Gallant Waif (33 page)

“Drugged!” said Francis from the open doorway.

Cole started and turned towards the door. “Only a little laudanum, I swear it…it was just that she strugg—” He found himself grabbed by his collar and flung against the wall.

“Struggled, did she, you filthy swine?” snarled Jack. “And do I have to ask why she felt the need to struggle?” A rock-like fist slammed into Cole’s stomach, and he doubled over, gasping for breath. Another one crashed into his jaw with a resounding crack. Then he was ruthlessly dragged up by the hair and shaken like a rat. Blazing blue eyes met his.

“I’ll teach you to abduct innocent girls!”

Two more punches smashed into Cole, almost simultaneously. His nose felt as if it had exploded. Cole collapsed.

“Get up, you blackguard,” roared Mad Jack Carstairs. “I haven’t finished with you yet! Not by a long shot!” He reached down and grabbed the blubbering Cole by the throat. He smiled, a peculiarly sinister smile which sent the blood draining from Cole’s face, and said softly, “I’m going to kill you, you know that?”

Cole had always thought himself a big man, but now he found himself dangling by the throat, being slowly choked to death by an enraged madman. He struggled, but it was as if he was a rabbit in the grip of an eagle. His face began to turn purple and his eyes bulged as the powerful hands tightened their relentless grip around his throat.

“Jack…?” The faint, wavering voice came from the pallet.

Cole was tossed aside like a bundle of rags. He lay on the floor, gasping for breath like a beached and battered fish. Jack bent solicitously over Kate, his arms lifting her off the dirty pallet until she lay cradled against his chest.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” A gentle hand smoothed back her tangled curls with infinite tenderness.

“Oh, Jack, I feel so strange,” she murmured, trying to sit up.

“No, no, don’t try to move, sweetheart. It’s all right. You’re safe now.” He pulled her more closely against him. His arms were hard around her, holding her protectively, whilst he crooned soothing nonsense in her ear, interposing it with small kisses on her hair, her ears, whatever he could reach.

Kate, bewildered, ill and dizzy from the effects of the drug, burrowed into his chest and lay there, clutching him, understanding nothing except that Jack was there, holding her, and that everything was therefore perfect.

Francis watched them, a soft look in his eyes, then a movement to his left caught his attention, and his gaze hardened as he took in the sorry sight of Cousin Jeremiah. Blood was oozing from cuts over his eye, and gushing from his nose and lips. His jaw was beginning to swell and both eyes were puffing up.

Francis’s lip curled contemptuously as he took in the snuffling, sobbing creature. Silently he opened the door, and curtly jerked his head. Casting fearful glances towards Jack, who was still wholly absorbed with Kate, Cole lurched to his feet and tottered out. Francis followed.

“Not the carriage, I think,” he said softly as Cole headed towards it. “We will need that to convey Miss Farleigh home.”

“But how will I get home myself?” Cole whimpered. It was a freezing night.

“I have not the least notion,” said Francis coldly, “but once my friend realises you are out here I have no doubt that you will return home snug and cosy enough—in a coffin.”

Cole gasped in terror and set off down the rough track towards the main road, stumbling and crashing, casting frequent fearful glances behind him. Francis watched until he was out of sight, and out of earshot, then quietly re-entered the ruined house.

Kate was curled up almost in a ball, cradled in Jack’s lap, nestled against his chest like a child. She seemed to be asleep. The eyes of the two men met. Francis’s eyebrow rose in a silent question and Jack nodded imperceptibly. Francis heaved a sigh of relief. She was all right, then. Cole had drugged her, but no violence had been done.

He glanced at the pair on the pallet and sighed. Neither of them were in any condition to move tonight. Kate was exhausted by her ordeal and still partly drugged; as for Jack, he might have had enough strength to give Cole a thrashing while his body had been functioning on rage, but now that his anger had died away Francis would hazard a guess that Jack would barely be able to walk.

“I’ll see to the horses,” he said quietly, and left the room. Jack did not appear to hear him. All his attention was on Kate. She murmured something in her sleep and his hold on her tightened.

Over her head Jack stared blankly at the wall. What a fool he’d been. He’d thought he could give her up, convinced himself that she would be better off without him, that the best thing he could do for her was to send her to his grandmother…

He didn’t want to send her anywhere. He wanted to hold her like this for the rest of his life. He shifted slightly and winced as his bad leg reminded him of his uncomfortable position. Well, not exactly like this. Not on a grubby pallet on a hard cold floor in a squalid little tumbledown cottage.

Kate shifted and wheeled against him, and despite his discomfort he felt his body respond to her. No, he didn’t want to hold her like this for the rest of his life. Hold her, yes. In his bed. Caressing her and loving her and introducing her to the delights of passion. Oh, yes, she had passion in her, his little Kate. He felt his body tighten just thinking about it as it had so many times recently. Too many times. He had barely been able to control himself. The slightest look or movement of hers had been enough to force him to battle with his body’s response.

She shivered and moved against him again. Damn his stupidity, she was cold, he realised. Blasted fool that he was, thinking of himself when all the time the girl was cold. It was his body warmth she wanted, not his body. Selfish, bloody, stupid, insensitive fool! Gently, trying not to disturb her, Jack shrugged himself out of his greatcoat and wrapped it snugly around her.

“Mmm, nice,” she muttered, and he grinned wryly, realising that she had indeed been cold. Carefully he moved, gritting his teeth at the jarring pain, tenderly manipulating her until he was lying half on his side, half on his back, with her small body tucked into the warm curve of his. He opened his jacket and shirt to pull them more closely around her and give her more of his body warmth. Instantly she snuggled her arms around his bare torso and moved closer on top of him, nuzzling her mouth against his throat.

Steadfastly ignoring his body’s tumultuous response, he closed his shirt and jacket over her and tucked the greatcoat carefully around her. She would be warmer now, with his body and his coat sheltering her from all possible draughts. He could feel his pulse thundering. His body throbbed for release. He was torn between savouring her closeness, the feel and scent and touch of her, and battling the demands of his body to further that closeness. An electric jolt passed through him as she wriggled again. He swore silently and gritted his teeth, willing his body into obedience.

Damn it all! He was little better than Cole, he thought. She was drugged. She didn’t know what she was doing. He should be protecting her, not lusting after her like a mindless beast! She had just come through a dreadful ordeal and all he could think of was how desperately he wanted to make love to her. He stared at the stained and sagging ceiling and tried desperately to think of other things.

He was failing miserably at this task when Francis reentered the cottage, staggering under a load of wood. Swiftly he cleared the grate and soon had a fire crackling briskly. From his position on the pallet Jack grinned approvingly. Francis left again, and soon returned with several rugs.

“Found ‘em in the carriage.” He tossed one over Jack and Kate. “Brought you something else, too.” Grinning, he produced from his pocket a substantial flask of brandy.

“Good man!” whispered Jack, and reached out. He took a long pull on the flask and sighed, feeling the liquor burn a cosy trail through his body. “Ah, that’s better.”

“Leg paining you much?”

“Not too bad.”

Francis grunted. “Always were a shocking bad liar, old man. Have another drink. It’s going to be a long, uncomfortable night for you. She’s all right?”

Jack nodded. “Just cold and the after-effects of the drug— filthy swine. I gather you let the bastard go.”

“Couldn’t have you clapped up for murder, old thing. You gave him a good enough hiding and I sent him out into the night. Bloody cold at that. Might not survive. If not, no bad thing. If he does, well, he’s still been punished.”

“Not enough.”

“Try and get some sleep, old man. Or worry about young Kate if you must, not Cole. I’ll sleep in the carriage, keep an eye on the horses.”

The cottage fell silent, the only sound the occasional crackling of the fire and the blowing of the wind in the trees outside.

Kate was the first to waken next morning. She came slowly to consciousness, her mind still fuzzy from the drug she had been given. Despite a slight headache and a stomach that was insisting it be fed, she was aware of a tremendous feeling of lightness. Still with her eyes closed, she inhaled slowly, moving her cheek sensuously against its pillow. She stopped. Her pillow felt…odd.

She opened one eye. Her pillow was a naked male chest, lightly sprinkled with dark hair. Good God! Cautiously she lifted her head and looked at the owner of the chest. Jack? She had slept with Jack? Swiftly, with a minimum of movement, she glanced around the room. She had never seen this place in her life.

The last time she had wakened with no recollection of the previous day she had found herself in the hands of the French. But Jack was here. Grimly she forced her mind to recall its last memory. Arguing with Cousin Jeremiah…and drinking that bitter coffee. Had she been drugged? Or had she passed out for some other reason? It was no use. She couldn’t answer. She would have to wait until Jack woke.

She looked down at Jack as he lay sound asleep and her mouth curved in a tender smile. He looked so young and boyish and handsome, the harsh bitterness wiped away in sleep. Gently she stroked the lines of his face, smoothed the tousled thick dark hair. Unable to help herself, she touched her lips to his in the lightest of kisses. She froze as he stirred, then relaxed as his breathing returned to its previous regularity.

She watched the broad chest moving up and down with each breath and marvelled that she had slept all night on it without realising it. She bent and kissed the warm, slighdy salty skin. She feathered tiny damp kisses up his chest, over his throat, along his jaw and back to his lips. She spent long moments tasting and caressing him, all in the lightest of gossamer touches so as not to disturb his sleep, revelling in the contrast of texture of his darkly rugged jaw, scraping her soft lips against its harsh texture, then placing her mouth gently against his soft, relaxed lips. Greatly daring, she touched his lips with her tongue, just to know again the taste of him. He moaned and shifted slightly and she froze again, watching him, but he was still asleep, and she returned to her illicit explorations.

Kate’s heart was pounding. She knew she should not be doing this, lying so with a man, exploring his unconscious body like a thief in the night. It went against every principle she had been raised by, every tenet of the proper behaviour for a lady—but she couldn’t help herself. She would never have this opportunity again. This was not simply a man—it was Jack, the man she longed for with every fibre of her being, the man she loved but could never have. Surely God would forgive her this once.

She gazed at his sleeping face, her body tingling all over. Oh, but he was a beautiful man. Gently she ran her hand over his naked torso, marvelling at the smoothness of his skin, the contained power in the relaxed muscles of his chest. Delicately she ran her fingers through the soft curls of his chest hair. His flat brown nipples were ringed with whorls of dark hair. She kissed them and he shuddered under her touch.

She lifted her head, waiting for signs of him awakening. Her eyes ran over his face, his dear battered cheek, his long aquiline nose, the deep grooves that ran from nose to mouth. Her gaze stopped on his open mouth and slowly she lowered her mouth to his, seeking that incredible, wonderful sensation she had experienced before, when her tongue had touched his.

Jack silently groaned as he felt her mouth come down on his again. He couldn’t take much more of this without responding. His body was aflame with the desire to hold her, return her sweet, tentative caresses, to take her and bring them both to glorious crescendo. But he couldn’t, not here, not now, not in silence and stealth, for he was too aware of their situation: the filthy cottage, the sagging ceiling, the hard floor. And Francis could walk in at any moment. No, it would be too sordid.

When he took Kate and made her his, he wanted it to be utterly perfect. But for now he would take what he could. And what he had was the most exquisite torture he had ever experienced.