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

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—