The longer she listened to Justin Antony, the Marquess of Warbrooke, the more horrified she became. This was his “brilliant” new plan for the Lamberton Boys’ School? This. . . this outrageous proposal? Lord Warbrooke had taken leave of his senses. Yet the other members at the school’s governing-board meeting seemed oblivious to his sudden bout of insanity. They drank in every word dropping from his handsome mouth. They approved of every slashing gesture of his broad, masculine hand, every compelling look from those magnetic eyes. While all she could see were the tenpenny nails he drove into the coffin of her own plans for the school. She’d intended to present those plans today, until Lord Warbrooke had beaten her to it with his ghastly suggestion. “What an inspired idea,” one board member proclaimed, thumping the top of the meeting room’s ancient table, a castoff from some lord’s manor. “It’ll be good for the lads and teach them responsibility.” “It’ll make money for the school as well,”
