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

been attempting to ride his horse in defiance of the medical prognosis he had been given and despite the pain his leg was so clearly giving him. It was sheer insanity to attempt to use a barely healed limb for strenuous exercise.

“Don’t be so stupid. You cannot simply ignore damage done to muscles and sinews and ride by will-power alone. You are just a man, with a man’s body. You were dreadfully injured and I am sorry for it, but you must face the fact of your injury, instead of pretending it does not exist.”

“What the devil would you know about it? I’m damned if I’ll give in to it,” he growled, attempting to thrust her away.

Kate glared right back at him. “And who said you should give in to it?” she demanded. “Not I—I said face facts, not give in.”

“Dammit, girl, you go too far. This is none of your concern!”

“Well, if you wish to ride that horse instead of falling off it all the time, you will have to do something differently,” Kate said furiously. “You may be able to walk on that leg, but it is so stiff and weak you cannot grip on to a horse. And if you keep doing what you are doing you will end up giving yourself a much more serious injury. You need to retrain your muscles and exercise them. The treatment I spoke of is specifically aimed to restore flexibility and muscle strength…”

The words died on her tongue. Jack was staring at her with such a mixture of humiliation, outraged pride and sheer fury that she recoiled, thinking for a moment that he might strike her.

“Damn you to hell and back, girl! Mind your own blasted business!” he exploded. “I don’t need your damned unwanted advice, I don’t need your blasted quack miracle cures and I don’t need your damned assistance. I can make my own way to the house!”

Kate knew she should stop, but she had to have one last try, using an analogy he might accept. “What would you think of a trainer, who, after a horse had fallen and injured itself, put it straight at the highest jump, and expected it to succeed? Would you not think him a fool?”

He was silent. Not knowing whether to feel encouraged or not, Kate continued, “A man who wants such a horse to jump again would surely walk it over low jumps, gradually raising them until it is strong enough and confident enough to jump anything. Well, wouldn’t he? Think about it, Mr Carstairs.”

He stared at her, and for a moment Kate thought her argument might have reached him. But, gritting his teeth against the pain, Jack pushed her roughly away and began to stump painfully towards the house.

“You stupid stubborn man!” raged Kate, going after him and inserting her shoulder under his again. “If you don’t want to listen to what I say, well, of course, that is your right, short-sighted as it may be… No, I won’t be pushed away! How ridiculously…” she cast around for an adequate adjective “. . .manlike…to reject my practical assistance when you know you need it.”

Jack stopped and glared furiously down at her, his fingers biting into her shoulder.

“All right,” she said hastily, meeting that fiery blue gaze. “I have said my piece now and I promise you I will say nothing more on the subject.” She began to head once more towards the house, forcing him to move too.

They made slow, painful progress to the house, Kate silently cursing her runaway tongue. For the first time ever, they’d been completely easy with each other, even joking and laughing, despite his awkwardness at being discovered, helpless on the ground. And then she’d ruined it. Knowing what she knew.

As she’d sat on the cold ground, cradling his head against her, the whole picture had come together—the sound of a galloping horse when she first arrived, hoofprints on frosted grass, day after day, his early morning bad temper, white lines of pain around his mouth.

He’d been doing this for weeks, sneaking out before dawn to try and learn to ride again. His mental anguish, the desperation that drove him to try to ride, secretly, day after day, knowing he would fall—Kate’s heart contracted at the thought. It had taken courage—mad, proud, stubborn courage. But without treatment he would never be able to do it. And sooner or later he was bound to do himself a grave injury.

It need not be that way, she was sure of it, and so she had spoken—too much. Offending the very pride she admired. He would never listen to her now, never forgive her. She was only his housekeeper, existing, not to put too fine a point on it, on the goodwill of his family. When would she learn to accept it?

Finally they reached the house and she helped him to a chair in the kitchen. “I’ll fetch Carlos,” she said quietly, and moved towards the door.

He did not acknowledge her; he just sat there, his face a white and bitter mask.

Chapter Eight

“What- s this? Looks delicious.”

Before Kate could say a word, Jack had scooped a fingerful of the creamy mixture and popped it in his mouth. She clapped a hand over her mouth, attempting unsuccessfully to repress her mirth. Giggles escaped her as his eyes filled first with disbelief, and then with disgust. He rushed outside and she heard the sounds of vigorous spitting, as he attempted to rid his mouth of the foul taste of her latest domestic effort.

Kate collapsed in a chair, and laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks. It served him right. He had been hanging around the kitchen all day, popping in and out for no apparent reason—lurking! Several times she’d asked him if there was anything he wanted, but he’d almost snapped her nose off! It was his kitchen, wasn’t it? Well, of course it was, the silly man! She knew that!

Normally it wouldn’t have bothered Kate so much, but