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

felt the ice surround her. No one looked at her. No one touched her. No one spoke to her.

Bitterness rose in Kate like bile. She had known how it would be. This was the reason she had never wanted to appear in society ever again. Had she been allowed to go her own way, she would not be experiencing this. Again.

“Ceddy, please escort me to my mama. I cannot think she would wish me to associate with a traitress!” Nose held high, a young lady abandoned the set in mid-movement.

In seconds, the ordered progress of the dance collapsed, as each of the ladies in Kate’s set marched righteously off the dance floor, escorted by their partner. Kate looked at her partner in mute appeal. If he would only escort her from the floor, she would be able to leave with a shred of dignity.

His face twisted in contempt. “My brother was injured at Salamanca!” he snarled, and stalked away.

Kate stood in the middle of the dance floor, frozen. She knew she had to move, to get away from all of the eyes, from the whispering and pointing. From the hate. The loathing. The avid speculation. But she couldn’t move.

Around her she felt the rest of the dancers faltering, the rising hum of gossip and conjecture. The music petered out in mid-tune as the last of the couples left the floor. It had the effect of focusing all attention on Kate. She felt the crowd gathering into a dense barrier, the seething, greedy stares of bored aristocrats, eager for sensation to alleviate their safe, pampered, dull lives.

Lions and Christians.

The thought gave Kate the strength she needed to move. She turned, seeking Lady Cahill with her eyes, but there was no sign of her. Kate moved slowly towards the circle of watchers, trying to ignore the barrage of eyes upon her, probing, malicious, scornful.

She had nothing to be ashamed of. She would not give them the satisfaction. She stiffened her spine. The way before her parted reluctantly. Ladies, who only hours before had claimed friendship, turned their faces coldly away. No one would meet her eye; a hundred eyes bored into her.

“Little better than a camp follower!”

“The cheek—to try to pass herself off like that in decent company!”

And one, less elliptical than the others. “Traitorous whore!”

Her body began to shake. She could do nothing. There was no standing up to insubstantial whispers from people who would not even look her in the face. She forced herself to keep walking, desperately hoping the trembling of her body was not visible to the observers.

Was there ever a room so long? Only four more steps. Three…two…

A powerful black-clad arm snaked out of the dense crowd and pulled her into the centre of the circle again.

“What—?”

“I think you must have forgotten me, Miss Farleigh,” said Jack. His normal tone of voice carried in the watching hush. Kate blinked up at him.

“My dance, I believe. Did you forget it?” He smiled down at her bewildered face, his casual manner belied by the implacable grip on her arm.

“But…” With everyone listening, Kate couldn’t say it. She hadn’t promised him a dance. He didn’t dance. Not since he was wounded, anyway. He only leaned against walls and columns, glaring at her. So why would he seek her out now? Now, when the world was turning against her again and she wanted nothing more than escape. Kate tried to pull away, but his hold on her was too powerful.

Ignoring Kate’s glance of pathetic entreaty, Jack moved steadily back through the crowd, towing her beside him, greeting acquaintances in a cheery tone as he went, for all the world as if they were not in the very heart of a major scandal, their every movement watched by hundreds.

His uneven footsteps echoed as he led her out on to the deserted dance floor. He finally released her arm, but took her hand instead. Bowing, he kissed it lightly. Kate stared at him in a daze. He grinned at her, a wicked, tender grin.

“Courage, love,” he whispered as he straightened up. “Let’s show them that an old cripple and a gallant war heroine are not beaten by a paltry bit of gossip.”

He nodded to the band. Kate followed his glance. Sir Toby was standing over the band in a very determined manner. He smiled and waved, then turned back to the band. The music started.

Kate’s eyes misted as she looked up into the handsome face bent over her. She had been prepared to withstand anything—scorn, mockery, disgust, revile-ment. His kindness had undone her.

Jack determinedly stumped his way through the intricate steps, his bad leg making a clumsy mockery of the movements. Kate gracefully performed her part, making adjustments for his limp where she could.

Jack’s eyes never left her face. Her head was held high, but she danced blindly. No one in the audience could see the tears which trickled down her cheeks unheeded. Jack wished he could take her in his arms, wished that strait-laced English society would bend their rules sufficiently to adopt the scandalous Viennese dance which was all the rage in Europe. Jack smiled at her tenderly. Yes, it would be wonderful to hold Kate in his arms for a waltz.

The ballroom might have been deserted, the audience silent ghosts. Only the strains of the band playing, the clumping of Jack’s shoes and the faint shuffle of Kate’s tiny satin slippers could be heard at first, then the murmuring started again.

The dance ended, but under Tubby’s supervision the next one started almost immediately. As the second dance drew to a close, Jack bent over her hand again and murmured, “Two dances are my limit, I’m afraid. A third and people will begin to think you are fast.”

Kate stared at him, stupefied. She was being pilloried as a whore and a traitress, and he was concerned that three dances with the same partner would label her fast! A bubble of hysteria rose in her throat. The music started again.

“My dance, I