Page 49 of Gallant Waif
“The coffee! Oh, goodness!” exclaimed Kate, and rushed to rescue it. “Ouch!” She gasped and flinched, having incautiously grabbed the hot cast-iron handle and burnt her hand. She stepped back from the stove, sucking her hand.
“Let me see.”
“It’s nothing,” she said dismissively, cradling her hand protectively nevertheless.
“Here,” he said authoritatively. “Show it to me.” He gently took her hand in his and bent over it, examining the burn carefully. Kate looked at the dark head bent over her hand and felt herself tremble. She longed so much to place her hand on it and run her fingers through the thick, unruly hair. Ice, she thought. Think ice!
“It’s not serious,” she said quietly. “I’ve had much worse burns than this.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have.”
Kate was astonished at the suppressed anger in his voice.
“You shouldn’t be in a position where you keep burning yourself.”
It was that protectiveness again. Unnerved, she tried to pull her hand away. His head came up and he stared into her eyes.
“Oh, damn it all to hell!” he muttered, and pulled her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers, hard, and Kate could feel the passion pouring from him. Ice cracked all around her, turning instantly to steam.
The kiss was over in seconds. Jack pushed her away and left the room, heading outdoors. Kate sagged against the table, the pain of her hand almost forgotten. Moments later he entered again, carrying a bowl of water in which large chunks of ice and snow floated.
“Here you are,” he said gruffly. “Put your hand in that. Cold is the best thing for burns, the colder the better.”
Her burnt hand seemed utterly irrelevant now. Kate blinked at him, bemused. It was too late—no walls of ice could withstand this man. She loved him. The only ice she could feel were the few chunks in the bowl. Everywhere else around her was warm. Very warm. She glowed.
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t look at me like that,” he groaned. “Put your hand in the damned bowl and forget what just happened. I…I must still be drunk from last night.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. Kate watched them. He saw her watching and swore again.
“I said stop it, damn you, Kate! It was an aberration, a mistake. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. You have my word on it. Just stop looking at me like that, will you?”
“It won’t happen again?” Kate whispered. If she couldn’t build walls against him, then why resist?
“No, it damned well won’t.”
“Then I’m sorry too.”
He clenched his fists, unable to believe what he had just heard. “Oh, for God’s sake!” he muttered. “I can’t take much more of this.” And he limped quietly from the room.
She shouldn’t have said it, Kate knew. It was not what a respectable girl should do, but since she wasn’t considered respectable any more, then…
And she liked his kisses, more than liked them.
Never had she experienced anything like the emotions she felt whenever Jack Carstairs took her in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. His kisses left her feeling so devastated, alive, exultant, vulnerable and…most gloriously invaded.
And she wanted more.
“I’m going to write to my grandmother asking her to take you into her house immediately,” Jack announced, entering the library where Kate was busy dusting books.
She whirled from her task. “But why?” she whispered, her eyes wide with distress.
He could see she’d been working hard; her hair was starting to fall out of its knot, she had a smudge of dust on her chin and a blur of beeswax over her right eyebrow. Lord, was there ever a chit so unsuited to a domestic occupation? She needed to marry a rich man, if only to keep her face clean. He tried to keep the amusement out of his eyes, forcing himself not to soften towards her.
“We can’t go on like this.”
“Like what?”
His eyes grew hard. “Like this morning and the evening before.”
