by Anne Gracie
"I am no exception. I may be a disfigured cripple—" Kate flinched at the raw self-hate in his voice ''—but I am still a man, with a man's needs." He paused to let his words sink in. “And it has been a long time since I had a woman, Kate. A very long time. And that is what. . .this is. That's all it is. Do you understand me? I would never have touched you, never have kissed you, but I was drunk and it has been too long since I had a woman and I got carried away." He turned away from her so he wouldn't have to look at her face.
Kate stared at the cloth in her hand and slowly crumpled it. She began to polish the shelf nearest to her. He had to be drunk to wish to touch her? That was what he was telling her? She was any woman to him? A mere available female? The words were harsh, biting, but, she eventually realised, they hadn't upset her as much as they should have.
Because, deep down, she didn't believe him.
If it was an available female he wanted, then why hadn't he bothered Millie or Florence? Or the barmaid at the tavern he frequented—from all accounts she was no better than she ought to be. No, whatever Jack Carstairs thought of her, it wasn't as any available female. And it wasn't the fault of his drinking either—all that did was exacerbate the problem.
"You will make the preparations necessary to go to London at the end of the week." His words seemed to come from a long way away.
Kate stopped her mindless polishing. "No, I won't," she said over her shoulder. She had no intention of running the gauntlet of London society. Not while she had a choice. And besides, she had made a promise to his grandmother.
He was incredulous. "Did I hear you say no?"
"You did," she answered quietly. "I have no intention of leaving."
“Have you no sense, woman?'' he growled. “After what I just told you? You intend to stay? And risk being ruined?''
Her lips twisted ironically and she folded the dustcloth into a hard little package. Could one be ruined twice? It was a moot point.
"Didn't you hear what I said, you foolish chit?" He grabbed her shoulder and swung her around to face him. "You risk losing your virtue by staying here! What the devil is the matter with you?''
She wrenched herself out of his hard grasp and stood there, smoothing down her skirt like a bird who had just escaped a cat.
His eyes narrowed and his face hardened. "Perhaps that is your plan."
"What do you mean?"
"Seduce me and try to trap me into marriage," he said slowly.
"Seduce you?" she gasped indignantly.
"Isn't that what has been happening here? No doubt my grandmother's cunning claw is somewhere in the plot too." He laughed harshly. "Yes, I'm sure it is. No doubt you two planned it nicely between you."
"How dare you?"
He ignored her and continued. "Oh, God, what a fool I've been. It's as plain as the nose on my face. My grandmother, concerned I may never marry, now that my betrothal to Julia is at an end, appears out of nowhere. She dumps poor little lost Kate on me, hoping I will conveniently scoop her up and make her mine, thus dealing with two problems at once. Ha!" He glared at her. "Only it won't work, for I'm wise to your plot. You'll not trap me so easily, Miss Farleigh; I have no intention of wedding you."
"And I have absolutely no intention of wedding you either, Mr Carstairs!" Kate's temper had her firmly in its grip by now. "I would never, ever stoop to such a shabby plot and you have a. . .a colossal impertinence suggesting such a thing. It's utterly preposterous and I demand an apology at once—for me and for your grandmother too, for I am sure she would never scheme so sordidly!"
"Not sordidly, I agree; incessantly is a far better word."
Kate ignored his interjection. "And how dare you accuse me of trying to seduce you? It is you who have been grabbing and manhandling me, ever since I got here, plaguing me continually, when all I have tried to do is to get this house in order," she finished virtuously, if inaccurately.
"Oh, so I've been plaguing and manhandling you, have I? And who was it who accosted me in my room in the middle of the night?"
Kate stamped her foot. "I did no such thing! How dare you even suggest it?''
"The upstairs parlour, then. And you came slinking in, knowing I was three sheets to the wind, and proceeded to seduce me."
"I did not slink! I never slink!" Kate spat. "And you were not 'three sheets to the wind', as you so poetically put it, you were drunk! A sot! And if you imagine I was trying to seduce you by removing that poison you were swilling, then you have a very odd idea of what is seductive and no wonder this Julia, whoever she was, jilted you!"
"Leave her out of this," he snarled.
"Gladly." Kate tossed her head, wishing she knew more about his erstwhile fiancee.
"And these so-called manhandling habits you apparently object to so much—I haven't exactly noticed you valiantly resisting them. And I seem to recall myself calling a halt to proceedings each time, not you."
Kate, blushing furiously, could think of no adequate reply. Of course she hadn't called a halt to his embraces. He knew perfectly well that his kisses left her with about as much resolution as a blancmange, leaving her with no desire to call a halt to anything. But how. . .how scurrilous of him to taunt her with it. She stood there glowering helplessly.
A slight, knowing smile appeared on his face.
"Oh, you are so infuriating!" she snapped. "For your information, I have no intention of marrying. Not you! Not anyone! Not ever!"
"Rubbish!"
"It is not rubbish, it happens to be true."
He watched her from under thunderous black brows. It wasn't the first time he'd heard her refer to this nonsense. He could no more imagine Kate Farleigh going through life as a lonely spinster than he could fly.
"And why not, Miss Farleigh? I have heard you assert it, but you have yet to offer one convincing reason. I know what women want—" Jack could not keep the sneer out of his voice ''—wealth, a fine home, position, admiration and some poor besotted sap to hand it to them on a platter. There isn't a woman born who doesn't scheme after that."
Kate winced at his cynical view of marriage. Was he speaking from personal experience? Someone had hurt him; she could see that clearly. Julia? Kate couldn't speak for all women, of course, but, for herself, none of those things mattered—only love. But Henri had stolen Kate's right to be respected; without respect, there could be no love. So she could not marry. Lisbon had taught her that. Lisbon and Harry, her betrothed.
"You are wrong about most women, but I can see you will not listen. All I can do is repeat that I have no intention of marrying. As for my reasons, they are very personal and private. Your grandmother knows and that is why she did not press me to accompany her back to London, why she found me this temporary position as your housekeeper instead."
He snorted. "Balderdash! My grandmother only offered you this position because you are too blasted stubborn to know what is good for you. This position was nothing but a temporary sop to your pride. She has every intention of introducing you to society. There is no reason on earth why you cannot marry some rich, respectable fool."
He stared down at her, his eyes hard and glittering, his mouth compressed with anger. "You just have to get yourself out of my hair and up to London, flutter those long eyelashes at whichever gentleman meets your requirements, murmur softly in his ear in that smoky soft voice, smile and swish that delectable little body in front of him. Before the poor fool can say 'boo' you will be walking up the aisle on his arm and, no doubt, within a year or two you will be dandling his heir damply on your knee."
His long hard fingers bit into her shoulders and he shook her as he spoke. Kate's mouth quivered with anguish at his unconscious cruelty. To hear the impossible, put into words like that, painting such a cosy, utterly unattainable picture. . .
Jack could feel every breath entering and leaving her body, smell the sweet clean fragrance of rosemary in her hair. She quivered under his hands and he took a long, rasping breath.
"And if h
e proves a touch reluctant in popping the question, then just you look at him like that and the poor idiot won't be able to help himself." With a groan he planted his mouth on hers and she was swept again into the maelstrom of emotion that was becoming so dear and so wondrously familiar to her.
Eventually he released her mouth and stood looming over her, breathing hard. Kate, her senses still reeling under the impact of his embrace, clutched his shoulders and arms, leaning against his warm, heaving chest for support.
Shakily she gathered together the tattered remains of her self-control and pushed against the powerful chest and arms that enclosed her.
Instantly he released her and stepped back. Kate was conscious of a feeling of isolation so intense that it threatened to shatter her resolution. She wanted to lean back into that hard, wonderful embrace again, but she could not. She retreated to the other side of the room and stood there, gathering her composure.
Kate, with every reason in the world to insist on complete propriety, had failed to do so. If that was what was bothering him, she would ensure that the kisses stopped. She was sure she could manage it, especially if the consequence for failure was for her to be sent away to London. Away from him.
After a few moments she said shakily, "You are mistaken about a great many things, Mr Carstairs, but you are quite correct about one—this behaviour must stop." She took a deep breath and continued in a cold little voice, "I apologise for my part in any impropriety that has taken place. Rest assured, it will not occur again. You will have my full cooperation in that. But I will not go to London."
Jack stood and watched her, his eyes sombre. He nodded briefly and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Kate picked up her dust rag. Tears began to spill from her eyes.
The days passed, but there was no more mention of sending Kate to Lady Cahill. There was little mention of anything at all, for she and Jack rarely spoke unless they couldn't help it.
Christmas came and went as if it were just another day. But it wasn't, not for Kate. After church, she went to some trouble to make an especially good dinner, but Jack did not join them, so it was a very subdued meal with just Martha and Carlos attending. The farm girls had been given the day off, and in any case it was too bitterly cold to do much else but huddle near the fire.
For Kate it was a day of intense, searing loneliness, recalling Christmases past with her brothers playing all sorts of silly tricks and games. . .
She tried to be strong about it, to tell herself that it wasn't so bad really, that she had food, and shelter, and was better off than many. But this was only the first in a lifetime of solitary Christmases facing her. The realisation seeped into her bones, leaving her feeling chilled and forsaken, despite the roaring fire.
Eventually, at the end of a long, miserable day, she crept into bed, and allowed herself the luxury of crying herself to sleep.
Jack, returning from a day passed in self-imposed isolation at a local tavern, heard the muffled sobbing as he passed her door. He froze, listening. Every fibre of his body urged him to enter her room, to take her into his arms, still the sobbing with his mouth. To hold her, comfort her, lo— But he could not. Even drunk as he was, he knew that to go to her was to ruin her life for ever. He leaned against her door in anguish, each sob reverberating silently in his body, until at last silence fell and he knew she slept.
One morning, well into the new year, as Kate stood taking her customary view out of the window to greet the dawn as it lit the snow-covered landscape, she heard the muffled thunder of hoofs beneath her window. Her heart leapt into her mouth. Would he be thrown again? She flung open the window and leaned out into the chill air, straining to see. The big roan stallion galloped past her, his mane streaming in the breeze. Clinging firmly to his back was Jack Carstairs, riding adequately, if not as stylishly as he once must have done. Kate's hand crept to her cheek, her eyes filling with tears as she realised what he had accomplished.
It was the end of his humiliation. He could ride. Jack Carstairs would once again ride with the Quorn or any other hunt. She watched him as he galloped over the small rise and then slowly she washed and dressed. It was a great day. He would probably not even mention it to her, but she would celebrate the occasion by cooking him an especially delicious breakfast.
Kate was out fetching eggs when she heard the clatter of hoofs on the cobblestones behind her. She whirled and almost dropped the basket of eggs as the roan clattered to a halt in front of her, held firmly in check by a masterful hand. He grinned elatedly down at her, slid off the big horse and grabbed her with eager hands.
"Did you see me, Kate? I can ride again. And it's all thanks to you." Without warning he swept her up into his arms and whirled her around and around, laughing delightedly. Kate laughed too, wishing she had put down the basket so she could hug him back. Finally he slowed and, still holding her above him, looked up into her face.
“Well, Kate? Shall we call pax? I am too pleased with the world today to continue our armed truce."
Her heart too full to speak, she blinked back tears.
"What's this?" he said. "Tears?" The smile died from his face and he slowly let her slide down to the ground, still holding her hard against his body.
"Oh, no," she mumbled, putting down the basket and groping for a handkerchief. "L..I often cry when I'm happy. It. . .it is the most ridiculous thing."
He smiled down at her. "It is, indeed," he said softly, "but then, that's Kate, isn't it?"
She looked up, startled at the warmth in his voice.
"Never does anything the commonplace way," he murmured. "Here, allow me." Taking the handkerchief from her unresisting grasp, he proceeded to dry her eyes and cheeks with one hand, the other gently cupping the back of her head.
Kate found she couldn't move. She was overwhelmed by the sensation of his hard, strong body against hers, the warm breath of him on her cheeks, his soft, deep voice murmuring in her ear. She knew she should move away from him. Her inner voice told her so, but she could not bring herself to move. Eventually he finished drying her cheeks and they stood still, unmoving, in silence. Kate found she could not look at him. She was oddly breathless and stared at the buttons on his shirt, totally aware of the warmth and strength of his embrace. Finally he placed a gentle finger under her chin and lifted it until their eyes met.
"Thank you, Kate," he said softly, and bent his mouth to hers, his tenderness undermining every resolve she had made to push him away. At first his lips were soft and warm and gentle, then, as she opened her mouth beneath the pressure of his, he groaned deep in his throat and the kiss deepened. Kate gave herself up completely to the delicious, disturbing sensation of his tongue seeking, caressing, entwining with hers. She pressed her body hard against his and ran her hands up through his thick dark hair, clutching it in mindless delight. With a groan, he lifted his head and stared down into her face, her eyes dazed with pleasure, his almost black with passion. "Oh, God," he muttered, and kissed her again, a hard, long, passionate kiss, which sent shudders of sensation coursing through her body.
Suddenly Kate found herself abruptly released. Dazed, she slowly became aware of voices and footsteps clattering over the cobbles. As Millie and Florence rounded the corner of the house, Jack was collecting the reins of the roan stallion. Kate was still standing where he had left her, trying to collect her wits after the onslaught on her senses.
"Good morning, Miss Kate, Mr Carstairs," they chorused. "Father says it be going to snow terrible bad again soon."
Jack chatted easily with the girls and Kate marvelled at his cool composure. Perhaps he hadn't experienced what she had, she concluded. He couldn't have, if he was able to talk and chat so casually. Lust seemed to do different things to a man than to a woman. But it wasn't only lust on her part— it was love too. Perhaps that was the difference. She forced herself to greet the two girls and then walked with shaky legs to the kitchen, where she sat on the nearest chair and tried to c
ollect her thoughts.
She'd tried so very hard to evict Jack Carstairs from her heart, but it seemed he was embedded there irrevocably and for ever. Nothing seemed to work. She had spent weeks trying to harden her heart against him. And as soon as she felt it was under control he would look at her with those wickedly twinkling blue eyes, and all resolution would melt. Or he would say something in the deep voice that never failed to go straight into her bones. Or he'd carelessly touch her in passing—a light hand on the shoulder, the brush of a thigh against her skirts—the most harmless contact shot sensation through her.
And then there was that kiss just now. . .
In his joy at being able to ride once more, he was utterly irresistible. In moments like that she was willing to fling all caution, all propriety, everything to the wind and give herself to him for as long as he wanted her. And moments like that occurred all too often.
The only solution she could think of was the one he had suggested and that she had rejected so strongly—to physically remove herself from his presence—and that she could not bring herself to do. It would happen in a few months anyway, so she would stay close to him while she could. . .
By the time the girls entered the room, carrying fresh milk from the farm, Kate had herself under control again. She managed to get through the morning without seeing Jack again, except in the distance. For the rest of the day she found excuses to avoid his presence.
But that evening he was in too exuberant a frame of mind to dine alone, insisting on turning their evening meal into a celebration, pouring wine for them all, Millie and Florence included, and talking the most ridiculous nonsense that had them all in stitches. Kate was fascinated, never having seen this side of him before. Carlos, too, was in fine form, a wide grin lightening his dark face as he egged Jack on to further and further extremes of silly banter with the girls and Martha, causing riotous giggles to fill the room.
It appeared that all this time Jack had had Carlos heating oils and making up unguents, continuing Kate's treatment in secret. Some of the stories of the near-misses and narrow escapes from Kate's discovery had them all whooping and shrieking helplessly as Jack mimicked first Carlos, then Kate, then Martha, then the stuffy village apothecary.
