Page 33 of Gallant Waif
Kate unlocked the door. “Come in, Mil—”
Millie stood twisting her apron nervously. Jack Carstairs loomed darkly behind her. Kate drew herself up straight and stared defiantly at him. He snapped his fingers at the maid.
Millie swallowed. “I’m here to collect your old clothes, miss.”
“That won’t be necessary,” replied Kate smoothly.
Millie looked doubtfully back at Jack. “But Mr Car-stairs—”
“Mr Carstairs has nothing to do with it, Millie. My clothes belong to me, not Mr Carstairs.”
“Excuse me, Millie,” said Jack softly. He moved past her and approached Kate determinedly. Mistrusting the look in his eye, she skipped around to the other side of the bed. He opened the door of the wardrobe and started to drag her old clothes from it, tossing them to Millie.
“Stop that at once!” snapped Kate, outraged. He ignored her and moved next to the chest, which he similarly emptied into Millie’s waiting arms.
“How dare you?” cried Kate, and ran to restrain him. He whirled and took her shoulders in a firm grip. Their eyes locked for a moment. Slowly his hands slid down her arms and he held her wrists in a light but unbreakable grip.
“Let me go, you big bully!”
“I thought I made my instructions clear to you before.” He looked meaningfully down at the shabby old dress she was still wearing in defiance of his orders.
Kate’s mouth grew dry. He could not surely mean to carry out his threat to dress her in the new clothes himself? She struggled to escape, but to no avail. He was a very powerful man and she had no hope of pitting her strength against his.
“That will be all, Millie,” he said.
“Don’t leave, Millie,” cried Kate.
“I said, that will be all, Millie. Take those rags outside and burn ’em. Carlos has a fire ready.”
“Burnthem?” The Reverend Mr Farleigh’s daughter was appalled. “But that’s a shocking waste of perfectly good clothing—”
He snorted.
“But it is,” she persisted. “I am very sure that the vicar’s wife would be glad of them for some of her poorer parishioners. You have no idea how difficult it is to ensure that people are adequately clothed.”
He raised an ironic eyebrow. “Believe me, Miss Farleigh, my appreciation of that particular problem grows hourly.”
Kate stamped her foot in frustration.
Jack grinned. “Take ’em to the parson’s wife, Millie, with my comp—” he glanced at Kate’s face and changed his mind “—with Miss Farleigh’s compliments.”
“At least leave me one of the old dresses,” Kate cried. “I cannot possibly carry out some of my duties in such elegant outfits as those.”
“What sort of duties do you mean?” enquired Jack silkily.
“Well, things like scrub—” Kate floundered to a halt and glared at him, realising the full extent of his trickery.
“Exactly,” he concluded, enjoying his victory. “Take ’em out, Millie.”
Millie did not dare disobey. “I’m sorry, miss,” she muttered, casting a sympathetic look at Kate. She left, taking Kate’s clothes with her.
Kate struggled in Jack’s grip for a moment longer and then changed her tactics. She held herself stiffly and forced herself to meet the angry blue eyes.
“Unhand me, sir,” she demanded, her eyes glittering with haughty indignation.
“I told you,” he grated. “You had half an hour. The time is up.”
“How dare you steal all my clothes?”
