Page 61 of The Pursuits of Lord Kit Cavanaugh (The Cavanaughs 2)

Her landlady beamed. “You look lovely, dear. I’ll just go and get the door—you wait a moment before you follow.”

Sylvia forced in several deep breaths and sternly told herself to stop questioning and simply enjoy the evening. Whatever Kit’s reasons for inviting her to accompany him, she’d learn them soon enough.

Remembering to glide, she started along the corridor. She’d attended dinners, musical soirées, and the like at the houses of various of the city’s hostesses, but given she avoided the morning teas and at-homes, she was considered something of an eccentric. Not quite a bluestocking, but close to it.

She reached the stairs and started down, her mind on who they might meet, then she felt Kit’s gaze and raised her own to see him standing in the front hall, looking up at her.

Her breath tangled in her throat; her lungs seized, and she stopped breathing.

He looked... “Magnificent” didn’t come close to doing him justice.

Oh, my!

His often unruly hair sat in neat, tamed waves about his well-shaped head. His clean-shaven features appeared chiseled, aristocratically severe, while his superbly cut coat emphasized the width of his quite remarkable chest. His attire was impeccable, from ivory silk cravat, striped waistcoat in varying shades of gray, and trousers that clung to his powerful thighs before falling to brush the tops of highly polished boots.

Although from on the stairs, his height was less obvious, she knew he towered a full head taller than she—he would be taller than the majority of men at the concert.

More, the aura of dominance that hung about him wasn’t purely a matter of physical attributes. Dressed like this, he looked exactly what he was—a nobleman of understated power.

Then he smiled a slow, deeply appreciative smile—one she didn’t even need to see his eyes to read—and what wits she’d retained scattered like autumn leaves in a gale.

Savoring the moment, Kit waited for her to come to him. His mouth had dried; the instant he’d seen her starting down the stairs, a sylph in truth, slender as a reed in her pale green gown, his attention had locked on her, and he’d forgotten the rest of the world.

For these few minutes, she demanded and captured his mind, and he was more than happy to devote his senses to her.

To drinking in her feminine delights, such as the delectable curve of her swan-like neck, exposed above the raised collar of her gown. From high at her nape, that embroidered collar, edged with fine Belgian lace, swept down and around, showcasing the luscious mounds of her breasts. He hadn’t previously seen those; the gowns she normally wore covered her from the neck down, and her bridesmaid’s gown had also possessed a modest neckline.

She’d been hiding herself away—just as she’d concealed the fiery, passionate nature that had sent her barging into his office over a week ago.

On reaching the last stair, she stepped down to the tiles, and he managed at last to fill his lungs and realized his smile revealed rather more than he wished it to—at least at this point—but she merely smiled serenely back; she didn’t seem unnerved by his appreciation.

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.”