Gallant Waif (31 page)

Kate was mollified. She spoke more softly. “I am sorry it had to come to this, Cousin Jeremiah. If you please, we will never speak of this matter again.”

“No, no, of course not,” he agreed eagerly. “But now, my dear, I would like to have the matter of our marriage settled as soon as possible.”

Kate stared at him incredulously. Was the man utterly impervious? “Cousin Jeremiah,” she said firmly, “all this happened because you refused to listen to me the first time. I am sorry, but I will
not
marry you.”

“But I love you,” he insisted.

“Then I am sorry for you, but I do not return your love.”

“Love can grow after marriage,” he persisted.

“Not in this case,” said Kate bluntly. She had endured enough of his florid compliments and hand-kissing to last a lifetime.

“I do not mind if you don’t love me; I will marry you anyway,” he declared nobly.

Kate gritted her teeth and began to wish that she had let Jack give him a thrashing after all.

“But I do not wish to marry you.”

He took several steps towards her, and she backed away. Good God, he was going to try to embrace her again.

“Cousin Jeremiah, I am
not
being missish!” she almost shrieked in her frustration. “I said I will not marry you and I meant it.
Nothing
will make me change my mind.”

“How sweetly shy you are,” began Cousin Jeremiah, advancing on her, a determined smile on his face.

“I
am not shy!”

“I think you’d better listen to the lady,” said a quiet voice from behind them. “My friend Mr Carstairs has already introduced you to the rather crude fighting methods of the Coldstream Guards. I would like to demonstrate the techniques favoured by gentlemen of the 95th Rifles.” Francis began to roll up his sleeves,
then
paused. “That is, unless you apologise to the lady and leave before I finish rolling up my sleeves.” He continued rolling them back, very deliberately and precisely.

Cousin Jeremiah eyed the sinewy forearms that were emerging. He already had a massive headache and a cracked jaw from just one frightful punch from Carstairs. He began to mutter indignantly about violence being offered to a man whose only crime was to woo a lady too ardently, when he caught Colonel Masterton’s glittering eye. It bore a disturbing similarity to the look that he had seen in Mr Carstair’s eye a few moments before. Hastily Cole gabbled an apology to Kate and left, almost running across the lawn in his desire to be quit of the place.

Despite the comical sight he made, Kate had no desire to laugh. She felt like a wrung-out rag. Nor did she feel up to discussing it with Francis.

“Thank you, Francis,” she said quietly, and turned to leave.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“Oh, I’ll be as right as a trivet,” she said, attempting a cheerful smile that failed miserably. “I just need to rest for a while, I think.” She turned and ran upstairs to her room.

Later that evening she went downstairs to supervise the preparation of dinner. Jack had taken himself off somewhere.
The tavern, no doubt.
Kate didn’t feel up to dining with Francis, so she ate in the kitchen with the servants. It was too ironic, really. Here she was, a girl who knew herself unable to marry, being courted by two gentlemen, neither of whom she wanted…

Kate sighed. For a short while, her life had been so pleasant. Now it was all changed. She still felt Jack’s eyes on her a hundred times a day, but instead of protectiveness and a lurking tenderness there was suspicion and brooding disapproval in his gaze. Whatever she did, he seemed to be furious with her. It was confusing, hurtful—and more than a little annoying.

She had no idea what his intentions or feelings towards her were. There was no denying that his kisses moved her like nothing she had ever experienced, but it was a feeling she knew she ought to fight. Even if by some wondrous chance he came to feel something deeper than lust for her, an alliance between them would not be possible. Anyone with a grain of sense would realise that in his position Jack would have to marry money.

Kate wondered what sort of a man his father had been to disinherit his son so callously. Had he not been playing cards the day he died, and won the deed to this property, Jack would be
living.
. .heaven knew where. At any rate, if he was to make anything further of his life, Jack would have to find himself an heiress, a well-born heiress—not a poor clergyman’s daughter with nothing but a tawdry scandal for her dowry…

“Miss Kate.” Florence interrupted Kate’s train of thought. “Are we goin’ to have the next bit o’ that story soon?”

Kate smiled. While cleaning the library a few weeks before, she had discovered some of Mrs Radcliffe’s novels. The vicar’s daughter had been utterly forbidden “rubbishy novels’, so naturally Kate had become addicted to them. Now, each evening, while Martha and the girls sewed and mended they also gasped with horror and delight as Kate read the heroine’s adventures aloud.

And Kate’s audience had grown. The girls’ sisters and brother, hearing each thrilling episode of
The Mysteries of Udolpho
retold at the farm, had soon decided that Millie and Florence needed to be escorted home. Each evening, the six Cotter siblings, Martha, Carlos, Francis’s groom, and even his very superior valet, “accidentally” arrived in the kitchen in time for the next episode.

Glancing around, Kate saw that her audience had assembled already. She hadn’t realised it was so late. She took out the book, sat down near the fire and began to read. An hour later, she closed the book, to the sighs and protests of her audience.

“Eh, Miss Kate,” said Millie’s brother, Tom. “That Sinner Montoni, ‘e’s a proper
villain,
ain’t ‘e? Our Dad alius says you can’t trust foreigners.” He tossed a dark look at Carlos.

“Si,”
said Carlos immediately. “Me, I never trust
Italians.
. . never! That Signor Montoni is a bad man.
Poor Miss Emily.”

There was a chorus of agreement. The girls shuddered eloquently and chattered about the story as they filed out.

“Coming up to bed now, dearie?” asked Martha.

“No, not yet.”
Kate wasn’t at all tired, after her earlier sleep. “I think I’ll just sit here for a bit in front of the fire, Martha. You go up, though.” They exchanged their good-nights and Kate was soon left alone with her thoughts.

“How many more hidden talents do you have, I wonder?” The deep voice coining out of the shadows made her leap in fright. She turned and perceived Jack leaning casually against the scullery wall, half hidden by the gloom.

“How long have you been there?” she gasped.

He moved forward out of the darkness.
“Twenty minutes or so.
They were all so entranced by your reading that no one noticed when I came looking for you, so I decided not to disturb things. You read well, li’l Kate.” His voice was mocking and he stumbled over a chair.

Kate’s stomach clenched. He was drunk.

“Quite the li’l actress, aren’t you?” He loomed over her. Kate pressed back in her chair as far as she could. He reached out a long finger and brushed her nose lightly. “Spot o’ flour. Damned if I ever saw a woman so inclined to messiness.”

Kate jerked her head away from his hand. She did have a tendency to splash things around when she was working, and despite all her best efforts to remain neat she usually found a splatter of flour or a smear of dust on her face or hands when she went to have her usual nightly wash. But she was sure it was not nearly as bad as he implied. She rubbed her nose vigorously with her sleeve, watching him swaying gently on his feet.

“You’re foxed,” she said bluntly.

“And what if I am
? “Tis none of your business what I do.”

Kate frowned. “Where is Francis?” she asked.

“So
it’s
Francis now, is it?” he sneered. “Very familiar you are with my friends.”

Kate did not reply. There was no point in arguing with him when he was in this state.

“Have you told him yet of your little arrangement with that greasy Cit?”

Kate had no doubt of whom he was speaking. “Please do not call Cousin Jeremiah rude names. I know you do not like him, but he is my only living relative, however distant.”

“And soon to become even closer, eh?” he jeered.
“So much for all your pious talk of not marrying!
All it takes is a wealthy Cit to smother you with flowers and greasy compliments, and all your res’lutions go down the drain.” He snorted in contempt.
“Women!
You’re just like all the rest of them. Let some fellow dangle his moneybags in front of you, and you’re all sweetness and compliance.”

He imitated her voice mockingly. “Oh, Cousin Jeremiah, I would be delighted. Dear Cousin Jeremiah, you wish to kiss me? Please do. Oh, yes, Cousin Jeremiah, I will wed you, will allow you to put your greasy paws all over me, to plant your disgusting fishy lips on mine!” He was enraged by now. “How you can have the stomach to consider wedding such a loathsome upstart is beyond me.”

Kate glared at him. She had initially opened her mouth to inform him she had refused her cousin’s proposal, but by the time he had paused for breath, and she had an opening, she was so incensed that all thoughts of telling him had flown from her head. His close proximity was rather overwhelming, though, so she wriggled out of the chair and faced him across the kitchen table.

“How dare you speak to me in this way?” she spat. “It is no concern of yours what I do, Mr Carstairs, no concern at all. If I wish to see my cousin I will, if I wish to embrace him I will, and if I wish to marry him I will! It is nothing whatsoever to do with you!”

She stamped her foot on the hard flagstones and continued. “And how dare you impugn my honour in that way? A person’s wealth or lack of it has nothing—
nothing
—to do with my attitude to
them,
and it’s outrageous of you to suggest otherwise. It is quite irrelevant to me whether Cousin Jeremiah is wealthy or not. I have not the slightest interest in a person’s financial standing, and only a completely vulgar person would think it could ever be important.”

“If the cap fits…” he began.

“Then
you
must wear it,” she snapped, “for such considerations have never been mine!”

“You cannot mean you love that contemptible creature.” His voice was scornful, but his body was tense as he waited for her answer.

She tossed her head at him. “That, Mr Carstairs, is none of your business!”

“It damned well is!”

“Why?” she demanded, her mouth dry.

They glowered at each other,
then
he moved with unexpected speed, dragging her against him. He stared down at her for a moment,
then
crushed his mouth on to hers.

It was a stormy kiss, full of passion and desperation and anger. He gripped her hard, and if she had been aware of his grip she might have told him he was hurting her. But Kate too was lost in the roiling waves of passion and she returned his kiss with equal anguished desperation, clutching him fiercely, returning his every caress with interest.

Eventually they separated and stood there staring into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily. Kate’s Lips were bruised, but she was oblivious of anything except him. She swallowed, trying to recover her poise. He watched her silently. Eventually the silence became too much for her.

“What did you mean by that?” she said in a low voice. She wondered if he could hear her heart thudding, it sounded so loud to her.

Jack stood, breathing heavily, slowly gathering his wits. He’d given her the chance to repudiate Cole and she hadn’t. Nothing was changed. She was still betrothed to her wealthy Cit. He’d be damned if he exposed himself to gratify a woman’s vanity. He had done quite enough of that already. He looked down into her eyes. He could see her waiting, willing him to say the words, so she could throw them back in his teeth, no doubt. She was no different from any other woman.

“What did it mean?” he said. “What did it mean? Why, nothing, my dear Kate. A pleasant interlude, that’s all.” He licked his lips suggestively. “I did say you are talented, did I not?”

Kate felt her throat close as the eyes, which had been blazing with fiery passion a moment before, iced over.