Gallant Waif (15 page)

“That would be very kind of you, Carlos,” Kate murmured abstractedly, puzzling over these unexpected and mysterious items. She followed him upstairs to her room, her arms full of parcels, and he even more heavily laden.

When he left, Kate opened the packages, slowly at first, then faster and faster, her head in a whirl. They contained everything she could ever think of needing.
A wonderful warm merino pelisse.
No cold winter wind would dare penetrate that to send her shaking and shivering. Dresses, in fine warm cloth, the colours dark—lavender, grey, black and a beautiful soft dove—nothing to offend her state of mourning.

And underclothing, some of fine, soft linen, trimmed with lace, some of silk and satin, the like of which Kate had never in her life seen or felt. Surely it would be positively sinful to wear garments such as these exquisite things next to your skin? As for the nightgowns and chemises—they bore no earthly resemblance to the patched, sturdy, voluminous garments Kate had worn most of her life.

She stared dumbfounded at the tumble of lovely things spread out across her bed. Jack had bought them, of course. He hadn’t listened to a word she’d said… But, oh, they were so beautiful. It had been so long since she’d had anything new, and these were of the finest quality. She wouldn’t wear them, but it wouldn’t hurt, surely, to hold them up against herself and look in the mirror and imagine, just for a moment, that they were hers.

She lifted the dove-coloured dress and stood in front of the mirror, holding it against her. It was very elegant—high-waisted, with a border of embroidered leaves around the hem—simply but beautifully cut. And the material felt so light and yet so warm. She rubbed her cheek against its soft folds and inhaled, savouring its new, delicious smell.

One after another, Kate held the dresses against her slender frame, draping them this way and that, trying to imagine how they would look if she were to wear them—which, of course, she could not.

She picked up a nightgown. Fine silk slipped through her fingers like water. She held it up, imagining herself wearing it, and blushed. It
was.
. .would be quite immodest. The Reverend Mr Farleigh’s daughter had never owned, or even imagined, such a garment. It was so fine that surely you could see through it. She slipped her fingers inside the nightgown and, sure enough, her skin glowed pinkly through the delicate fabric. She
blushed
a deeper rose and hastily put it down and then picked up the dove dress again.

“That colour suits you,” said a deep voice from the doorway.

Kate gasped and whirled around, clutching the dove frock against her, for
all the
world as if she were naked. Jack Carstairs stood in the open doorway, leaning casually against the door frame.

“H-how long have you been there?” she stuttered.

He did not respond, but a slow smile told her the answer and her blush deepened. He’d seen her looking at the nightgown.

“I’ve brought you a letter.” He glanced down at the welter of clothes that covered the bed and the lurking smile widened. Kate followed his gaze. He was looking at the underclothes and nightgowns. Hurriedly she snatched them up and thrust them under the dresses, her cheeks burning.

“Wh…
what
did you say you wanted?” she muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

“A letter has arrived for you,” he said softly. “And I see that that’s not all.”

Jack couldn’t resist teasing her. The sight of that nightgown sliding sensuously over her skin had caused his body to tighten, imagining her clothed in nothing but that fine translucent silk. And the blush that rose so easily to her cheeks would no doubt be repeated elsewhere on her body. He knew it. And she knew he knew it; he could tell by her loss of composure. Kate Farleigh wasn’t easily rattled, and by God he was going to enjoy it while he could. The little termagant was adorable like this, flushed and embarrassed and uncertain.

“Please give me the letter,” said Kate, still flustered by the amusement in his deep voice. He held it out. She reached for it, but he swiftly raised it out of reach.

“Say ‘thank you’ first,” he drawled, still grinning.

“Give it to me, please,” she repeated, annoyed. The big lummox! Did he think she was going to grapple with him for it? She had been teased by experts—her brothers—and she wasn’t so foolish as to think she could get the better of him by trying to snatch the letter. He was far too tall, for one thing.

In any case, she’d sworn never to let him get his hands on her again. Her encounters with Jack Carstairs were nothing like the tussles she’d had with her brothers. His touch had no brotherly feel about it at all; it made her feel oddly helpless and fluttery inside and it took all her will-power to break away from him.

“I’ve come all the way upstairs to bring it to you. Don’t I deserve something?” he teased, enjoying her discomfiture.

“You deserve something, all right,” she muttered beneath her breath.

He heard her and laughed. “Little wildcat. Here’s your letter, then.” He tossed it on to the bed.

“Thank you. Now please leave.” Kate went pointedly to the door. “And you can take all of your things with you,”

He looked at her in mock-amazement.
“My things?
What ever do you mean, Miss Farleigh?”

Kate nodded at the pile of clothing on her bed. “All of those. I told you
before,
I cannot accept such gifts from you.”

He stared at her in exaggerated surprise.
“My things?
You think these are
my
things? My dear Miss Farleigh…”
He bent and, before Kate could see what he was about, drew the silk nightgown from its hiding place. He held it up against his lean, strong frame.

“You think that
this
is
mine?”
His blue eyes quizzed her wickedly. Kate fought against the rising tide of embarrassment that threatened her again.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped, trying not to smile. The frail wisp of silk only served to emphasise the masculinity of the man. “You know exactly what I mean.”

He let the delicate silk trail through his long brown fingers,
then
tossed the offending garment to one side. ”But
I
haven’t offered you these.”

“But—”

“You’ll find that this letter from my grandmother explains everything,” he interrupted smoothly. “It arrived with the rest of these things. It wasn’t
my
taste that selected
these.
. .although for once in my life I find myself in total accord with my grandmother.” He smiled, a slow, teasing smile that had Kate fighting those fluttery inner feelings again.

“Your grandmother?”

“Yes. She told me in my letter that she’d sent you some clothing more suited to your position.”

“You mean you didn’t send me all of this?”

“No, indeed.
I hope, as a gentleman, I wouldn’t dream of so insulting you.” He added piously, “A lady could certainly not accept such gifts from a gentleman, Miss Farleigh. I am shocked you would even suggest it.” He pursed his mouth primly, his eyes twinkling wickedly.

Kate tried to avoid his gaze. She had been made to feel very foolish. He’d known very well that after their previous discussion of her wardrobe she would jump to the conclusion that he’d sent these things. He might not have actually sent them himself, she realised, but he most certainly was behind his grandmother’s charitable actions.

“But I cannot—”

“I hope you’re not suggesting there is any impropriety attached to an elderly lady buying a few bits and pieces for the daughter of her godchild?” he interrupted in a cool voice. “Her own mantua-maker made them from measurements Smithers took from your old clothes.”

Kate hadn’t realised Lady Cahill had taken so much trouble. She felt a little embarrassed, but she didn’t want to back down while he was standing over her like this. “No…
but.
. . it is too much…too generous…”

His face hardened, his eyes lost their twinkle.

“Understand me, Miss Farleigh. These things are from my grandmother and you can and will accept them!”

Kate resented his tone. “You have no right to tell me what I may or may not accept.”

“I care nothing for that. You will oblige me by appearing in one of these dresses within the half-hour.” Lord! The chit was stubborn.

“I will do nothing of the sort,” Kate responded defiantly. “I resent your high-handed manner, sir, and take leave to tell you I will
not
wear these clothes.”

He took two menacing steps towards her and she skittered away out of his reach. “Understand me, miss! You will wear these new clothes and burn the old ones!”

“Oh, will I, indeed?” She pulled a face.

Jack took his watch out of his pocket and glanced at it. “You’ll dress yourself in one of those new dresses within the half-hour, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or, Miss Katherine Farleigh, I will come in here and dress you myself.” There was a hard glitter in his eyes that suggested he was not jesting.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Just try me, missie!” he snapped. “You have half an hour.”

He left the room.

Kate locked the door firmly after him and sat down on the bed. He’d thrown down the gauntlet and naturally she’d picked it up. It was time Jack Carstairs learned once and for all that he was
not
her master. He had no authority over her whatsoever. If she didn’t choose to wear these clothes, she wouldn’t, and no bossy great interfering man would tell her otherwise.

A little over half an hour later there was a knock on her door.
“
Who.
. .who is it?” Kate called, annoyed at the involuntary quaver in her voice.

“It’s me, miss, Millie.”

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 Carstairs—”

“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.”

“Burn
them?” 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.”