The Pursuits of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

by Stephanie Laurens

  Kit halted beside his friend and surveyed the sight with appreciation and not a little satisfaction. One team of carpenters, working under Mulligan, was shaping the board that would become the central base plank of the keel, while another team under Shaw’s direction was hammering away in the offices, which were nearly ready for occupation.

  Glancing that way, Kit noticed Miss Petty keeping a watchful eye on the finishing touches Shaw himself was installing. She’d arrived not long ago to check the progress on what would be her space—hers and Mulligan’s—in the workshop. Her arrival had instantly put Mulligan—and the men and even Jack—on their best behavior, a change that both Kit and Wayland viewed with considerable amusement.

  All was settling so very smoothly into place, Kit was almost starting to feel nervous.

  Almost, but not quite; after all, he’d worked hard to ensure everything did come together, men, building, and tools included.

  After several seconds more of looking around and finding nothing remotely amiss, Kit glanced at Wayland.

  Before Kit could speak, Wayland waved at the new keel. “If I wasn’t seeing this with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe we’ve got so far so quickly.” He met Kit’s eyes and grinned. “For the record, I’m damned glad I threw in my lot with you and your mad idea of Cavanaugh Yachts.”

  Kit grinned back. “Nothing mad about it—as my brothers will tell you, this is a finely crafted venture.”

  “Hah!” Wayland looked back at the keel. “As your designer-builder, I can hardly disagree.”

  Kit shifted, then said, “As everything is going well here, I think I’ll call in at the school.”

  Instantly, Wayland—who Kit had told about the fire—sobered. He met Kit’s eyes and nodded. “Yes. Go. If those blighters are watching, then seeing you checking in might underscore that they need to keep a good distance.”

  Kit nodded. “Indeed.”

  Wayland waved. “Go. I’ll lock up here.” He started toward the men, flinging over his shoulder, “We’ve all in hand.”

  Kit smiled. He turned toward the open doors, then remembered and diverted to the office to tell Miss Petty he was off to the school.

  She looked at him with approval. “Very good, my lord. Should anyone inquire for you at this late hour, I will take their details and suggest they try again tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Miss Petty.” Kit grinned at Shaw, who was having to work under her eagle eye. “I’ll leave you to your supervising.”

  Unseen by Miss Petty, Shaw rolled his eyes, but by the time she turned back, he was hammering again.

  Kit stepped out of the workshop into the rather gloomy day. It had been overcast from morning, and a chill wind was whipping off the choppy waters of the Floating Harbor. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he started off along the cobbles toward Princes Street. As he drew level with the mouth of an alley, he sensed movement, turned his head, and saw a man striding away up the alley.

  He watched the man for a second, but the fellow continued on, then Kit was past the alley and turned his eyes and mind toward the school.

  * * *

  Kit wasn’t surprised to find Sylvia at the school; in many respects, they seemed to think along similar lines.

  He halted just inside the open door. As it was past four o’clock, the boys were long gone, and judging by their scarves and coats, Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs were on the point of leaving.

  Jellicoe and Cross nodded genially Kit’s way, and Miss Meggs bobbed a curtsy.

  Sylvia, tidying something away in a cupboard, turned and welcomed him with a smile.

  Kit smiled back, then nodded to the other three. “All well here?”

  “Better than well,” Cross replied, winding his scarf about his neck. “The excitement of the fire has proved a seven-day wonder with the boys, and Jellicoe and I have been elevated to the status of heroes.”

  “As for you,” Jellicoe said, “now the news of you adding your name to the school and putting up a sign to prove it has broken, you occupy an even higher level in the boys’ estimation.”

  Miss Meggs, a trifle pink, murmured, “Your claiming of them, as it were, has made a very real impression on the boys.”

  With nods of farewell to him and to Sylvia, Jellicoe and Cross escorted Miss Meggs out of the door.

  Sylvia, her reticule now in hand and her coat on, walked up. She paused beside Kit and, with her gaze on the departing trio, said, “All three of them stressed how deeply you attaching your name to the school and arranging a sign that will make that public has affected the boys. It seems they’ve all taken it to heart—their behavior has improved, along with their application.” She briefly met his eyes, the approval in hers very real. “I know you thought to protect the school by having your name and title so openly stamped upon it, yet in truth, the rise in the boys’ confidence—in their belief in their own self-worth—might well be the most valuable benefit to come from the sign.”

  He lightly shrugged. “I’ll be delighted if that’s so.” He waved her on. As he followed her through the door, he realized he’d spoken truly; he did feel a certain pleasure—one of unlooked-for achievement—at the thought.

  He waited while she locked the door. When she turned and arched her brows at him, he asked, “Wither away?”

  She looked along the street toward the city. “To my office. There are a few invoices and orders I need to clear away.”

  He understood the impulse to clear one’s desk at the end of the day. “I’ll escort you there.”

  Sylvia accepted his offer with an inclination of her head and started down the steps.

  They strolled side by side through the gathering dusk. The scents of autumn were riding the rising breeze, adding an earthy tang to the air.

  They drew level with the Stenshaw house, and Sylvia glanced that way, but again, saw no sign of activity. She hadn’t seen Mrs. Stenshaw since they’d left her in her drawing room on Saturday.

  Kit had noticed her look. “Any further trouble from that quarter?”

  His tone suggested he would react if there had been; she debated mentioning her odd sense of being watched the previous afternoon, but... “No.” She shook her head. “Mrs. Stenshaw seems to have given up all active opposition to the school. She doesn’t even come out to glower at us.”

  “Good.”

  They walked around the corner onto the Butts.

  She glanced at his face; as usual, it told her little. “How are things going at the warehouse?”

  A quick grin flashed into being, and he met her eyes. “I’m amazed. Wayland’s amazed. We’ve actually laid the bilge board of our first keel.”

  She smiled. “I take it that’s a remarkable achievement.”

  “In just a few days? It most certainly is, especially as we had to do a great deal of preparation work to convert the warehouse to a functioning yacht-building workshop.”

  “What sort of preparation?”

  He grew animated as he told her, strong hands waving to indicate size and position.

  She hadn’t seen him like this before—in full flight, given over to his passion.

  “Actually,” he said as they neared the drawbridge and he took her elbow to steady her up the steps, “I have to thank you anew for the chance to use your pupils as messengers. Several of the men we’ve hired came to us because the boys spread the word—we wouldn’t have found them otherwise.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Many of the older craftsmen have given up and are no longer even looking for work.”

  “Exactly—and some of those are the very craftsmen we need to build our yachts to the quality we’re determined to achieve.”

  And he was off again, describing the features they hoped to incorporate into their yachts. She found his enthusiasm very like that of the boys—infectious and engaging.

  They were descending t
he steps on the east bank of the Frome when she again sensed that disturbing—unnerving—tickle of primitive reaction slithering across her nape. Stepping down to the pavement, she glanced swiftly around.

  Kit noticed. Instantly alert, he raised his head and looked around, too—and the sensation vanished.

  “What is it?” Kit demanded. Every protective instinct he possessed had leapt to the fore the instant she’d abruptly paused and glanced around, and the way she’d looked around had only escalated his concern. He returned his gaze to her face to see her frowning into the distance.

  Then she grimaced. Her chin firming, she shook her head. “It’s...annoying more than anything else.” She glanced at him and briefly met his eyes before starting to walk again, more purposefully now.

  He fell in beside her. When he simply waited, his gaze on her profile, she sighed and said, “Yesterday, I stopped by the school to check supplies, to check in general, and when I was walking home, I got that feeling one gets when someone is watching you.”

  Kit glanced back, thinking of the route they’d covered. “Was it in the same place that you sensed the watcher? Around the bridge on this side?”

  “No. Yesterday, it happened while I was on the Butts. I looked around then, too, but...” She gestured. “All I saw was the same thing I saw today—that you saw as well. Lots of ordinary people going about their business. No one skulking. Especially no suspicious youths.”

  “You think it’s the Stenshaw lads?”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it? But”—she shrugged—“who knows?”

  She kept walking, and he paced alongside her, more bothered than he let show.

  After several yards, she murmured, “Perhaps I’m just jumpy after the fire.”

  He seriously doubted that was the case; from all he’d seen of her, she had a backbone of iron and nerves of steel.

  They continued along Clare Street into Corn Street. He could see the tower of Christ Church looming ahead.

  In his mind, he assessed every possible angle—every direction from which a threat might come. He remembered the man he’d seen walking away from the warehouse. He hadn’t been in the city long enough to have acquired any enemies here. After a moment, he asked, “Do you know of any enemies—people who might wish you ill?”

  The look she bent on him suggested he’d taken leave of his senses. “No. Of course not. I have no enemies.”

  He grimaced and let the matter drop, but he wasn’t going to forget it. He’d long ago learned to trust intuition regarding such nebulous threats—and not only his intuition. No matter how she tried to downplay it, she’d been disturbed by the watcher’s attention. That alone meant something, and it wasn’t anything good.

  Surreptitiously, he glanced around again, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them.

  Looking at her, he studied what little he could see of her face, then ventured, “You would be entertained if you could be a fly on the wall and see the change in our men—and in Jack the Lad—whenever Miss Petty darkens the workshop door.”

  Sylvia smiled and met his eyes. “Miss Petty and Jack the Lad?”

  “Haven’t I mentioned them?” Kit put his experience at being a charming companion to good use and soon had Sylvia smiling and laughing again.

  But as he followed her through the door of the building beside the church, he decided that, instead of leaving her at her office door, he would dally and walk her all the way home.

  CHAPTER 9

  The following morning, Kit reached the workshop to find Wayland staring aghast at the wreckage of their first keel.

  Kit was struck speechless. Then he looked at Wayland. “What happened?”

  Wayland gestured helplessly at the broken timbers. “I don’t know. I just arrived, found the latch on the door broken, and walked in to discover”—he waved—“this!” With both hands, he snatched at his hair. “Aargh! I knew it was too good to be true.”

  Kit felt the same way. They’d been rolling along without so much as a glitch and, now, this.

  But this wasn’t any accident.

  “Who?” Wayland said. “That’s what I want to know.”

  Grimly, Kit nodded. An image of the man he’d glimpsed walking away up the alley the day before swam into his mind. During working hours, the doors of the workshop were always propped open. If the man had been skulking in the Grove, he would have been able to see what was being built inside. “When I left yesterday, I saw a man in the alley two buildings away. I didn’t see his face. When I saw him, he was walking away, but I got the impression he was leaving...that I’d disturbed him and sent him off.”

  Wayland studied Kit’s face. “You think he’d been watching us?”

  Thinking back over the moment, Kit nodded. “I suspect so. We’re the only active enterprise along this stretch—all the other buildings are stores or offices.”

  And then there was whoever had been watching Sylvia. Were the two “watchers” one and the same?

  Was Sylvia being watched because she was connected with him? Anyone who had been following him over the past days would have seen him with her.

  A large shape loomed in the doorway, then Mulligan pulled up short. “What on earth?”

  His features grim, Wayland nodded. “Exactly. Apparently, someone doesn’t want us to succeed.”

  Mulligan’s face set. “We’ll see about that.” The burly foreman walked in and paced around the frame supporting the keel. Then he halted and snorted. “Luckily, it’s not as bad as it looks. The center part of the frame is intact. The outer sections will have to be replaced, but there’s no damage I can see to the bilge board. That would have set us back.”

  “Hmm.” Wayland joined Mulligan in examining the damage more critically. “We’ve plenty of timber—how long do you think it will take to strip out the damaged pieces and replace them?”

  Mulligan glanced at the offices, which were nearly complete. “If we pull Shaw and his team off the offices today and use them alongside my group on the frame and keel, we should be back to where we were by early afternoon. Then we can push on. And Shaw will only need one man for a single day to polish off everything in the offices, so pulling him and his team off today won’t set things back too much.”

  Wayland nodded. “Let’s do that.” He looked at Kit, brows rising.

  “Yes,” Kit said, in reply to that look. “I’m sure that, in the circumstances, Miss Petty won’t be at all perturbed over having to wait another day to get into her new office.”

  Mulligan grunted, and then the other men started streaming in, giving rise to more exclamations and subsequent explanations.

  Briefly, Kit addressed the assembled men, admitting that he and Wayland had no idea who might have broken in and tried to wreck the build. “However, I do know that the best way forward after incidents like this is to put it behind us and get on—to repair, redo, and forge ahead.”

  Although angry and dismayed, the men determinedly nodded at that. Kit waved Mulligan forward, and the foreman took over, assigning the day’s tasks.

  Kit worked with Wayland and Mulligan to get the men settled and focused again, with rectifying the damage as their top priority.

  Once everyone was busy and the repairs under way, Kit stepped back beside one of the moveable tool racks. With his gaze on the men climbing about the frame as they pulled out damaged timbers, he pummeled his brain for who might be responsible—for any rhyme or reason behind the sabotage.

  Wayland slouched up and halted beside him, his gaze on the men as well. After a moment, he said, “I keep coming back to the question of who would do something like this.” He raked his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to smooth down the tufts he’d created.

  Kit shook his head. “I can’t imagine. I’ve been wracking my brains trying to think of any enemies I have, or even might have, who would stoop to this, but I ca
n’t think of anyone.”

  “Especially anyone who might be here—in Bristol.” After a second, Wayland said, “I haven’t come up with any potential suspects, either.”

  They watched Jack scurry back and forth, fetching tools for the men as they called for them—and sometimes when they didn’t.

  After a long moment of pondering, Kit said, “Over the last few days, Sylvia Buckleberry has been disturbed by the sensation of someone watching her. Ever since the fire. She hasn’t spotted anyone but, given the location of the incidents, wondered if it was the Stenshaw lads—those two who set the fire at the school.”

  Wayland nodded his understanding, and Kit continued, “It occurs to me that if those two were vicious enough to try to unnerve her by stalking her, then perhaps they thought to strike at me as well. In reality, they’d have more reason to come after me, and therefore this workshop, than her.”

  Wayland tipped his head. “I suppose that’s possible. And we don’t have all that many possibilities.”

  “None except for that man I saw yesterday, but he could simply have been an interested bystander—no malicious intentions at all.”

  “True.”

  “Jack!” Shaw bellowed. “Where’s that screwdriver?”

  “Coming!” Jack darted out from the other side of the tool rack and raced across to hand Shaw the tool.

  Wayland looked toward the doors. “We’ll need to do something to secure this place rather better.”

  “Leave that to Mulligan and me. I’ll talk to him when he can spare a minute.” Kit glanced at Wayland, then looked toward the larger office, which was almost ready for occupation. “Aren’t you impatient to get back to your designing?”

  Wayland grinned. “I am, actually.” He glanced at the men. “Once they reach the point of moving on to new construction, I plan to slip away and start sorting out the space.”