Stephanie Laurens - The Designs Of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh - #1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens returns with an uputdownable new historical romance

“Yet you seem to have managed well enough.”

She laughed cynically. “Up to now.” She paused, then in a quieter tone went on, “I saw what inventions made of my mother’s life. I learned that the obsession with inventions isn’t something even love can triumph against. When she fell ill, at her request I took up the reins of managing the household. Unlike Mama, I have a good head for numbers—and I was more than up to the task of arguing and nagging my father until he agreed to set aside funds for keeping up the house. Mama died eight years ago. Papa’s successes mostly occurred after that, and I managed to cling to sufficient funds to keep the good ship Throgmorton on an even keel.” She paused, then snipped another dead rose. “At least, so I thought.”

After a moment, she turned, dropped the dead rose into her basket, then raised her gaze and met Cavanaugh’s eyes. “I might as well confess that I hold a deep and abiding antipathy toward inventing—the process. Had I known how matters stood, if it had been up to me, after Papa died, I would have drawn a line under the steam engine project and returned the unused funds to you and your syndicate.” She paused, then inclined her head and swung back and shifted to face the next rose bush. “That said, I know William John wouldn’t have agreed, and quite aside from being male, he’s also older than me.” She cut another dead rose and more evenly said, “In addition to the reasons he gave—of wanting to establish himself—I suspect he feels a certain filial obligation to get the engine working as my father envisaged as a form of tribute to Papa—a final triumph.”

His gaze fixed on her profile, Rand murmured, “I can understand that.”

“It might be understandable, but is it sensible?” She snipped another rose, resurgent tension investing the movement.

Before Rand could formulate any answer, she shot a sharp glance—one a very small step away from a glare—his way. “After Papa’s death, the only reason I gave way and acquiesced to William John continuing to work on the steam engine project was because there was money still coming in—as I thought, from royalties from earlier inventions.”

She turned back to the bush; he could only see her profile, but even that looked flinty. The next dead rose fell to a savage slice of her shears.

“Both Papa and William John lied to me about the source of those funds. They didn’t just encourage me to believe something that wasn’t true—they lied. Directly. Several times each. They intentionally deceived me”—Rand almost winced as she took off another dead rose—“so that I would think there was enough money—sufficient money, at least—to be made from inventions after all. They bought my support with lies.”

Rand suddenly found himself skewered with a green gaze that was all daggers.

“You can imagine how I feel about that.”

He could.

“And”—she turned back to the rose bushes—“how I therefore feel about everything to do with inventors and inventing.”

He’d wanted to know, and now, he did. Rand looked down, studying the edge of the flagstone path while he absorbed all he’d heard, all he’d sensed behind her words, and readjusted his strategy.

He knew too many inventors to doubt anything she’d said. The emotional and physical neglect she’d described wasn’t uncommon but an all-too-frequent outcome of inventors’ single-minded focus on their works.

As for her hurt on learning she’d been lied to... He knew all about betrayal by one’s nearest and dearest, those a man—or a woman—should have been able to trust.

The realization left him feeling a closer kinship with her than he’d foreseen.

Unfortunately, he could do nothing about what lay in her past, any more than he could do anything about what lay in his.

Experience had taught him that forward was the only practical way to go.

He raised his head, studied her for an instant, then quietly said, “Just for the record, although I might fund inventions and intend to work alongside your brother in bringing his current project to fruition, I would definitely notice if the house started to crumble in even a minor way.”

She glanced at him sidelong and briefly met his eyes. “You’re an investor, not an inventor.”

He smiled tightly. “Indeed.” He didn’t want her tarring him with that brush.

She gave a small humph and turned back to snip another dead rose.

Rand studied her face, the flawless complexion—milk and honey with a golden tinge courtesy of the summer sun—framed by a wealth of tumbling red-gold locks that made his fingers itch.

And I would definitely notice if you were unhappy or distressed or under pressure of any sort, especially if it was due to something I’d done.

The words remained a quiet statement in his mind; he was too wise to utter them.

He straightened and caught the swift glance she threw his way. “Thank you for confiding in me.” He held her gaze. “I can’t promise that this will pan out as we all hope, but rest assured I will do everything I can to ensure the weight of your father’s last invention is lifted from you, your family, and the household as soon as possible.”

Openly, she searched his eyes. “Do you think it’s possible? That at this late stage, William John can sort out the mechanisms that to date have eluded him?”

He didn’t look away. “I can’t say. However, I can guarantee that our only option is to forge ahead and do everything possible to assist William John in that endeavor.”

She looked toward the house. For a moment, he thought she would merely nod in dismissal, but, instead, she raised her chin and said, “Thank you for the assurance of your support.” She paused, then went on, “While I might not be overjoyed about the project continuing, I understand the situation and accept that it must. That, as matters stand, we all need this invention to be a success.” Finally, her eyes touched his again, and she gracefully inclined her head. “Rest assured that I’ll do nothing to make the road to success more difficult.”

Rand tipped his head in response. “Thank you.” That was the assurance he’d come to the rose garden hoping to get. He stepped back. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

She murmured an agreement and returned to trimming the roses.

Rand turned and walked out of the rose garden, then he slid his hands into his pockets and strode across the lawn. On his way to the rose garden, he’d passed the still-open doors of the workshop; a breeze had sprung up, and the sulfurous fog had almost cleared. He turned his steps west. Circling the house would afford him time to sort through his thoughts as well as giving him the lie of the land.

Speaking of which, he should learn Miss Throgmorton’s given name. Not that he expected to get all that much closer to her, fascinating creature though she was. She was intelligent, prickly, and capable—more than clever enough to manipulate any man.

Precisely the sort of clever lady he’d long ago barricaded his heart against.

And if his heart wasn’t involved...given the circumstances, pursuing any sort of relationship with her was entirely out of bounds.

Yes, he was aware of the visceral tug he felt in her presence, but that didn’t mean he had to do anything about it.

Aside from all else, he was there, walking the lawns of Throgmorton Hall, for one burningly urgent reason. He had to ensure the Throgmorton Steam-Powered Horseless Carriage made its debut in appropriate style at the upcoming exhibition.

If he failed...

Unlike the Throgmortons, he wouldn’t be ruined, but the setback would be severe.

Clearly, he and William John would get no active help from Miss Throgmorton, not that he could imagine how she might actively assist. But she’d agreed to manage the household around them, around the completion of the invention, and that was really all he could hope for from her.