The Pursuits of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

by Stephanie Laurens

  There was no spare man with whom Kit could partner. He looked around, amid the chaos of boys arguing over who should take what, trying to assess what item would be most useful for him to cart.

  Sylvia had paused to speak with Miss Meggs and ensure that everyone was having their loads noted. Kit lifted a pile of slates, which was surprisingly heavy; wrapping his arms about the stack, he hoisted it and joined Sylvia as—apparently realizing how many men and desks had already passed out of the warehouse on their way to Trinity Street—she somewhat distractedly farewelled Miss Meggs. Seeing Kit with the slates, she waved him on and bent to lift a smaller box of chalks. Miss Meggs made a note and smiled and nodded to them both to proceed. Kit stepped out, pleased to find Sylvia falling in beside him.

  “We’ll have to hurry.” She was, indeed, bustling along purposefully. “There’s no sense in the men reaching the hall before us. They won’t know where to leave the desks.”

  Smiling, Kit inclined his head and, lengthening his stride, easily kept pace.

  They strode quickly up Princes Street, electing to avoid the busy quay for as long as they could. She glanced sidelong at him several times, then said, “I didn’t expect you to carry things yourself. Your coat is likely to get chalk dust on it.”

  He bent a faintly teasing smile on her. “My man will tut, but I really don’t care. A coat is a coat, after all.”

  When she continued to look as if him carting things was something of a social solecism, he sighed. “Think of this as me ensuring that the warehouse is completely cleared by day’s end.”

  At that, she looked openly disbelieving. “You didn’t have to help carry things to ensure that—you’ve already done more than I expected.”

  He held her gaze for an instant, then quietly said, “Is it so hard to believe that I honestly like helping people?”

  The way she blinked at him before she faced forward suggested it had been, despite her “Of course not. I just...hadn’t expected it.”

  He hoped she was readjusting her image of him—one of his less-obvious motives.

  Their procession had to cross the drawbridge over the Frome, and as the bridge was presently raised, they caught up with their eager helpers there, in the shadow of Viell’s Tower. The instant the ship had passed and the bridge was lowered, everyone set off again. Less encumbered than the other adults, Sylvia and Kit drew ahead.

  When they got to the hall, he reached across and lifted the box of chalks from her arms. When she looked about to protest—the chalk!—he grinned. “I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”

  She humphed, but consented to dive into her reticule and drag out the key. She unlocked the door and set it wide.

  Kit followed her inside. “Where do you want these sorts of things?”

  She pointed to the far-right corner. “Over there. Once we have the desks set up again, the boys will put what they each should have back into their desks.”

  While he crossed to the designated spot and set down his burdens, she stood by the door and welcomed the men and boys who’d been following them.

  He returned to her side and stood behind her as she directed the men as to where she wished them to place the desks, then Jellicoe and Cross arrived with their unwieldy burdens.

  The teachers set the blackboards down along the front of the room.

  “Well!” Jellicoe turned and, eyes lighting appreciatively, surveyed the hall. “This is certainly a step up.”

  “And it’s going to be much closer for us,” Cross said. To Kit, he explained, “Our digs are on this side of the river—along St. Augustine’s Back.”

  Jellicoe nodded. “Just a few minutes away, and we won’t have to wait for the drawbridge ever again.”

  Sylvia came up. “Can you two remain here for the moment and oversee the boys?” She handed Jellicoe the key. “Once they’re all on their way back, you can lock up and bring the key back to the warehouse. I want to check on Miss Meggs, but by the time you get back, I’ll be ready to head over here again.”

  Jellicoe took the key, and Cross tipped her a salute. “Given there are twenty desks, we’ll have to pitch in and muscle over a couple between us. We’ll see you back at the warehouse.”

  “Thank you.” With a relieved smile, Sylvia turned away. She collected Kit with a glance. “Coming?”

  As was becoming his habit, he grinned and waved her to the door. “Lead on.”

  They went back and forth; on reaching the hall a second time, Kit left Sylvia chatting with the teachers and boys and slipped out to the tavern he’d spotted just around the corner. Emerging five minutes later, he fell in with several of the hired men hauling desks between them. He smiled. “Pass the word, if you would—sandwiches and cider for all who’ve helped with the move at the new hall at noon.”

  The men’s eyes lit, and they hoisted their burdens with renewed purpose. “Thank ye, m’lord,” several called, while others tipped their heads to him.

  Kit strode ahead, meeting Sylvia as she reappeared on the hall’s porch. “There are more desks just turning into the street. And I ordered food—sandwiches and cider—for everyone. The tavern keeper’s wife said she and her girls will deliver the food here at noon.”

  Sylvia stared at him. “Thank you. I hadn’t thought...”

  He grinned. “I’m used to working with men. We get hungry. And I could hardly eat all by myself.”

  She sent him a look that seemed to say that she’d adjusted her preconceived notions of him already, then she looked into the hall. “Cross—did you hear?”

  “Aye, and very welcome the sustenance will be,” Cross called.

  Together with Sylvia, Kit set out for the warehouse again. Once they’d crossed the bridge and reached the top of King Street, he halted and turned to her. “You go ahead—I have to deal with something, but I’ll join you in ten minutes or so.”

  She looked faintly surprised, but nodded. “All right. I’ll meet you at the warehouse.”

  He saw her across the street, then turned and strode for his bank. He needed a small mound of shillings.

  When he reached the warehouse fifteen minutes later, he was vaguely aware he was clinking with every step. Ignoring that, he halted beside Sylvia near the door and scanned the almost-empty space.

  She looked up with a pleased smile. “The last of the desks has gone on its way. We’re almost finished. Just a few more packages of books.” With her head, she indicated a small pile of packages trussed up with twine. “I have to admit I had no idea the boys had borrowed so many books from the lending library. Cross and Miss Meggs take the boys to exchange and borrow new books every week.”

  “Has it proved useful—the lending library?”

  “Immensely. An adventure book is just the thing to help the boys learn to read.”

  Six of the older boys appeared, returning for their next loads.

  “We’re the last, Miss Buckleberry,” one of the boys reported. “Mr. Jellicoe and Mr. Cross kept the others back to start unpacking and putting everything away.”

  “Excellent.” Sylvia waved the group toward the pile of books. “Take one or two packages each—whatever you can safely carry. I sent Miss Meggs on, so please report to me as you go out.”

  “Yes, miss!” came the enthusiastic reply.

  With Kit, Sylvia did a quick circuit of the warehouse while the boys picked over the book pile.

  “There’s nothing left but the books,” Sylvia stated with satisfaction. “I wouldn’t have believed we could move everything so quickly. Well,” she temporized, “we wouldn’t have if we’d had to move the desks without help.” She caught Kit’s eye. “Again, thank you.”

  You can thank me by not tarring me with an undeserved brush. Kit held the words back; he had no idea why her opinion of him should matter so much. All he knew was that it did. Smiling easily, he waved at the empty space. “
This is my reward.”

  She smiled back, then crossed to the door.

  As the boys, each laden with packages, trudged up to the door, Sylvia blinked at the leading pair; the two oldest lads were carrying three packages each, their arms wrapped awkwardly about the bundles. “Boys, are you sure you can manage those?”

  “Yes, miss,” the pair chorused. “We’ll manage.”

  She hesitated, clearly unsure.

  Standing behind her shoulder, Kit ducked his head and spoke softly, for her ears alone. “Let them go—they’re trying to do what they think they should in clearing the place completely. We’ll be following close behind, after all.”

  Sylvia nodded at the pair. “Just take care. If you get into difficulties, please wait, and we’ll be along shortly.”

  Kit could have told her that was a futile instruction; the last thing the lads would want was for him to see them fail in their self-appointed task.

  As the oldest lads departed, the other four trailed up to the door.

  One boy fixed Kit with an eager look. “Is it true, then, your lordship, that there’ll be food and cider for us all?”

  Kit smiled. “Yes—for everyone who helped move the school, and that definitely includes all you boys.”

  The lad beamed, then turned to the boy behind him. “Told you. His lordship’s no pinchpenny.”

  With a confident smile for Kit, the first boy led the way out, those behind him looking grateful and eager as well.

  “You’ve made friends there,” Sylvia commented.

  Kit glanced at her and arched a brow. “Boys are easy to bribe—food almost always works.”

  She chuckled, then looked at the book pile; only two packages remained. “We can take those, and then, I believe, you will have your wish—the warehouse properly and thoroughly vacated and ready for your men to move in.”

  Kit crossed to the packages and hoisted both up, tucking them under one arm. “I didn’t imagine we’d be this efficient, either, so we’ll have to wait until morning for the delivery of the timbers we’ll need, but come morning, we’ll be here.”

  His heart lifted at the thought.

  He followed Sylvia out of the open doors and helped her tug them shut. She secured the simple latch with the padlock, turned the key, then offered it to him. “I believe this is now yours.”

  Kit accepted the key and dropped it into his pocket. “Thank you.”

  In companionable mood, they set out to catch up with the boys.

  Sylvia found herself inwardly marveling. Not just at the fact they’d managed to move the school, lock, stock, and barrel, in just one morning, but also that the transfer had run so smoothly.

  A boon she was well aware she owed to the man striding so easily beside her.

  She glanced sidelong at him—just a quick glance, enough to take in his relaxed, confident, and assured expression. Just long enough to sense again the tug on her senses. That hadn’t abated with exposure, much as she’d hoped it would; he remained a lodestone for her senses, for her attention. Indeed, if anything, the result of spending more time in his company had only increased the intensity of what, in her view, remained a dangerous attraction.

  For as long as she’d been aware of it—from the first month of her London Season—Kit Cavanaugh’s reputation had painted him as a charming, dangerously flirtatious nobleman, one who was wealthy but indolent, who meant nothing by anything he said, and who was very much a care-for-naught—the sort of gentleman all sane young ladies and all careful parents avoided like the plague.

  Yet the man by her side was none of that.

  He definitely wasn’t the gentleman she’d met at Felicia’s wedding...or perhaps he was the same, but she’d assumed he was quite different.

  The Kit Cavanaugh she’d seen over the past days was a gentleman of a very different stripe.

  The sort of gentleman who could be good company, but who had a serious side. A practical side. On top of that, he seemed to know how to deal with people, especially those not of his class.

  She’d met enough aristocrats to know that wasn’t a widely held talent.

  Quite what she thought of the Kit Cavanaugh who was walking beside her, she wasn’t entirely sure.

  Was what he was now showing her of him real? Or was this the façade?

  CHAPTER 4

  “Careful.” Kit gripped Sylvia’s elbow to steer her safely across the cobbles of King Street.

  His touch sent thrills lancing up her arm; her breath caught, but he gave no sign of noticing, and once they’d reached the wider expanse of Broad Quay, he released her and resumed his steady pacing alongside her.

  She decided she was not going to look his way; instead, she surveyed the pedestrians before them. “I haven’t yet caught sight of the boys—they must have rushed ahead.”

  It was close to noon, and the crowds on the quay limited how far she could see.

  Head raised, Kit was scanning the throng. “A couple of the boys are approaching the bridge.”

  As she and Kit neared the drawbridge over the Frome, she got a clear view of the two oldest lads; more heavily burdened, the pair were trudging doggedly along. The other boys with their lighter loads must have gone ahead; there was no sign of them. As by Kit’s side, she wove through the crowd, making for the steps leading up to the drawbridge, she saw the two lads struggle up the stone steps, heave their loads higher in their arms, and tramp out onto the wooden span.

  She and Kit were almost at the steps when she heard a loud hail.

  Looking up at the bridge, she saw the two school lads being bailed up by a gang of older youths. The four youths pushed and taunted the two schoolboys; it was blatantly apparent that the gang thought to enliven their day by making the younger lads drop their precious packages over the bridge’s railing into the churning waters below.

  “Oh, no!” Sylvia tensed to run forward, but Kit thrust the packages he’d been carrying at her feet, all but tripping her.

  “Wait here and watch those.”

  She had little choice as he strode to the rescue, taking the steps up to the bridge in two strides, then descending on the pack of louts like an avenging angel.

  The gang saw him coming and paused, instantly recognizing a predator of much higher status than they. But they didn’t back away from the schoolboys. Instead, the youths waited, assuming Kit—who, whatever he wore or wherever he was, carried his status like a mantle—would stride disinterestedly past and leave their victims to them.

  Kit assessed the situation with a keen eye, then veered to halt behind the two schoolboys. He dropped a hand on each lad’s shoulder. “Is there some problem here?”

  He directed the question to the lout he judged to be the leader of the gang, a gangling youth of perhaps seventeen years.

  Kit allowed his gaze to dwell, coldly, on the youth’s pasty face and waited with icy calm.

  Beneath his hands, he felt the two school lads straighten, confidence returning. One of them said, “Don’t rightly know what this lot want with us.”

  “Indeed?” Kit arched a brow at the gang leader. “Perhaps you’d like to enlighten us.”

  The other members of the gang started to edge away. The leader glanced around, then swung back to face Kit and swallowed. “Ah...no. No problem.” The youth licked his lips and added, “We was just asking if they perhaps needed a hand with them packages, is all, sir.”

  Kit allowed a shark-like smile to curve his lips. “It’s not ‘sir’—it’s ‘my lord.’ And how kind of you to volunteer to help.”

  The youth’s eyes flew wide. “Wot?”

  But Kit was already speaking to the schoolboys. “We have six packages and, all together, I see six lads before me.” He patted the schoolboys’ shoulders encouragingly. “Let’s pass the packages around to these helpful lads, and we’ll be at the school that much faster. Here—le
t me help.”

  Kit plucked a package out of the arms of one of the schoolboys and pushed it into the chest of the gang leader.

  Instinctively, the youth grabbed the package.

  Before his mates could flee, Kit pointed at them and beckoned. “Come along—don’t be shy.”

  In less than a minute, each of the gang members was clutching one of the packages.

  “Let’s get moving, then.” Kit waved the six toward the other end of the bridge. “Boys”—he caught the eyes of the two school lads—“why don’t you lead the way?”

  Leaving him to pace behind the gang members.

  Now carrying only one package each, the schoolboys happily took off, and reluctantly, with an almost disbelieving air, the gang fell in behind them.

  Kit watched for an instant, then turned to fetch Sylvia and the packages he’d been carrying—only to discover her a yard away with the packages at her feet.

  She met his eyes, and the amused smile on her face was something to see—a sight he hadn’t seen before but wanted to see more often. He frowned, wondering where that thought had come from. “You shouldn’t have struggled with those.”

  “They weren’t that heavy, just unwieldy.” Sylvia nodded to where the four youths were lagging and casting glances over their shoulders. “And you’ll need to keep up with that lot if we want those books to reach the school.”

  He grunted. Settling the two packages under his arm again, he fixed his gaze on the gang members, who immediately faced forward and picked up their pace. “Come on.”

  Sylvia fell in beside him.

  As they descended the steps at the other end of the bridge, she glanced at his face. “They’ll never forget that, you know.” She meant not just the gang members but also the two lads from the school—the dockyard brats who’d had a lord stand up for them.

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” He sounded as if he wasn’t entirely sure, then added, “I hope they’ll also remember that bullying others can have unforeseen consequences.”