British Bachelors: Delicious and Dangerous: The Tycoon's Delicious Distraction / The Woman Sent to Tame Him / Once a Playboy.... Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
indisputably interested as to the motivation behind Henry Treverne’s decision to become an impresario in such a dog-eat-dog profession. Having been a temporary home help to many celebrity clients, she’d done her research and learned that ‘Lucky Henry’ came from landed gentry and had grown up with every possible material advantage. Was money and success the only thing that inspired him because he’d already experienced being raised with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth? Surely the man must be a more complex character than his public persona suggested?
Not only had he enjoyed every material advantage growing up, he was also blessed with an extraordinary physique and arresting good looks to boot. As Kit’s gaze settled on broad, athletic shoulders in a cream cashmere sweater and thick dark hair curling somewhat rebelliously over the neckline she couldn’t help wondering that if he should offer her the job, and if she accepted it, perhaps this time she really would be biting off more than she could chew. She might have deliberately given Henry Treverne the impression that she wasn’t particularly concerned about whether he gave her the job or not because she’d already lined up another interview in Edinburgh, but the truth was it did matter to Kit—because the agency was paying the highest possible rate for this position and, as well as looking good on her résumé, it would really help boost her savings—savings she was eager to add to so that she might at long last buy the little bolthole she’d always yearned for.
‘What’s Kit short for?’
The question was fired at her as they reached the living room. Not answering immediately, Kit glanced round to get her bearings. The first thing that hit her was the bold oil painting of a man scaling what looked to be the sheer face of a glacier. Something about the tilt of the head, along with the colour of his hair and the breadth of his shoulders, made Kit realise that the daredevil mountaineer was Henry. Transfixed, it was hard for her to look away.
‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ she said.
His tight-lipped expression told her the question unsettled him.
‘It is.’
Ignoring the opportunity to comment further—unlike most men, who notoriously loved to brag about their daring exploits—he remained stubbornly uncommunicative, so she returned her attention to the living room. She’d guessed his taste would veer towards the contemporary and she was right. The high-quality monochrome furniture that predominated was ultra-chic, with smooth clean lines, and it was arranged almost like a display of elite sculptures at an exhibition. Even though it had probably cost and arm and a leg to furnish, it was hardly the most inviting living room Kit had ever been in... However, the three streamlined ebony leather couches that took centre stage were strewn with brightly coloured Moroccan-style silk cushions that made her think he must have surrendered to a rogue impulse to inject some warmth into the arrangement.
‘Kit is short for Katherine, and Katherine is spelt with a K.’ Breaking off her reverie, she returned to his question regarding her name.
Her answer was the one she usually gave when quizzed about it. Her mother had been very particular about the spelling...it was the one decision in her life she’d appeared to have made with ease. It was a far from a normal occurrence. When it came to making informed decisions for herself and her daughter Elizabeth Blessington reacted to the task like a billiard ball run amok—decisions were random and precarious. How could they not be when they were invariably emotionally driven rather than made using reason and common sense? That was why Kit had found herself taking charge from such a ridiculously young age. While her friends had been playing with dolls or games Kit had usually been sitting in her mother’s kitchen, trying to help find some practical solution to her latest dramatic dilemma—or if not that then consoling her because some unsuitable man she’d become infatuated with had once again let her down.
Elizabeth Blessington’s choice of men had been disastrous, and the self-destructive pattern had begun with Kit’s father. Ralph Cottonwood had been a genuine Romany gypsy who had selfishly abandoned Elizabeth when she’d become pregnant. In her mother’s wistful words, ‘He couldn’t be tied down to a conventional married life when the allure of the open road would always call to him.’
Although Kit had missed not having a steady male influence in her life, she’d long ago decided that her itinerant father had probably done her and her mother a favour by not sticking around. One totally impractical parent with her head in the clouds had been quite enough to cope with...
‘Why don’t you sit down?’
Moving his wheelchair into the centre of the room, Henry vaguely waved his hand towards the couches.
‘Okay.’ As she settled herself Kit rested her hands together in her lap and patiently waited for him to continue. A sudden realisation struck her. She’d thought his eyes were green, but in the beam of gold sunlight that streamed through the windows she saw that they were a chameleon-like hazel, and fringed with enviably lustrous long black lashes. She’d have to be made of stone not to admire such a compelling visage...
‘So tell me, Katherine with a K, what impulse led you into doing this kind of work?’
‘I decided to do it because I like helping people.’
‘And what qualifications do you have?’
The question didn’t faze her, even though she’d often regretted her lack of opportunity to study for a profession. But with a mother who was often in financial trouble because she didn’t have a clue how to manage money Kit had had no choice but to start work at sixteen so that she could contribute to the household income and help pay the rent.
‘Do you mean professional qualifications?’
He nodded.
Pursing her lips for a moment, Kit quickly gathered her thoughts. ‘I’ve done some fairly intensive first-aid training courses and completed a carer’s certificate. But what I lack in professional qualifications I make up for by having plenty of “hands-on” experience in helping to take care of people. If you speak to Barbara—the manager at the agency—she’ll clarify what I’ve said. I’ve been with her for the past five years and my record is exemplary. The agency standards are extremely high, and she wouldn’t keep me on if I didn’t help her live up to that.’
Her heart was thudding a little as she finished speaking, because Henry’s expression had at first been perturbed and then somewhat amused. Was he perhaps thinking she must be crazy if she thought he’d seriously consider taking on someone with minimal qualifications to work for him? Kit hoped he would at least give her a chance to demonstrate her competence. Inexplicably, the thought of travelling up to Scotland tomorrow had strangely lost its appeal.
‘It’s lucky for you that I’m a risk-taker. Other people might call it reckless, but fortunately I don’t much care what other people think. Okay, Ms Blessington, when can you start?’
He was going to give her a chance? Secretly elated, but careful not to show it, Kit strove for her usual composure. ‘Are you saying that you’d like to offer me the job, Mr Treverne?’
He immediately combed his fingers through his unruly dark hair and scowled. ‘Isn’t that why you’re here...because you want to work for me?’
‘Yes, I am. But—’
‘Firstly, don’t call me Mr Treverne. It’s far too formal. You can call me Hal. I’m sure you can guess that’s not an invitation I extend to many, but for the purpose of ease of communication I’m extending it to you, Kit. And, yes...I’m offering you the job and I’d like you to start tomorrow. My sister assures me that the agency you work for does indeed have a good reputation for employing reliable and competent people—people who know how to employ discretion and respect confidentiality. That’s especially important for businessmen in the public eye like me, as I’m sure you’re aware? And, by the way, there’s a confidentiality clause in the contract that I’ll need to get you to sign. I trust you’re okay with that?’
‘Of course.’
Emitting a relieved sigh, Hal nodded. ‘Then you can arrive tomorrow, just after breakfast. Depending