“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.”