The Pursuits Of Lord Kit Cavanaugh. Stephanie Laurens

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—let 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.”

      “Indeed.” She looked at the now-subdued youths walking ahead of them.

      Her mind scrolled through several vignettes from the morning—of Kit helping some of the younger boys load up, of him answering questions from the avidly curious lads. After a moment, she ventured, “You deal well with children.”

      He lightly shrugged. “I was a boy once, too.”

      “Be that as it may, you seem to have retained the ability to interact with them, which not all adults do.”

      “Ah—that’s the influence of Ryder and Mary’s brood. I spent the last weeks with them, playing at being Uncle Kit.” Briefly, he met her eyes, an amused smile in his. “Trust me when I say that my brother’s children are a very much more difficult proposition to manage than your school lads and their ilk. Aside from all else, my niece and nephews aren’t impressed by, much less cowed by, my rank.”

      She chuckled. “I hadn’t thought of that—as the children of a marquess, they share the same rank as you.”

      “And they already have the confidence that goes with that.”

      They’d reached Trinity Street, and she looked ahead to see the four youths milling uncertainly on the pavement in front of the hall, the packages they’d carried still in their arms.

      Kit had seen them, too. He touched a light hand to Sylvia’s back. “Go inside and let me handle this.”

      The lads he’d rescued must have already been inside, and judging from the many boys who, their faces alight with smiles and wonder, came to the door to peek out at the gang, the tale of the school lads’ rescue and the gang members’ resulting discomfiture was already doing the rounds.

      “Perhaps just have them stack the packages on the porch,” Sylvia murmured.

      Kit nodded and halted, facing the now-surly gang. Sylvia walked on and went up the steps and into the hall, gathering the younger boys who had been hanging about the door and shooing them deeper into the hall.

      As soon as she’d passed inside, Kit tipped his head toward the porch. “Stack the packages there, and then I’d like a word.”

      Warily, the youths complied, then re-formed in a close knot on the pavement before Kit, who had set his packages at his feet.

      “Right, then.” He studied the four, who shifted and shuffled. He waited until they were completely still, then said, “The moral of this story is don’t pick on others smaller or younger than yourselves. It’s an easy rule to remember, and I trust you will, indeed, remember it from now on. I’ve taken up residence in the city, and should I hear of any of you being involved in a similar incident or anything worse, I’ll make a point of taking it up with the local authorities. In a nutshell, whenever you’re tempted to do something wrong, remember that there’s always a chance that someone—like me—will be watching. Do you understand?”

      They shuffled some more, but managed to mumble, “Yes, m’lord.”

      Kit wasn’t entirely satisfied, but there was only so much he could do. “Very well. I believe you have somewhere else to be.”

      It took them a second to comprehend that they were being dismissed, then—still wary—they bobbed their heads and skirted around him, giving him a wide berth before, increasingly rapidly, walking back toward the river.

      Kit watched them go, then inwardly shook his head. He’d been tempted to see if any of the four needed a job, but the likelihood was that all of them did, and he couldn’t saddle Wayland and whoever he hired as foreman with all four.

      Bending, Kit scooped up the packages he’d carried and carted them into the hall.

      The scene inside was one of furious activity, with the hired men shifting desks into position and boys running this way and that, ferrying stools, unpacked books, slates, chalks, and all manner of educational impedimenta hither and yon. Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs were directing the scurrying ant-like flow.

      Sylvia stood to one side, watching it all with a smile on her face.

      Kit set down the last two packages on a desk. Miss Meggs sent him a distracted smile, then directed two boys to untie the strings.

      Kit sauntered over to Sylvia. She glanced at him, and he was again struck by the immense difference between the woman now before him and the chilly, reserved lady he’d encountered at his brother’s wedding. “I take it all is going well?” he asked.

      “Astonishingly well.” After a further moment of surveying the action, she said, “Once they get everything tidied away, I believe they’ll have earned the rest of the day off.”

      “They have worked diligently.”

      A shadow darkened the door, and he and Sylvia turned to see the tavern keeper’s wife bearing a huge tray laden with sandwiches.

      Miss Meggs hurried forward. She waved the woman to a long trestle table set up along the front wall of the hall. “If you’ll set everything down there...?”

      With