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

“What a splendid fellow!” said Mr Phillips after a moment. “Such decision, so masterful! I’m sure he was an excellent officer. He is more like his grandmother than I realised.”

The travelling chaise jolted and bounced along the road; Mr Phillips had bespoken rooms at an inn in readiness for the return journey and he was anxious to reach their destination before dark. Kate hung on to a strap, staring out of the window, oblivious of the passing scenery, the state of the road and her companions in the vehicle. She felt utterly wretched, desolate, shattered. Tears dripped unheeded from her eyes.

When Harry had abandoned her, she’d thought she could never be hurt so terribly again. She was wrong. This was a thousand times more painful. Harry she had loved with a schoolgirl’s light-heartedness—Jack she loved with all of a woman’s heart and body and soul.

It was her own stupid fault—she had allowed herself to care, to hope, to dream, and now, as she had told herself a thousand times would happen, all was in ashes.

He despised her. The man she loved despised her.

She’d gathered up her courage, told him all about Henri, about Lisbon, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t matter to him. Oh, she hadn’t expected him to renew his offer to marry her, not really—though her foolish heart had hoped a little. No, she knew it was impossible. The most she had hoped for was that he would finally understand why she didn’t wish to go to London with his grandmother, why she would never be on the marriage mart. She’d hoped he would let her stay, let her live in his house as long as she could…

But he’d heard her story and the very next morning he’d ordered her belongings to be packed.

He hadn’t been able to rid himself of her polluted presence quickly enough, had bundled her into the coach without so much as a by-your-leave, had given his farewells as if she were a complete stranger. He hadn’t even looked her in the eye then, but had murmured goodbye in a voice devoid of emotion.

Kate bit her lip, tasting blood as she recalled the way he had taken her hand in the lightest of touches, fingers barely meeting as if he couldn’t even bear to touch her. Francis at least had bowed over her hand, kissing it lightly, as he had that first day—he, apparently, still thought her a lady. Kate supposed that Jack had not yet enlightened him.

It was almost impossible to reconcile herself to the change in Jack. Only twenty-four hours previously she had woken in his arms. Even sleeping, his powerful arms had held her possessively, cradled her gently. She savoured the memory: the taste of his skin, the rough delight of his stubbled cheek against hers, the tremulous excitement of her body spread full length on his. The glory and the wonder of that secret, stolen kiss, the tentative tasting that had blazed into passion. And then, when he’d opened his eyes, those blue, blue eyes, and smiled that wonderful, crooked smile of his— “Morning sweetheart’—it had been one of the most beautiful moments of her life.

At that moment she’d known—had believed—in the deepest part of her heart and soul that she loved him and that, miracle of miracles, he loved her in return. Her lonely, battered heart had at last found safe harbour. She had allowed herself the momentary dream that this was how she would wake up every morning for the rest of her life… “Morning sweetheart.”

Oh, how she wished it could be so…but wishing was futile, racking her body with empty, echoing pain. It was not to be. She’d known it, deep down; she’d never believed otherwise. Like a hungry child, knowing herself doomed to a life of starvation, she had risked all to snatch at a morsel, knowing she’d never taste such nectar again.

Was it that which had made him reject her now? Her behaviour in the cottage? Did he think that the Lisbon gossips were right about her? What irony. She had never in her life felt wanton except with Jack Carstairs. But how was he to know that?

Being kidnapped once could be seen to be an accident. But twice? First Henri, then Jeremiah. A half-hysterical giggle rose in her throat—thrice—even his grandmother had kidnapped her. She clearly attracted such attention. Of course he would blame her.

The cruelty of his denial burnt into her heart now like acid into flesh…but she could not yet regret her moment of foolishness, her taste of bliss. Would it have been easier in the long run had she never known his embrace? she wondered. Perhaps. But now her dreams had substance to sustain themselves through the long grey years ahead.

The past was an ocean of pain; the future lay before her. Kate contemplated the thought. One day at a time; that was the way to go. First she must endure the rigours of “the Season’.

Endure? No, she decided. There would be endurance enough to come; if there was pleasure to be had, she would have it while she could. She would make the most of her opportunities, experience the best that society could offer her. Sooner or later her secret would be out and she would have to leave town in disgrace, but it could not hurt her if she did not let it. Forewarned was forearmed, after all.

She would make no friendships here that she could not bear to be severed. She could build that much ice around her at least. She would not allow herself to think of this as anything other than a temporary treat. That way, when the time came to leave, she should be able to do so, if not without regrets, then without pain.

She could never be hurt as badly again. By the time she reached London, Kate silently vowed, her armour would be well and truly in place. When the time came, she would disappear quietly,