit and become my sister-in-law is beyond even my most inventive dreams.”

Stacie glanced at Felicia, then returned her gaze to Sylvia. “It must be nice to be able to have a childhood friendship transform into a long-term familial one.”

“Indeed.” Mary stepped closer on Felicia’s other side; Stacie saw her sometimes scarifying sister-in-law understandingly squeeze Felicia’s arm. “Ryder and I couldn’t be happier over this union. While some might say Kit could have done better, I strongly suspect he never would have—that if he hadn’t found Sylvia, he wouldn’t have married at all. He certainly had no thoughts of marriage when he left the Abbey for Bristol.” After a second of observing the happy couple, Mary added, “Ryder says Sylvia brings out the best in Kit, not by pushing but simply by giving him the opportunity to be all he can be.”

Felicia nodded. “I agree. Sylvia has no concept of how to manage a man—she never has had. Instead, she’ll simply assume Kit will step up to the mark⁠—”

“And,” Stacie concluded, “because he’s besotted and is happy to do whatever she wants, he will.”