Gallant Waif

by Anne Gracie

  "Carlos!" he bellowed. "Carlos!" He stumped his way morosely upstairs.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Damn it all, Francis," Jack exploded. "At least Tubby and Drew had the decency not to outstay their welcome. Haven't you got anything better to do than to hang around here for weeks on end, eating me out of house and home?''

  Francis chuckled. "Not the least, dear boy. I like it here. The fresh air, the scenery. . ." he raised his eyebrows signif­icantly in the direction of the terrace, where Kate was stroll­ing with her cousin ". . .the charming company."

  He took another sip of port and added ironically, "Oh, and of course you are a superlative host, Jack, old man. Make a chap feel so welcome."

  Jack growled under his breath. "A man can't take a step in any direction without tripping over you or that damned Cole fellow." He glared at a hapless vase of flowers. "And the place is so cluttered up with these stinking weeds! Haven't either of you anything better to waste your blunt on? I don't know which of you is worse—that blasted Cit bleating platitudes all over Kate and kissing her hand until it must be quite soggy—or you, mouthing flowery compliments at her like a blasted poet."

  "I do pride myself on my poetic talents, and little Kate seems to enjoy them too."

  "Little Kate? Miss Farleigh to you! I'll thank you not to treat my grandmother's ward with such familiarity, Francis."

  Francis's grin broadened. "She asked me to call her Kate, dear boy, and I hate to refuse a lady's request."

  Jack muttered something unintelligible and stomped out of the library, leaving Francis chuckling. Jack had been acting like a bear with a sore head for several weeks now, snapping and snarling at his guests for no good reason. Or no reason he could be brought to admit to.

  Francis's gaze sharpened on the pair on the terrace. His own so-called courtship posed no danger to Jack, but that Cole fellow was a serious contender. He had visited Kate morning and afternoon for the past three weeks, bringing her flowers, books and sweetmeats, though where he found the flowers at this time of year, and in the countryside, was more than Francis could guess. The man was obviously very plump in the pocket.

  Francis frowned. He liked the fellow no better than Jack, though not for the same reasons. There was a pushiness about him that Francis disliked. Cole had pursued Kate from the moment they met with a single-mindedness and determina­tion that to Francis's eye smacked of the calculating, rather than the lover-like. His possessive attitude towards his "charming little cousin' was increasing daily, and Francis suspected that Kate was finding it uncomfortable.

  However, Jack's open hostility to the man made it difficult for Kate to repel her cousin's over-familiarity, for'they all knew Jack was just itching for any excuse to toss Cole out on his ear and forbid him the house. Cole was Kate's cousin, after all, and her only living relative, and she wanted to be able to see him, even if she might not relish his possessive attitude towards her. Francis sighed and poured himself an­other drink.

  "My dearest cousin," Jeremiah Cole began.

  Kate felt her stomach sinking. She'd known for some time that this was coming, and no amount of hinting had managed to dent her cousin's obvious determination. Perhaps it was better to allow him to speak, and then it would be over. He took her hands in a moist grip.

  "Perhaps you have been aware these last weeks of my desire, my very ardent desire, to make this relationship of ours a closer one."

  "Cousin Jeremiah, I am very happy to have you as my cousin—''

  "But I am not," he interrupted. "You must know, Kate, how I feel about you." He pressed her hands against his broad chest. Kate tried to pull them away, but he only held them more tightly. "I am in love with you, Kate—madly, desperately—and I want you for my wife."

  "Cousin Jeremiah," she said gently, "it is very kind—"

  "Kind! It is not kindness I feel for you, my beloved. It is love! I want you to be mine. You are all alone in the world. Allow me to care for you, to protect you, to love you for the rest of your life. Only give me your hand, sweet Kate."

  Despite the seriousness of the moment, Kate's sense of humour got the better of her. 1 'Indeed, Cousin Jeremiah, you seem to have taken it whether I will or not," she said, tug­ging to release her hands from his grip. He did not let go, but smiled, almost angrily, at her.

  She said more firmly, “Please let me go, Cousin Jeremiah. You are hurting me."

  “And you are hurting me, Kate, by not answering. I asked you a question, one of the most important questions you will ever be asked in your life. Will you be my wife?"

  "No, Cousin Jeremiah," she said gently. "I am sorry."

  He frowned at her disbelievingly. "I don't believe it!" he said, releasing her hands only to take her shoulder in a tight grip. "I don't beheve it!" he repeated, shaking her quite hard. "I love you and I am sure that you love me." His tone softened. "That is it, isn't it, Kate? You are teasing me." He pulled her hard against him and though Kate tried to push him away he was far too strong.

  "Naughty girl to tease your Jeremiah like that," he crooned, and before Kate realised what he was about he had planted his lips firmly over hers and was kissing her with a wet determination that filled her with revulsion. She struggled in vain as his hands stroked down her body and his thick tongue probed to enter her mouth.

  Suddenly she found herself released. She staggered back against the balustrade as Jack thrust himself between her and her cousin.

  "You filthy swine, keep your paws off her!" he roared, and let swing a punch that sent Cousin Jeremiah sprawling inelegantly on the flagstones. Jack stood over him, rolling up his sleeves, the light of battle fairly blazing from his eyes.

  “How dare you maul a decent girl, you cowardly scum?''

  Cousin Jeremiah scuttled backwards.

  "Come on, you scurvy blighter. It's one thing to bully a helpless female, and another to stand up to a man, isn't it? Subject an innocent girl to your filthy lust, will you? Not on my property, you won't. I'll teach you a lesson in how to treat a lady—one you'll never forget."

  Jack stepped forward, murder in his eyes, oblivious to Kate's frantic jerking on his sleeve.

  "Jack, stop it! You mustn't. He didn't hurt me. Jack!' she cried, but he was determined on his course. He moved pur­posefully towards Cousin Jeremiah, his fists bunched, blue eyes glittering with rage.

  "Jack, he asked me to marry him!" screamed Kate in his ear.

  At that Jack came to a dead halt. He swung around and stared at her in shock. The angry colour died from his face, leaving it a bleached grey.

  "He what?" he croaked at last.

  "He asked me to marry him," repeated Kate quietly, be­latedly realising she'd given Jack the wrong impression, but seeing no immediate way out—except violence. She'd seen enough violence.

  "So that's why. . ." Jack choked. He wrenched his eyes from her face and turned away. "I. . .see," he muttered. Without looking at either of them, he left.

  Kate gazed after him, biting her lip. There had been pain in his eyes. Because he thought she was to marry Cousin Jeremiah? She wanted to run after him and tell him she'd refused, but she was afraid that if she did Jack would return to his former rage and do Jeremiah a grave injury. And now that Jack had stopped her cousin she felt she could handle things herself. She might be angry with Jeremiah for the way he had forced his embraces on her, but much could be for­given a man rejected in love, and he was still her cousin, after all.

  She turned. "I think you'd better leave, Cousin Jeremiah. I'm sorry it had to come to this."

  He had struggled to his feet by now. His fright had passed, and was fast turning to indignation at the way he had been treated. "I must tell you, Cousin Kate, that I am deeply of­fended by that man's treatment of me. I have a good mind to report him to the nearest magistrate. He is clearly a dan­gerous lunatic."

  Kate's temper finally exploded. "How dare you say such a thing? If you must know, I think you got off lightly, for if I were a man I would have knocked you down much
sooner. How dare he? How dare you? To force your kisses on me, and think to overcome my refusal by brute force! Report him to a magistrate if you dare, Cousin Jeremiah, and you will find yourself reported for assault—on me!"

  Cousin Jeremiah blanched and calmed down immediately. "Now, now, Kate, my dear, I did not mean it. I. . .I was upset. I think you must allow me the right to feel angry at being attacked so violently, but of course if it will upset you I will take no injudicious steps to have the matter followed up."

  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."