The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh (The Cavanaughs 1)
“I have to say,” he murmured, “that the three of us complement each other in a rather unique way. William John is unquestionably a whizz at mechanical construction—he truly is your father’s heir in that way. You, meanwhile, provide the essential insights into design—without your input, for all his brilliance, William John wouldn’t have been able to solve the problems the improvements to the power of the engine caused.”
When he didn’t go on, smiling, she prompted, “And you?”
“I,” he stated, “arrange the finance, but in this case, I’ve also been pressed into a role I’ve never had the chance to fill before, that of managing the project—doing whatever’s needed to facilitate William John’s efforts and also ensuring the project remains secure.”
She glanced at his face; his features were calm, his expression at ease and assured. “Have you enjoyed the managing?”
Slowly, he nodded. “Far more than I would have imagined.” He glanced at her and, in the faint light, met her eyes. He smiled. “I’ve come to see William John’s subterfuge, which was what got me involved and us all to this point, as a boon.”
She chuckled. “In that, we’re something of a pair. As I told you several nights ago, being brought into the project as I have been has...widened my horizons in a way I had no idea was even possible.”
Rand felt satisfaction well within him—fueled by his delight in his new role and even more by her pleasure in hers. They reached the landing and turned to continue up the next flight, and he asked, “What about William John?”
Her reply came instantly. “I have never, ever, seen my brother so...simply happy. He loves what he does, but I suspect he’s never felt so free to simply be himself, with others he trusts to manage everything around him.”
Rand grinned. “You to manage the house and assist him as required, me to manage the project, and William John free to simply build machines.”
“Exactly.”
Emboldened by the ease he sensed between them, he ventured, “And what about you?” He glanced at her and through the dimness met her eyes. “Are you happier, too?”
Her lips curved, and she looked ahead. “Indubitably. I feel more settled than I’ve felt...possibly ever. I had no idea I’d retained enough of what I must have absorbed in my early years to contribute to any invention as I am, much less that I would find that activity so rewarding.”
His satisfaction welled and overflowed. Knowing she was content set the seal on his own contentment.
After several seconds, she said, “Amazing though it seems looking back on the confusion from which we started, it’s all coming together, isn’t it?”
If he’d been at all superstitious, he wouldn’t have replied, but given their recent advances, he felt they were entitled to hold to hope. “Yes. It’s been something of a scramble, but it is, indeed, coming together nicely. There are only the final tests to run, then we can install the engine into the carriage and be on our way to the exhibition.”
They reached the head of the stairs, and she made a soft scoffing sound. “It’ll never be that easy.”
He inclined his head. “True. But we can hope.”
She chuckled. Deeper shadows engulfed them as they walked around the gallery and on into the corridor that led to their rooms.
Peace and a sense of companionship quite unlike anything Rand had ever known lapped about his consciousness, soothing, supporting, indescribably comforting. Him and her walking through the quiet of a slumbering house...simply felt right. The conviction that she was the perfect lady for him had taken root in his soul. Practical, down to earth, solidly supportive, with an innate understanding of inventions and inventors that no other young lady could possibly have, she was a foil perfectly fashioned to complement him.
He would be a fool not to seize her.
They reached their doors—one on either side—and halted.
This time, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t let the moment when she turned to bid him goodnight elude him. His eyes seeking hers through the enveloping shadows, he caught her hand; with his eyes locked on hers, he raised her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. He waited a heartbeat to see her eyes flare, then smoothly drew her closer, nearer—to him—and as his other hand slid around her waist, urging her closer yet, he bent his head and covered her lips with his.
He’d intended it to be a gentle caress—a statement, an assurance, and a glimpse of what might be.
But he’d misjudged.
His inner self leapt at the chance to taste her, to steep himself in the pleasures of her mouth, of her lips and tongue...
Felicia’s head spun. She’d been kissed before, but never like this—with such direct and compelling mastery that she and all her senses had surged in response. Her lips parted beneath the temptation of his; she quelled a delicious shiver as his tongue teased the slick softness, then slid between and settled to explore.
To engage and expand her senses.
Her wits had gone wandering; to where, she didn’t care. Instinctively, she came up on her toes the better to participate in the enthralling exchange; she leaned into him, her hands coming to rest, palms flat, on his chest.
Even through the fabric of his coat and shirt, she felt the alluring heat of him. Beneath her hands, she sensed the reality of a flesh-and-blood man.
Desire bloomed. She’d never felt it before, yet she knew it for what it was and embraced it.