Gallant Waif by Anne Gracie (the alpha prince and his bride full story free .txt) 📗

concerned for her welfare, that he cared whether she was comfortable, that he wished to shelter her from the harshness of her everyday life. Even if he was just being gentlemanly and polite, even if he treated all his housekeepers like this, it was still very. . . weakening.

And that, combined with her own wanton tendencies, made life with Jack Carstairs very dangerous.

Kate sighed, then rallied herself—listing his character defects was a useful strategy. She did so as she marched down the garden path, enjoying the cold air, the droplets of dew still shivering on the plants as she passed. He was frightfully bossy, even for a major in His Majesty’s Coldstream Guards. And arrogant. Stubborn. Yes, indeed—worse than any mule she had wrangled with on the Peninsula. And infuriating, especially when he had trapped her in some misdeed, then laughed at her with those wicked blue eyes.

And moody. Some days he would be warm and friendly, then, from out of nowhere, a blaze of intensity would emanate from him. His blue gaze would seem to burn right into her, then just as suddenly he’d turn away and storm out of the room in cold, bitter withdrawal.

Mornings were the worst; he usually slammed into the kitchen from outside, flinging himself down at the table, surly and uncommunicative for some time, drinking cup after cup of her coffee. Sometimes he would refuse to eat the breakfast she’d cooked, and limp straight through the kitchen, grey-faced and grim. On those days he would retire upstairs to his private parlour where, Kate gathered, he quietly drank himself into oblivion, preferring to drown his demons rather than face them.

On those days his unhappiness ate away at her, burning away all her good resolutions like acid. On those days it was hardest of all to remember that she was only his housekeeper, there on sufferance. . .she wanted to be so much more… She longed to have the right to put her arms around him, to comfort him and to coax and tease him out of his black depressions. But she had no right.

On those days she threw herself into the jobs she hated most, the hard, dirty, filthy jobs—rendering mutton fat, cleaning and black-leading the grates, sifting wood ash and boiling it up to make lye. Boiling the cottons and linens in a big copper boiler, filling the laundry with steam. Tossing other clothes in flour and then beating them until clouds of flour flew, leaving them clean and sweet-smelling but her hair and nostrils clogged.

In spite of it all, Kate found herself dreaming about him day and night—even when making soap, when the stink of the sheep fat and home-made lye made her eyes water! He was so impossibly attractive, particularly when he looked at her with that smile lurking wickedly in his eyes, inviting her to share his amusement. And when his voice deepened and took on that low resonance it shivered though her bones, turning them to honey…

Kate headed towards the forest. It was magical. Dawn was stealing over the hushed landscape, highlighting the purity of the bare, frost-etched branches. Her breath escaped in misty tendrils and hung in the motionless chill. Far away she could hear a cockerel crowing, and beyond that a dog barking. It was as if she was the only person astir in the world. Kate hugged the delightful sensation to her and strode on.

Suddenly she heard the sound of rapid hoofbeats close behind her—too close. She dived off the narrow pathway just as a riderless horse pounded past her, reins dangling free, stirrups flapping.

Shaken, she clambered out of the tangled underbrush, smoothing her skirts and brushing mud from her hands. Someone had had an accident—a rider had been thrown. Should she go back and see if they were all right, or should she try to catch the horse first? If its reins got tangled or caught, it could injure itself. She ran along the path and came to a stile, where a large roan stallion stood, snorting and tossing his head, unable to go any further. Calmly Kate approached, talking quietly and coaxingly, while he watched her in suspicion, poised for flight.

It was one of Jack’s horses, she was sure, though why he should keep so many horses when he couldn’t ride was beyond her comprehension. It was the same horse she’d seen on her first morning at Sevenoakes. Clearly he was a rogue, and one in need of more exercise than he was currently receiving. She had seen him running free several times before, Carlos in hot pursuit.

Had a thief tried to ride it? If so, he’d made a big mistake—that particular horse had only ever been ridden by Jack, according to Carlos. Jack had bred the horse himself, broken him to bridle and trained him to do his every bidding. He’d even taken the horse to war with him. And now no one rode him at all. Jack should have sold the horse, she thought, not kept it here, under his eye, where every sight of it was a bitter, festering reminder that he could no longer ride.

“Come on, there. . .good boy…there, there…” she murmured, wishing she’d brought an apple with her. She held out her hand as if offering something and continued slowly and deliberately to approach the horse. Curiously, it thrust out its neck, sniffing to see what titbit she was holding. Kate deftly and calmly took hold of the dangling reins.

The big horse tried to jerk away, but she held him firmly, soothing him with murmured endearments and steady hands. She’d always loved horses, and they seemed to know it. Jack’s roan was no exception—under Kate’s calming influence he stopped his nervous trembling, and was soon blowing affectionate snuffles into the front of her dress. She quickly checked him over, running experienced hands down his legs, and was relieved to find no sign of damage. Now to see if he would accept her on his back.

With some difficulty, for he