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

“Stand up straight, boy, and stop lounging all over the wall like a looby! How many times have I told you to get your hands out of your pockets? Not that I can see how on earth you can have pockets in such indecently tight garments.”

Jack sighed. “Good evening, Grandmama.” He turned to face her. He bowed, and she ran her eyes over him assessingly. A marked improvement from the last time she’d seen him.

“Have you seen my little protégée?” she said, grinning. Jack grunted.

“Looks charming, doesn’t she? Gel’s done me proud. I wish her mother could see her.” She raised her lorgnette and peered short-sightedly at the dancers. “Who’s she dancing with now? Eh, Jack?”

“Fenchurch.”

Lady Cahill smiled. He hadn’t even turned to look. And what was more, she thought delightedly, he was so taken up with Kate’s activities that he had forgotten to be sensitive about his altered appearance, his shattered cheek and his limp.

“Fenchurch? Ah, yes, fine, big, handsome chap, ain’t he? Not that that signifies. All her beaux seem to be. Gel’s mighty popular—her dance card was full before she’d been here ten minutes. I doubt she could give you even a country dance, Jack. You could ask her, though.”

He snorted.

Lady Cahill smothered a chuckle and continued. “Oh, look, the dance is finished and see how they rush to procure her a chair and refreshments. Can’t leave the girl for a moment but she’s surrounded by admirers. Taken very well, Maria’s girl. But, there Jack, you’re not interested in an old woman’s ramblings. Tell me, what has brought my favourite grandson to London?”

Her favourite grandson mumbled something inaudible and stumped away, scowling. Kate was undoubtedly a social success. And he was unaccountably infuriated. He’d rushed up to London in a state of high anxiety, ready to rescue a poor little waif from social ostracism and humiliation. He’d found her apparently in the highest of spirits, with any number of fellows underfoot, making complete cakes of themselves over her! Her dance card too full to allow him even a country dance! He snorted again. He had no intention of joining the ranks of her admirers, begging for a moment of her attention! He retreated behind another pillar and scowled at her from there.

Kate saw him arrive. For a moment her heart seemed to stop. He looked worn and tired and the broad shoulders of his plain dark coat glittered from the hundreds of candles that lit the ballroom. He had come in the rain. His hair too was damp and clung to his brow in dark wild curls. She longed to run across the room and fling herself into his arms. She longed for him to stride out across the ballroom floor and sweep her into his embrace. She longed to kiss him.

She continued through the cotillion mechanically, finding in the performance of the stately measure the control she needed. Her heart was ablaze with excitement. Why had he come? How long would it be before he noticed her? Would he like the way she looked now? Would he ask her to dance? Oh, how she had missed him!

She forced herself not to look at him, not trusting herself to do so. She responded to Viscount Fenchurch’s sallies, laughing and smiling automatically, having no idea of what he was saying. The dance would finish soon and then Jack would come over to her. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she used the movement of the dance to dart another quick shy glance at him.

And froze. He was staring right at her. His gaze scorched her…and she froze. There was nothing but the strongest condemnation in his face. He was staring right at her as if he despised her. Her steps and smile faltered, and as she stumbled her partner gathered her smoothly up, concern in his handsome face. Kate recovered herself and continued.

The dance felt like the longest one in history. Somehow she got through it, smiling blindly at her partner whenever his face swam into view. She had thought she had come to terms with the pain of Jack’s condemnation, but the sight of him had been so unexpected, her response so joyful, that his obvious disgust had slid through her icy armour like a hot knife through butter, straight into her heart. Again.

The dance finished, but before she could excuse herself and seek solitude in which to deal with her desolation the band struck up again and she found herself being whisked back on to the floor. Pride alone carried her through it, and if her partner found her to be a little inattentive and distraite he found nothing amiss with the dazzling smiles she flashed him.

By the time the second dance drew to a close, Kate’s temper was rising. Jack had continued to prop himself against the wall, glaring at her throughout the dance, black fury and total disapproval on his face.

How dared he follow her here and stand there sneering at her? It was his fault she was here in the first place. She hadn’t wanted to come to London. And if she had made her entree to society under false colours, as he obviously believed, then it was his grandmother who’d made her do it. And he had delivered her to his grandmother, so he was as much at fault as anyone. How dared he look at her like that?

Kate’s anger enabled her to sweep through the next dance in glittering style and to parry the flirtatious compliments of her small court of admirers with wit and panache. For the next hour she danced, flirted, smilingly declined an offer of marriage and added a dozen new members to her circle of male admirers, all in the most furious of tempers and under the scorching long-distance glare of Mr Jack Carstairs.

Jack forced himself to stay for an hour or so longer, seeking out all the most beautiful women. She would not think he had no female