Gallant Waif (11 page)

”
I.
. .that’s not…I wasn’t… The breakfast was very goo—” Jack glared at her again. The interview was not going at all as he had planned it.
The cheeky little urchin.
She was tying him into knots with a flow of polite-seeming nonsense, for
all the
world as if she were sitting in his grandmother’s drawing-room, instead of at his feet in a puddle of water with dirt on her face.

“Why are
you
scrubbing this floor?” He bit out each word.

“I thought it was the best way to clean it. Perhaps there’s a more modern method you would prefer?” She looked up at him as if for enlightenment, her gaze wide-eyed and artless.

“No, there isn’t!” he snapped, infuriated.

“Well, in that case…” Kate hid a grin and picked up the scrubbing brush.

“Put down that blasted thing!” he roared.

Kate obligingly put it down, in the manner of humouring a lunatic. “I see. You don’t wish me to use the brush. Perhaps you would like me to use another implement?” She looked around the room, apparently seeking an alternative.

“I don’t wish you to use anything!” he growled.

“But how else can I clean the floor?”

“I don’t wish you to clean the floor at all!” he snapped.

Kate’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I see. You
like
it dirty.” She shook her head in amazement. “Well, if you
prefer
to live in filth…”

“I prefer nothing of the sort,” he roared, goaded beyond endurance. Bending down, he grasped her shoulders and dragged her to her feet.

“You impudent little baggage!
Don’t bandy words with me! I won’t have you scrubbing my floors. Curse
it,
you’re my grandmother’s guest! Guests do
not
scrub floors!” He shook her in frustration. “Do you understand me?”

It was one thing, Kate found, to tease him into losing his temper. It was quite another to be hauled unceremoniously to her feet and treated like a naughty child.

“Let go of me!” she gasped angrily, struggling in the iron grip. She swung back her foot, ready to kick him in order to free herself, but he was ready for her.

“No, you don’t, you little vixen!” He lifted her at arm’s length; her feet dangled six inches from the floor. “My grandmother said you were a lady but, by God, she doesn’t have any idea of what a shrew you really are!”

“Well, no doubt your grandmother is also under the impression that you are a gentleman!” Kate flashed back. “I’m sure she has no knowledge of
your.
. .your manhandling habits!”

She freed herself at last with a final twist and darted behind the kitchen table.

“My what?” he said wrathfully.

“Well, what else would you call it?” she responded, pushing back several more curls which had come loose in the struggle. She glared at him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, panting. “I haven’t been in this house above a day and on several occasions you
have.
. .have used violence on me!”

“Violence?” he repeated incredulously. “And who threw a pot of hot coffee at my head not an hour ago?”

“And who deserved it, and more, for sitting there discussing me so horridly, as if I
was.
. .was…a…?” Kate flushed.

Jack looked uncomfortable. “Well, how was I to know you understood what we were saying?”

“A gentleman would never have put me in that position.”

“A lady would never have been in the kitchen in the first place!”

“Oh, so I’m a lady now, am I? Pity you didn’t think of it earlier.”

“My grandmother told me about you.”

“And you’re prepared to take your grandmother’s word on it, are you?” she said dryly.

“Are you calling my grandmother a liar?” he said in the soft tone that would have been a warning to anyone who knew him well.

“She’s undoubtedly a kidnapper, so why not a liar?”

It was a complete facer, Jack had to admit it. His grandmother had confessed to kidnapping Kate without a shred of self-consciousness or guilt. He called down a silent curse on all women, particularly those currently under his roof.

“We will not discuss my grandmother,” he said with dignity. “The fact remains that it was
your
behaviour which led me to assume you were a kitchen maid and treat you as such.”

“Oh, so it’s perfectly respectable to insult honest kitchen maids, is it? Pray forgive me for not under-standing the finer points of a gentleman’s code of conduct!”

Jack’s hands clenched in frustration.
“Of course it isn’t, you little shrew! How in hel— Hades was I to know you understood Spanish?”

“Oh, so that makes it my fault too, does it?” Kate had been unsuccessfully trying to twist her hair back into its usual simple style; she tugged at the knot in frustration, bringing the rest of her hair tumbling over her shoulder.

“Then perhaps I’d better warn you that I also speak Portuguese, French, Latin and Greek, in case you ever find yourself wishing to insult me in those languages!”

“I didn’t mean that and well you know it!” snapped Jack, his gaze following the glossy tumbled curls. Her hair smelled of that faint fresh fragrance that so eluded him, but her comment had put him in mind of another grievance. “And how did you learn to speak those languages in the first place?”

“I told you!” said Kate.

“You told me some faradiddle about working for some eccentric old gentleman—”

“My father!” snapped Kate. “And it was no faradiddle! Everything I told you was true.”

“Including the nonsense about being a poor little kitchen maid?” He leaned forward over the table.

“Well, no,” she admitted, “I was my father’s housekeeper. I never told you I was a kitchen maid—you jumped to that conclusion. I merely did not contradict your assumption.” A gleam of pure mischief shone in the green-grey eyes. “Besides, it was quite entertaining. I simply couldn’t resist.”

He suddenly lunged forward across the table and caught her hand before she knew what he was doing. She struggled to snatch it back but his grip was firm. He turned her hand over and examined it, gently rubbing a red mark caused by the scrubbing brush.

Kate, embarrassed, tried again to pull her hand away. “I know I don’t have a lady’s hands. I never have. In fact, as I told your grandmother, I doubt very much I can even be called a lady. What I allowed you to believe wasn’t so far from the truth. Soon I will indeed be the maid you took me for.”

His grip on her hand tightened.
“Nonsense!”

“It is not nonsense,” she said quietly. “Now, if you would please release my hand—again.”

He dropped it as if it were a hot coal. “So, what do you intend to do?”

“Finish washing the floor,” said Kate, ignoring his real meaning.

“For the last time, girl, you will
not
scrub that floor!” He thumped a clenched fist onto the table.

Kate shrugged. “I refuse to cook in a pigsty.”

“You’re not going to do any cooking at all! Good God, woman, don’t you
ever
do what you’re told?” said the harassed erstwhile Major of the Coldstream Guards, running a hand through his unruly dark locks.

“Not when I’m told such foolish nonsense,” she answered composedly.

Calm grey-green eyes met fiery blue ones.

“Tell me, Mr Carstairs, who is to make luncheon for your grandmother if I do not?”

Jack’s mouth opened,
then
closed. Kate’s eyes twinkled.

“Exactly.
Stale bread and cold meat will not do for her ladyship. On the other hand, neither my father nor my brothers ever had any cause to complain about my culinary skills, therefore I will prepare luncheon for your grandmother and, of course, the rest of the household. But I will
not
cook in such dirty surroundings, and so…” She bent gracefully to pick up the dish of water and the scrubbing brush.

“You will
not
scrub that floor! Carlos will do it. It’s bad enough that I must accept your offer to prepare luncheon for my grandmother, but I won’t allow you to sully your hands any more with such menial and degrading tasks! Don’t argue with me, girl!” he growled, seeing her mouth open.

“I’ll see to it at once!” He stormed to the door, which opened on to the courtyard. “Carlos!” he bellowed. There was no answer, so with a muttered oath Jack stepped outside, preparing to search for his servant. Then he halted, remembering something. He stood for a moment, seemingly a little embarrassed.

“
My.
. . er… grandmother is… er… in need of some hot water… Could you
please.
. .er…would you mind setting some on to heat?”

“Of course,” said Kate. He closed the door behind him. Kate turned to fetch the water. She jumped as the door crashed open again.

“And don’t even
think
of carrying it up to her, you hear me?” he roared at her.

Kate stared at him in surprise.

“I’ll take it up. It’s too heavy for you,” he mumbled, and left again.

“I cannot stay here in these primitive conditions,” Lady Cahill announced.

Jack repressed a jubilant grin. He’d hoped to be rid of her and it seemed that his prayers were about to be answered. “I did warn you, Grandmama, that this house is not fit for guests.”

“No need to sound proud of it, boy,” she snapped. “I have directed Smithers to get my things ready. I will stay a sennight or so at Alderby, before returning home.”

“Well, if you wish to reach Alderby in good time, you should leave here by two o’clock.” He rose.

“Sit down, boy. I haven’t finished with you yet. I need to discuss that gel.”

Jack frowned,
then
a look of complete indifference settled on his face. He shrugged. “I thought she was to go and live with you. Changed your mind, have you?”

“No, I haven’t! It is still my most ardent wish that she come and
live
with me and make her entrance into society, as is her birthright.”

“Well, then, it’s settled.” He stretched his long, lean frame.

“It’s no such thing!” said the old lady tartly. Her grandson turned and raised his eyebrows in enquiry.

“The stupid gel will have none of the scheme.”

The thick dark brows came together in a frown. “What? You mean that girl out there—” he jerked his head in the direction of the door “—that half-starved little ragamuffin has turned you down?” His voice was incredulous. “Refused an offer to be fed and clothed in the first style of elegance and taken to all the most fashionable places?” He ran his hands through his tousled dark hair. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true enough!” said his grandmother acidly.
“Turned me down on no less than two separate occasions.”

“Does she know what she’s refusing?” he said. “Did you explain it to her? Describe to her what her life could be like?”

He received a withering look in reply.

“Yes, yes, I suppose you did,” he muttered, shaking his head in amazement. He could imagine no female of his acquaintance even considering the rejection of such a magnificent offer, let alone a girl in such dire straits as this one. Women, in his experience, were after all they could get.

“Lord, the chit must have bats in her belfry.”

“No,” said his grandmother dryly. “She suffers from the same complaint as you.”

He stiffened and looked down his nose at her. “And what is that, may I ask?”

“Excessive, stubborn, stiff-necked pride.”

”
Excessive.
. .er…pride?” he exclaimed stiffly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

He could feel the knowing blue gaze boring into him and clenched his teeth. She was referring to her offer to finance him, made when he’d first returned to England. He had refused it in no uncertain terms then and was damned if he was going to give her the satisfaction of discussing it now.