Gallant Waif (40 page)

Kate could hardly believe it. She had been snatched from her worst nightmare, and now was engaged in an almost triumphal procession on the arm of England’s greatest living hero. But it was Jack who’d saved her. He had risked social ostracism, had stood up with her in the most public of places, had declared his support of her for all the world to see. Jack, who’d been a recluse, hiding his wounds from the world— he’d come out and danced with her, when no one else would even look her in the eye.

And it was Jack whose arm she wanted to be on, whose arms she wanted to be in.

Kate glanced back. He was no longer there. Her eyes scanned the room anxiously. Where was he? She could see him nowhere. He had stood up for her in her hour of need. Surely he wouldn’t desert her in her moment of triumph? Didn’t he know it would mean nothing to her if he was not with her?

She caught Francis’s eye across a dozen heads and asked him the silent question. He returned a sombre look, then shrugged and shook his head hopelessly. Kate’s face dropped. Jack had left. But why?

With a leaden heart, Kate returned to the hollow greetings of well-wishers and sycophants.

“What do you mean, she’s gone? Gone where? She hasn’t been seen since that blasted ball, and let me tell you, Grandmama, nothing could be more ill-judged. She needs to be out there, circulating, seeing people, showing them she’s nothing to hide. We’ve scotched the worst of it, but if she’s hiding herself away…”

“I said she’s
gone,
Jack. Gone away. Left.”

“Left where? What do you mean?” Suddenly Jack turned white. He sat down in a rush. “You mean gone? She’s left London?”

Lady Cahill looked at him in some compassion, then hardened her heart. He’d been acting like a fool.

“Gone where?”

“Back to that village I found her in.”

“Good God, how could you let her do something so …? What is there for her anyway? Why would she do such a thing?” He rose to his feet again and paced about, raking his fingers through wildly disordered locks. Suddenly he looked up sharply.

“Who is escorting her? How is she travelling? And who is to meet her?”

His grandmother shrugged.

“You mean you let her go alone!” he roared.

“I was not exactly consulted, Jack, and do not take that tone with me. I’m as worried about the dratted girl as you are!” snapped his grandmother. “The foolish child slipped away at dawn.”

“So how is she traveling?”

“I don’t know, Jack, the Mail or stage, I presume!”

“Good God! Mail or stage! Rubbing shoulders with God knows who! Doesn’t she know the dangers? Footpads, highwaymen! Doesn’t she know how often accidents happen? Pray God she took the Mail; at least they have a guard!” Swearing, he rushed from the room.

Lady Cahill sat back, a satisfied grin on her face.

“What the
devil
do you think you’re doing?”

The roar, which seemed to echo from the heavens, almost startled Kate into dropping her basket. It was, however, a very familiar roar. She looked around. There, on a horse flecked with foam, its sides heaving, legs trembling, sat Jack Carstairs, glaring at her yet again.

He looked dreadful. Covered with mud, his jaw unshaven, his neckcloth all awry. Her eyes softened. She glanced around. The narrow country laneway in which she’d been walking was by no means deserted; several farm workers were within earshot. She smiled up at him for the benefit of their observers.

“Good afternoon, Mr Carstairs,” she said in a clear calm voice. “As you see, I’m just off to the village.”

“Just off to the village, are you? And with no thought for how others might be worried about you?”

She looked up at him in silence. Why would he be worried? And why so angry?

“How the hell did you get here anyway?”

“I hired a chaise and outriders.”

“A chaise and outriders? A chaise and outriders!” He seemed outraged by the notion. He was breathing heavily, his eyes positively crackling with blue rage.

“Well, and what is so wrong with that?”

“Only that I stopped every bloody stage and Mail coach between here and London, searching for you!”

“Oh, no. You didn’t, did you?” Kate looked up at him, her eyes wide, imagining the scene. She giggled.

As far as Jack was concerned, it was the giggle that did it. With a groan of fury he leaned down, grabbed her under the armpits and dragged her up on to his horse. Ignoring her outraged squeaks, he clamped her to his chest and moved off. Kate struggled, but as the horse moved faster she clung to Jack to save herself from falling. The farm labourers came closer, several of them carrying sticks and cudgels.

In a trice Jack clamped his mouth over hers. Kate’s struggles suddenly ceased as the familiar magic of his kiss washed over her. She was, after all, where she most desired in the world to be. One hand slid around his neck, her fingers tangling in his wild, damp hair. The other hand gently stroked his rough, unshaven jaw. Abandoning all defences, she opened her heart and allowed herself to simply love him.

By the time the kiss had finished, they had left the grinning farm workers long behind. Kate sighed, nuzzling her face against the underside of his jaw. She leaned against him, relishing the taste of him on her lips, the strong embrace of his muscular arms around her.

“There was no need to run away, you know,” he said after a time. “We had everything under control. You will be completely accepted in society, no shadow of a doubt. There was no need to hide here.”

“Run away?” she said quietly. “Did Lady Cahill not tell you?”

“Oh, she told me all right. How else do you think I knew where to look?” He swung her round to face him, eyes blazing, hands gripping her hard. He shook her. “What is there here for you? A small dirty village? A falling-down cottage? The company of rustics? You cannot possibly prefer this to London!”

Her eyes clung to his. “Everything I want in the world is right here,” she said slowly. “Nothing I want or need is in London.” She leaned back into the curve of his body.

He turned ashen. His hands loosened their hard grip. He looked away, staring blankly across the top of her head. “Nothing?” he said at last.

“Nothing in London. Everything I want in the world is right here,” she repeated.

He sagged in the saddle. “So be it.”

Defeated, he turned his horse back towards the village. They rode in silence, the only sound the twittering of birds and the slow clip-clopping of the horse’s hoofs. Kate lay back against his chest, rocking against his hard, warm body in rhythm to the horse’s gait. She could say no more. How could she, not knowing how he felt? She had told him as much as she dared.

Why had he come after her? Had his grandmother sent him? Was it duty? Or a constitutional dislike of being crossed? He’d saved her reputation, but then made it clear that he wanted nothing further to do with her. Oh, he desired her all right, but she wanted more than that.

They drew closer and closer to the village until at last the cross on the spire of the tiny stone church was clearly visible. The horse stopped.

“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, so I bloody well will and damn the consequences!” Jack suddenly growled. He wrenched the horse around and started to gallop in the opposite direction. Kate clung on for dear life.

“Where are we going? This is not the way to the village,” she shrieked. His only response was to clamp her more tightly against his chest and spur the horse onwards.

“The cottage is in the other direction!” she shouted, bouncing up and down.

The horse galloped on. Jack said not a word. Kate thumped at his chest in frustration. “Jack! Where are we going?”

His arms tightened around her. “I’m kidnapping you.”

Kate was stunned.
Kidnapping her?

“Everybody else does, so why not me?” he shouted into her ear.

“Oh, Jack, no. Not you, Jack, please, not you,” she cried tremulously. She began to weep.

Appalled, he wrenched the horse to a halt. Awkwardly he slid off it and lifted Kate to the ground. Her legs buckled under her and she crumpled on to the grass. He followed her, gathering her into his arms. “No, Kate, don’t, please don’t,” he said brokenly. “Don’t cry, please.”

He pulled out a large handkerchief and clumsily started blotting her cheeks with it. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I can’t bear it if you cry.”

Kate just sobbed harder.

He held her against him, rocking her gently. Finally her sobs shuddered to a halt. He continued to hold her in his lap, her face pressed against his chest, stroking her tumbled hair with a gentle hand.

After a time she pulled away. “Why?” she whispered.

He took a deep breath and shook his head despairingly.

“I…I just thought that if you really had decided to live in rural obscurity…”

“Go on,” she prompted.

He looked deeply uncomfortable. “Well…I thought… you might…”

“Might what?” she prompted again.

Suddenly he exploded. “Well, if you must know, I thought that if you wanted to bury yourself in obscurity the least you could do is do it with me! There, now you have it! I am a despicable rogue, am I not? An arrogant fool, who thought you might consent…”

“Consent to what?” Her heart was thudding uncontrollably. This was the crux of the matter. What had he thought she might be willing to do? Consent to be kidnapped? To be his mistress? His doxy? Consent to have her heart broken?

There was a long silence. Finally he reached into an inner pocket of his coat and drew out a folded document. He stared at it a moment, his mouth twisting ruefully, then tossed it on the grass between them.

“See for yourself. There it is, documentary evidence of what an arrogant, desperate fool I am. Go on, open it, see for yourself. Just don’t laugh in my face.”

With shaking fingers Kate reached out and picked up the parchment. Opening it, she read it several times, her mind struggling to come to terms with the meaning of his having obtained this document.

“It is a special licence,” she said at last. “And not so very new, either.” He’d obtained it before she’d been kidnapped by Jeremiah Cole, Kate realised, with a thrill.

“Yes, fool that I am, I thought I could get you to marry me.” He laughed, a harsh, dry laugh that ended abruptly.

“Why did you not simply ask me?” she said softly.

“Ask you?” His voice was bitter. “Why ask when there’s no possibility of acceptance? What woman would consent to marriage with a fellow like me, a cripple, and a bad tempered, ugly one to boot? And with barely a penny to my name. What sort of a bargain is that for a woman?”

“Some women might think it a very good bargain.”

He looked at her then. “Perhaps…if the woman had lost everything—her family, her home, her…her good name. Such a woman might have thought it sufficient. She would have had no other options.”

And yet he’d lent her his family, given her a home and saved her good name. Kate felt a spurt of anger grow inside her. How dared he think himself such a poor bargain? And herself so mercenary!

“But a woman who had been left a fortune?” she said. “A woman whose good name had been retrieved by a bad-tempered, poverty-stricken cripple—such a woman must needs be tricked, kidnapped, coerced?”

He looked stricken. “Only because you ran away. You didn’t seem to want the London life, so I thought…”

“I came down here to redeem the things I sold when I had no money. Some of my mother’s jewellery, my father’s books, things like that. Lady Cahill knew that very well. She expects me back on Tuesday. I wasn’t running away from anyone or anything. You should know me better than that!”

“I didn’t think…” He shrugged despairingly.

“No, you didn’t think!” raged Kate. She moved closer and thumped him on the arm. “You
are
bad-tempered and poor, and also quite stupid! You great brainless clod! You don’t talk to me for weeks and weeks—”

“But you wouldn’t—”

“—and you glare and spit blue fire at me across crowded dance floors—”

“What do you mean, blue fire?”