Page 10 of Gallant Waif
“I…I really do beg your pardon,” she said. “I didn’t…I was confused.” She tried to gather herself together. “It’s just—”
“Are you ill?” His voice was very deep.
“No, I don’t think so. It’s just…it must be because I haven’t eaten for several day—for several hours.”
Jack frowned. The slip of the tongue was not lost on him.
Kate tried to sit up. Another wave of dizziness washed over her. Jack grasped her arm and thrust her firmly but gently back against the cushions. “Don’t try to move,” he ordered. “Just stay there. I’ll return in a moment.” He left the room.
Kate sat on the settee, one hand to her head. She felt weak and shaky. Brandy on such an empty stomach. She shook her head ruefully, then clasped it, moaning. She closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning around her.
“Here, this will make you feel better.” The harsh deep voice jolted Kate out of her daze. She opened her eyes. Before her was a plate with a clumsily cut slice of bread and cold meat on it. It looked wonderful. She glanced quickly up at the man towering over her and smiled.
“Oh, thank you so much. It is very kind of you,” she said, then added, blushing, “I’m afraid that brandy made me quite dizzy.”
She applied herself carefully to her meal, forcing herself to eat with tiny bites, chewing slowly and delicately.
Jack watched her, still faintly dazzled by the sweetness of her smile. She was pretending uninterest in the food, he realised, even though she was starving. Well, who was he to quibble at pride? But she was certainly an enigma, with her pride and her shabby clothes.
“Who the devil are you?”
The sudden question jolted Kate out of the rapture of her first meal in days.
“My name is Kate Farleigh.” She returned to the food.
“And who is Kate Farleigh when she’s at home?”
Kate pondered as she chewed. Who was Kate Farleigh now? She was no longer the Reverend Mr Farleigh’s daughter, nor Jeremy and Benjamin Farleigh’s sister. She certainly wasn’t Harry Lansdowne’s betrothed any more. And she didn’t even have a home.
“I don’t suppose she’s anyone at all,” she replied in an attempt at lightness that failed dismally.
“Don’t play games.” The frown had returned to his face. “Who are you and what are you doing here? I know you came with my grandmother.”
His grandmother? So this was the master of the house, Mr Jack Carstairs. His food was doing wonders for her spirits. She felt so much better. Kate almost smiled at his aggrieved tone. He obviously didn’t want her here. Well, she hadn’t asked to come.
“Oh, you mustn’t blame me for that.” She licked the last crumb delicately from her lips. “It wasn’t my choice to come, after all.”
“Why? What the deuce do you mean by that?” He scowled, watching the movement of the pink tongue. “What is your position in relation to my grandmother?”
What was her position? Kidnappee? Charity case? Spurious great-goddaughter? None of them would exactly delight a doting grandson. Besides, it would be very ungrateful of her to upset the man who’d fed her a delicious meal by calling his relative a kidnapper. Although the idea was very tempting.
“I’m not at all sure I can answer that. You will have to ask Lady Cahill.” Kate got to her feet. “Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, sir. The meal was delicious and I was very hungry after my journey.”
She took two steps towards the door, then faltered, belatedly realising she had nowhere to go. “Could you tell me, please, where I am to sleep?”
“How the deuce should I know?” he snapped. “I don’t even know who you are, so why should I concern myself where you sleep?”
Rudeness obviously ran in the family, decided Kate. It mattered little. With a full stomach, she felt quite in charity with the whole world. She would find herself a bed without his assistance—having found billets all over Spain and Portugal she would be lacking indeed if she could not find a bed in one, not terribly large English country house.
“Very well, then, sir, I will bid you goodnight. Thank you once again for your hospit…” She paused, then corrected herself wryly, “For the food.” She began to climb the stairs in a determined fashion. Halfway up, her knees buckled.
“Dammit!” Jack leapt stiffly towards the stairs and caught her against his chest as she fainted for the second time. He carried her into a nearby bedchamber and laid her gently on the bed. He stood looking down at her for a long moment. Who the devil was she?
In the soft light of a candle, he assessed her unconscious form. She was thin, far too thin. Clear delicate skin was stretched tightly over her cheekbones, leaving deep hollows beneath them. His gaze lingered where the neck of her shabby, too loose dress had slipped, revealing a smooth shoulder, hunched childlike against the chill of the night. Had he not chanced to be watching when she fainted, she would still be lying unconscious on the front driveway. It was an icy night. Doubtless she would not have survived.
He’d get no answers tonight. Best to tuck the girl up in bed and take himself off. He bent and removed her shoes, then stopped in perplexity. He was sure he should loosen her stays, but how to go about that with propriety? His mouth quirked. Propriety! It was quite improper enough for him to be in this girl’s bedchamber. He shrugged and bent over the supine body, searching gingerly at her waist for stay laces. God, but the chit was thin! With relief he ascertained that she wore no stays, had no need of them, probably didn’t even own any.
Carefully he covered her with warm blankets. She shifted restlessly and flung an arm outside the bedding. He bent again to cover it and as he did so her eyes opened. She blinked for a moment, then smiled sleepily and caressed his face with a cool, tender touch. “Night, Jemmy.” Her eyelids fluttered closed.
