The Pursuits Of Lord Kit Cavanaugh. Stephanie LaurensЧитать онлайн книгу.
she would have expected of him, the evidence was too definite to doubt.
Her anger drained in a rush, taking her righteousness with it. Her shoulders fell; dejection loomed.
She was vaguely aware of his sharp gaze on her face, then he waved her to one of the chairs angled before the desk.
“Please—sit down. I need to know more about this school.”
Kit waited until she’d subsided onto the chair, then drew up the admiral’s chair he’d earlier pushed back and sat. Her expression had shuttered, her attention seemingly turned inward—to him, her retreat felt like the withdrawing of a source of warmth. But having once laid eyes on the real Sylvia Buckleberry, he wasn’t about to let her hide away behind a wall of chilly disdain. He caught her eyes. “Tell me all—all about this school.”
Frowning faintly, she hesitated, but then complied, describing the establishment of the school under the auspices of the Dean of Christ Church and the funding she’d secured from the parish council on condition that the premises for the school were found free of cost. “Two years ago, the only vacant building that was suitable was the old warehouse on the Grove—our requirements are rather specific in that the location of the school must be within walking distance of the boys’ homes. Given the boys are from dockworking and shipyard families, that means somewhere along the docks or close by, but other than on the docks themselves, the alternatives are the inner city, which is generally unsuitable, or more well-to-do areas, which are unaffordable.” She paused to draw breath, then went on, “With the help of their wives, I managed to convince the Dock Company board to allow the school to use the old warehouse. The secretary, Finch, was never in favor, but I managed to arrange sufficient votes to carry the day.
“So we set up with two teachers and an assistant and have gathered seventeen long-term pupils. We usually get a handful of new pupils each year, and once we’ve trained the boys, they should be able to get jobs in the various offices in the city.”
She met his gaze. “It’s taken time to overcome the suspicions of the dockyard families especially—they don’t like to think that their boys might need different training from their fathers. Or that, if schooled, the sons might well earn more than their fathers. These past few months have been more settled, and we all thought things were rolling along well...and now this.” She waved a hand in a helpless gesture and looked away. “We have no grounds on which to protest our eviction—and, indeed, all will welcome a new business that promises more jobs for ship workers.” She paused, her frowning gaze fixed past his shoulder, then said, “It’s not us leaving the warehouse that’s the crux of the problem—the finding and securing of new premises is.”
She straightened on the chair, her expressive face attesting to a gathering of inner strength. “I’ve already asked the Dean and the parish council, and the representatives of the Dock Company, too, but no one could suggest any other group or company who have a suitable space that they might possibly allow the school to use.”
When she fell silent, he hesitated, but he needed to know all of it. “And if you don’t find new premises immediately?”
She sighed. “If I haven’t found new premises by the end of the week, I’ll have to close the school—at least temporarily. But the parish council has informed me that they will not be able to continue funding if the school isn’t functioning.”
She was facing the eradication of all she’d accomplished over the past two years.
She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “The worst part of that is how it will affect the boys. The seventeen who attend have grown so much in confidence, but this will set them back. If I’m forced to close the school, even if only for a week, I suspect we’ll lose at least some of them. Longer than a week, and we might lose them all and have to start all over again, winning them and their families over to the idea that an education is the best way to secure their future.”
Her belief in that concept, her commitment to that ideal, and her devotion to the dockyard brats for whom she’d fought to get schooling was evident in her tone, her expression, her anxiety, and her imminent despondency.
Kit knew about personal obsession; he could relate.
He stirred, rapidly reviewing an idea that had taken shape as she’d spoken; one of his business strengths lay in recognizing opportunity when it came his way and seizing it. Of course, his first impulse had been to offer to help her, purely for her sake, but he knew how prickly she could become, and he wanted to avoid giving her any excuse to revert to her previous behavior with him—to poker up and make everything harder. Painting his interest as entirely self-serving would play into her preconceived notions of his character, avoiding the simple truth that he enjoyed helping people and would have helped her regardless.
“As it happens,” he said, and somewhat surprised, she raised her head and looked at him, “I believe that I—or rather, Cavanaugh Yachts—might be able to assist.” He hesitated for only a second, then leaned his forearms on the desk and fixed his gaze on her eyes. “I’ll be absolutely frank. I’m new to the city, and with a business to get off the ground, I need to establish my bona fides, to establish Cavanaugh Yachts as a trustworthy employer and, moreover, one seeking to put down roots and involve itself in the community—to signal that we’re here for the long haul. It sounds as if the boys attending your school come from precisely the subset of families from which my business will be seeking to attract workers. To my way of thinking, if I fund the rent for not just another venue but a better venue for the school, that will go a substantial way toward establishing the Cavanaugh name among the dockworkers and shipyard families.”
She blinked at him. “You’re prepared to do that?”
“Yes.” To drive his excuse home, he added, “Your pupils will have fathers, older brothers, uncles, and cousins, some of whom will be the sort of men I and my partner need to hire. Funding your school is an excellent way to forge a link with such craftsmen.”
She looked much struck. “I hadn’t thought of that—of that angle.”
He smiled, all teeth. “Well, you’ve already found a sponsor, so you won’t need to make the argument to anyone else. My one stipulation—and I’m sure you’ll agree that, in the circumstances, it’s reasonable—is that I view and approve the new venue. Indeed, I’ll be happy to assist with negotiating the lease, and I’m prepared to stand as guarantor if required.”
Of course, such a stipulation would also ensure that he got to spend more time with this new, much improved, and utterly fascinating Miss Buckleberry.
Sylvia stared at him and tried not to gape. His gaze remained steady, and his lips were slightly curved. He looked quite pleased with himself, which gave her pause—but only for a second. He’d just offered her all—and more than—she’d hoped to gain from the owner of the business taking over the warehouse. And wonder of wonders, he seemed inclined to take an active interest, and regardless of her view of him and his lordly status, that would unquestionably help the school’s standing with the Dean and the parish council—let alone the mayor.
Yet as he sat behind his desk—at a distance of a yard or more—and patiently waited for her to accept his offer, her unwanted reactions to him, initially overridden by her fury, inexorably rose with every breath, until she could almost feel physical awareness crawling over her skin. Significantly taller than she, broad shouldered and vigorous, with ruffled hair of a rich mid-brown, warm, light brown eyes, an austere and uncompromisingly patrician cast to his features, and sensual lips, from the first instant she’d set eyes on him, he’d been the visual embodiment of her fantasy gentleman. Just the sight of him affected her as no other man ever had. That said, she’d dealt with her silly sensitivity throughout the full day of Felicia’s wedding, had successfully suppressed and concealed it. Surely she could do the same again?
Yet now, his impact on her senses and her involuntary response seemed heightened—more intense. Possibly because she was dealing with the real man—one significantly more real than the rake who haunted her dreams—and without the predictable framework of a wedding and reception to act as a formal structure,