Chapter Seventeen

“Good God, how has that young woman managed to insinuate herself amongst decent people? Do our host and hostess not know she is a traitress and a whore?”

The penetrating voice was overheard by dozens in the tightly packed ballroom. As one, heads turned.

“Who do I mean? Why, that Farleigh chit, of course. Look at her, dancing as if she had not a care in the world, the shameless hussy. And at a ball in honour of our brave and gallant Marquis of Wellington; the gall of the woman!”

The voice lowered itself slightly, and continued to a gathering crowd, avid for gossip.

“That little tart betrayed our brave soldiers to the French, lived with a Frenchman as his mistress! I know, for my husband was one of the officers that captured her. Her father would be turning in his grave—he was a man of the cloth, you know. Mind you, I always wondered why he never looked at her—he must have known…”

The crowd pressed closer.

Something was wrong. Kate knew it. So many looks, sideways glances, whispered comments followed by significant stares.

“Miss Farleigh, our dance, I believe.” An elegant young fribble bowed over her hand and led her into the next set.

“Have you heard, Miss Farleigh? “Tis monstrous exciting. Apparently some little whore has been passing herself off as a lady, when all the time she played spy for old Boney and whored for his officers. And she’s here tonight!’ Her partner glanced around the room, speculating.

Kate glanced away, a sick feeling in her stomach. Let me just finish this dance, she prayed silently, then I can leave inconspicuously.

But it was not to be. As they moved through the stately steps of the cotillion she noticed her partner eagerly whispering his news to the others in the set. At one point he faltered, stopped and stared at Kate, aghast. He turned back to his source, whispered something and resumed the steps.

Only now he would not look her in the eye. His fingers did not so much touch hers as gesture disdainfully in her direction. The dance continued. Kate 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, revilement. 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 believe, Miss Farleigh. Off with you now, Carstairs. This lady is promised to me.” The whole room heard him, but without waiting for a reply Francis swung Kate into a country dance.

There was still no one else on the dance floor.

“Miss Farleigh, would you do me the honour of partnering me in the next dance?” A young man bowed over Kate’s nerveless fingers. He was dressed in immaculate evening attire, one empty sleeve pinned neatly back. Kate stared at him dumbly.

“You may not remember me, Miss Farleigh, but we met at Badajoz. Arnold Bentham at your service. Francis’s cousin.”

Kate glanced at his empty sleeve. The young man smiled. “No, Miss Farleigh, that arm I lost at Salamanca. You saved the other one at Badajoz, and I offer it now at your disposal. Shall we?” With his one remaining arm, Arnold Bentham swept Kate into the next dance.

Two other couples joined them on the dance floor—Francis and Andrew Lennox and their partners. There was no sign of Jack.

“Miss Farleigh, may I present my son as a desirable partner? He…he is a little out of practice, but I’m sure you will not mind that.” The well-modulated voice broke.

Kate turned, then stopped dead. Her prospective partner stood very still, smiling in her general direction, his hand resting on the arm of a middle-aged woman.

Kate’s face crumpled. It was too much. All this unexpected kindness. All this support. And now this.

It was Oliver Greenwood. Oliver Greenwood, whom she had first met as a terrified young lieutenant at Torres Vedras, with blood gushing all over his face. She had visited him several times since she had come to London, but he was the last person she’d expected to see at a ball. Oliver Greenwood was blind.

“Miss Farleigh, I would be most honoured if you would stand up with me,” said Oliver Greenwood, bowing in her direction.

Kate glanced at Mrs Greenwood. His mother’s face was working with emotion. She nodded at Kate, her eyes filled with tears.

Kate curtseyed. “The honour would be all mine,” she whispered through a mist of tears, and took her place.

Immediately they were surrounded as others joined the set. Francis, Tubby, Andrew Lennox and others, unknown to Kate, some whose faces were vaguely familiar to her, others who were clearly friends of Oliver Greenwood. And their partners, girls for the most part unknown to Kate, girls who smiled encouragingly at her and nodded their heads.

Somehow they got through the dance, Oliver being gently steered in the right direction by his fellow officers, and Kate too, for by this time she was completely blinded by her tears.

And by the time it finished she was not the only person with wet eyes.

“May I escort you to your guardian, Miss Farleigh?” said Oliver Greenwood.

“Not yet, young Greenwood,” a bluff voice boomed heartily from behind them. “I want to talk to this young lady.”

“Sir!” All the young officers snapped instantly to attention, Oliver Greenwood included.

Kate turned. Jack and a man in a plain, neat, dark blue coat were approaching her—a smallish, thin man, whose blue eyes twinkled at her from over one of the most famous noses in all Europe.

“My Lord!” she gasped, and sank into a curtsey.

“So it’s little Kate Farleigh who’s got my officers in knots, is it?” said the Marquis of Wellington. He smiled again at Kate, bowed and kissed her hand. A gasp ran round the room.

“Knew your father, m’dear. Very fine man he was. Sorry to hear about his death. Your brothers, too. Brave boys, brave boys. Know they would be proud of you.”

He took her hand and tucked it into his arm. “Shall we take a turn about the room?” Without waiting for a reply, he moved off, lowering his voice so that only she could hear.

“Young Carstairs filled me in. Pack of worthless gabble-mongers. But we’ll fix them. Face ’em down, what? Show ’em for the cowards they are, eh?”

Wellington moved slowly towards the crowd which pressed forward, eager to speak with the great man. As he did so, he introduced Kate, mentioning to this person that he was a friend of her family, to that person that she was a gallant young heroine, to another that she was a brave little lady, one of England’s finest.

They were soon joined by a group of older ladies, one of whom linked arms with Kate, clearly declaring her support. Kate blinked at her. The woman was a complete stranger.

She bent towards Kate. “Lady Charlotte, my dear. I’m so terribly sorry this happened. If I’d known…but we were all in the card room, I’m afraid, and only just heard what was happening.” She indicated the rest of her party. Kate recognised Lady Courtney and several others, but this glittering matron was a complete stranger.

Seeing Kate’s continuing puzzlement, the lady added, “I’m Arnold Bentham’s mother—you know my nephew, Francis.” As Kate suddenly nodded in comprehension, the lady continued, “You saved my Arnold’s life, Miss Farleigh. For that, you have my undying friendship and support, and that of these other ladies too.”

Kate slowly circled the room; on one side of her, the Marquis of Wellington, on the other, a collection of society’s most formidable matrons. She was dazed by the turn in her fortunes, unable to comprehend quite what was happening. She nodded, curtseyed and smiled, oblivious of whom she was meeting, who was shaking her hand.

Jack was there, a pace or two behind her, hovering protectively. She could feel his presence, sense his strength. She wanted to touch him, but she couldn’t. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. Their eyes met, caressed, clung, but she was moved forward inexorably, and they were separated by the crowd, pressing closer, eager to meet the Great Man and his protégée.

Kate could hardly believe it. She had been snatched from her worst nightmare, and now was engaged in an almost triumphal procession on the arm of England’s greatest living hero. But it was Jack who’d saved her. He had risked social ostracism, had stood up with her in the most public of places, had declared his support of her for all the world to see. Jack, who’d been a recluse, hiding his wounds from the world—he’d come out and danced with her, when no one else would even look her in the eye.

And it was Jack whose arm she wanted to be on, whose arms she wanted to be in.

Kate glanced back. He was no longer there. Her eyes scanned the room anxiously. Where was he? She could see him nowhere. He had stood up for her in her hour of need. Surely he wouldn’t desert her in her moment of triumph? Didn’t he know it would mean nothing to her if he was not with her?

She caught Francis’s eye across a dozen heads and asked him the silent question. He returned a sombre look, then shrugged and shook his head hopelessly. Kate’s face dropped. Jack had left. But why?

With a leaden heart, Kate returned to the hollow greetings of well-wishers and sycophants.

“What do you mean, she’s gone? Gone where? She hasn’t been seen since that blasted ball, and let me tell you, Grand-mama, nothing could be more ill-judged. She needs to be out there, circulating, seeing people, showing them she’s nothing to hide. We’ve scotched the worst of it, but if she’s hiding herself away…”

“I said she’s gone, Jack. Gone away. Left.”

“Left where? What do you mean?” Suddenly Jack turned white. He sat down in a rush. “You mean gone? She’s left London?”

Lady Cahill looked at him in some compassion, then hardened her heart. He’d been acting like a fool.

“Gone where?”

“Back to that village I found her in.”

“Good God, how could you let her do something so…? What is there for her anyway? Why would she do such a thing?” He rose to his feet again and paced about, raking his fingers through wildly disordered locks. Suddenly he looked up sharply.

“Who is escorting her? How is she travelling? And who is to meet her?”

His grandmother shrugged.

“You mean you let her go alone!” he roared.

“I was not exactly consulted, Jack, and do not take that tone with me. I’m as worried about the dratted girl as you are!” snapped his grandmother. “The foolish child slipped away at dawn.”

“So how is she travelling?”

“I don’t know, Jack, the Mail or stage, I presume!”

“Good God! Mail or stage! Rubbing shoulders with God knows who! Doesn’t she know the dangers? Footpads, highwaymen! Doesn’t she know how often accidents happen? Pray God she took the Mail; at least they have a guard!” Swearing, he rushed from the room.

Lady Cahill sat back, a satisfied grin on her face.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

The roar, which seemed to echo from the heavens, almost startled Kate into dropping her basket. It was, however, a very familiar roar. She looked around. There, on a horse flecked with foam, its sides heaving, legs trembling, sat Jack Carstairs, glaring at her yet again.

He looked dreadful. Covered with mud, his jaw unshaven, his neckcloth all awry. Her eyes softened. She glanced around. The narrow country laneway in which she’d been walking was by no means deserted; several farm workers were within earshot. She smiled up at him for the benefit of their observers.

“Good afternoon, Mr Carstairs,” she said in a clear calm voice. “As you see, I’m just off to the village.”

“Just off to the village, are you? And with no thought for how others might be worried about you?”

She looked up at him in silence. Why would he be worried? And why so angry?

“How the hell did you get here anyway?”

“I hired a chaise and outriders.”

“A chaise and outriders? A chaise and outriders!” He seemed outraged by the notion. He was breathing heavily, his eyes positively crackling with blue rage.

“Well, and what is so wrong with that?”

“Only that I stopped every bloody stage and Mail coach between here and London, searching for you!”

“Oh, no. You didn’t, did you?” Kate looked up at him, her eyes wide, imagining the scene. She giggled.

As far as Jack was concerned, it was the giggle that did it. With a groan of fury he leaned down, grabbed her under the armpits and dragged her up on to his horse. Ignoring her outraged squeaks, he clamped her to his chest and moved off. Kate struggled, but as the horse moved faster she clung to Jack to save herself from falling. The farm labourers came closer, several of them carrying sticks and cudgels.

In a trice Jack clamped his mouth over hers. Kate’s struggles suddenly ceased as the familiar magic of his kiss washed over her. She was, after all, where she most desired in the world to be. One hand slid around his neck, her fingers tangling in his wild, damp hair. The other hand gently stroked his rough, unshaven jaw. Abandoning all defences, she opened her heart and allowed herself to simply love him.

By the time the kiss had finished, they had left the grinning farm workers long behind. Kate sighed, nuzzling her face against the underside of his jaw. She leaned against him, relishing the taste of him on her lips, the strong embrace of his muscular arms around her.

“There was no need to run away, you know,” he said after a time. “We had everything under control. You will be completely accepted in society, no shadow of a doubt. There was no need to hide here.”

“Run away?” she said quietly. “Did Lady Cahill not tell you?”

“Oh, she told me all right. How else do you think I knew where to look?” He swung her round to face him, eyes blazing, hands gripping her hard. He shook her. “What is there here for you? A small dirty village? A falling-down cottage? The company of rustics? You cannot possibly prefer this to London!”

Her eyes clung to his. “Everything I want in the world is right here,” she said slowly. “Nothing I want or need is in London.” She leaned back into the curve of his body.

He turned ashen. His hands loosened their hard grip. He looked away, staring blankly across the top of her head. “Nothing?” he said at last.

“Nothing in London. Everything I want in the world is right here,” she repeated.

He sagged in the saddle. “So be it.”

Defeated, he turned his horse back towards the village. They rode in silence, the only sound the twittering of birds and the slow clip-clopping of the horse’s hoofs. Kate lay back against his chest, rocking against his hard, warm body in rhythm to the horse’s gait. She could say no more. How could she, not knowing how he felt? She had told him as much as she dared.

Why had he come after her? Had his grandmother sent him? Was it duty? Or a constitutional dislike of being crossed? He’d saved her reputation, but then made it clear that he wanted nothing further to do with her. Oh, he desired her all right, but she wanted more than that.

They drew closer and closer to the village until at last the cross on the spire of the tiny stone church was clearly visible. The horse stopped.

“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, so I bloody well will and damn the consequences!” Jack suddenly growled. He wrenched the horse around and started to gallop in the opposite direction. Kate clung on for dear life.

“Where are we going? This is not the way to the village,” she shrieked. His only response was to clamp her more tightly against his chest and spur the horse onwards.

“The cottage is in the other direction!” she shouted, bouncing up and down.

The horse galloped on. Jack said not a word. Kate thumped at his chest in frustration. “Jack! Where are we going?”

His arms tightened around her. “I’m kidnapping you.”

Kate was stunned. Kidnapping her?

“Everybody else does, so why not me?” he shouted into her ear.

“Oh, Jack, no. Not you, Jack, please, not you,” she cried tremulously. She began to weep.

Appalled, he wrenched the horse to a halt. Awkwardly he slid off it and lifted Kate to the ground. Her legs buckled under her and she crumpled on to the grass. He followed her, gathering her into his arms. “No, Kate, don’t, please don’t,” he said brokenly. “Don’t cry, please.”

He pulled out a large handkerchief and clumsily started blotting her cheeks with it. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I can’t bear it if you cry.”

Kate just sobbed harder.

He held her against him, rocking her gently. Finally her sobs shuddered to a halt. He continued to hold her in his lap, her face pressed against his chest, stroking her tumbled hair with a gentle hand.

After a time she pulled away. “Why?” she whispered.

He took a deep breath and shook his head despairingly. “I…I just thought that if you really had decided to live in rural obscurity…”

“Go on,” she prompted.

He looked deeply uncomfortable. “Well…I thought…you might…”

“Might what?” she prompted again.

Suddenly he exploded. “Well, if you must know, I thought that if you wanted to bury yourself in obscurity the least you could do is do it with me! There, now you have it! I am a despicable rogue, am I not? An arrogant fool, who thought you might consent…”

“Consent to what?” Her heart was thudding uncontrollably. This was the crux of the matter. What had he thought she might be willing to do? Consent to be kidnapped? To be his mistress? His doxy? Consent to have her heart broken?

There was a long silence. Finally he reached into an inner pocket of his coat and drew out a folded document. He stared at it a moment, his mouth twisting ruefully, then tossed it on the grass between them.

“See for yourself. There it is, documentary evidence of what an arrogant, desperate fool I am. Go on, open it, see for yourself. Just don’t laugh in my face.”

With shaking fingers Kate reached out and picked up the parchment. Opening it, she read it several times, her mind struggling to come to terms with the meaning of his having obtained this document.

“It is a special licence,” she said at last. “And not so very new, either.” He’d obtained it before she’d been kidnapped by Jeremiah Cole, Kate realised, with a thrill.

“Yes, fool that I am, I thought I could get you to marry me.” He laughed, a harsh, dry laugh that ended abruptly.

“Why did you not simply ask me?” she said softly.

“Ask you?” His voice was bitter. “Why ask when there’s no possibility of acceptance? What woman would consent to marriage with a fellow like me, a cripple, and a bad-tempered, ugly one to boot? And with barely a penny to my name. What sort of a bargain is that for a woman?”

“Some women might think it a very good bargain.”

He looked at her then. “Perhaps…if the woman had lost everything—her family, her home, her…her good name. Such a woman might have thought it sufficient. She would have had no other options.”

And yet he’d lent her his family, given her a home and saved her good name. Kate felt a spurt of anger grow inside her. How dared he think himself such a poor bargain? And herself so mercenary!

“But a woman who had been left a fortune?” she said. “A woman whose good name had been retrieved by a bad-tempered, poverty-stricken cripple—such a woman must needs be tricked, kidnapped, coerced?”

He looked stricken. “Only because you ran away. You didn’t seem to want the London life, so I thought…”

“I came down here to redeem the things I sold when I had no money. Some of my mother’s jewellery, my father’s books, things like that. Lady Cahill knew that very well. She expects me back on Tuesday. I wasn’t running away from anyone or anything. You should know me better than that!”

“I didn’t think…” He shrugged despairingly.

“No, you didn’t think!” raged Kate. She moved closer and thumped him on the arm. “You are bad-tempered and poor, and also quite stupid! You great brainless clod! You don’t talk to me for weeks and weeks—”

“But you wouldn’t—”

“—and you glare and spit blue fire at me across crowded dance floors—”

“What do you mean, blue fire?”

Kate ignored that. If he didn’t know the power of his beautiful blue eyes, then she wasn’t going to enlighten him. She thumped him again, this time on the chest.

“And then you must drag me up on to your poor, smelly…”

“Smelly?” One arm went around her.

“Smelly, exhausted horse in front of men who I’ve known since I was a child, and then, with not a shred of shame about you, you must kiss me in front of—”

“It seemed to me you were doing a bit of kissing of your own,” he said, catching one small fist as it sailed perilously close to his jaw.

“And then, you great lout, as if that isn’t enough, you must bounce me over miles and miles of countryside—”

“And very beautifully you bounce, too,” he interjected wickedly.

“And then you decide I don’t even deserve the courtesy of a proposal! When I’d already told you I loved you!” She collapsed furiously against his chest with a final thump.

He snatched her away from him and stared into her face.

“You what? You did no such thing!”

She blushed. “I did too.”

“When?”

She blushed a deeper, rosy pink. “When I told you I had everything here I wanted.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. Then his eyes started to twinkle. “And I was supposed to understand from that that you love me?”

She nodded, embarrassed.

Suddenly he laughed, a joyous ringing laugh. “Oh, what a clod I am indeed! So clear you made it, and, stupid great lout that I am, I didn’t understand!”

“I did kiss you back,” she mumbled, aggrieved.

He stopped laughing and she could feel the warmth of his smile as he leaned close and gathered her back in his arms. Kate wouldn’t look at him. “Yes, you did, didn’t you? And very nice it was too.” He bent his head towards her, seeking her lips.

Kate pouted. “I’m not kissing any horrid kidnapper.”

He laughed and rolled back on to the grass, pulling her down on top of him. “Then, my little spitfire, will you kindly consent to kiss a man who is utterly mad for love of you? A man who has nothing but his heart and a run-down but very clean house to offer you. And, though he does not deserve you, he asks you most humbly and desperately to be his wife.”

She stared down at him for a moment and Jack was horrified to see tears welling in her beautiful eyes again. “Oh, no, my love, I’m sorry. Whatever I said or did wrong, I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m such a clumsy fool, but I love you so much. Oh, Kate, darling, please don’t cry.”

The tears dripped harder, landing on his face. He kissed her wet cheeks, her wet eyes, her wet mouth. “Don’t cry, my little love. I can’t bear it.”

She looked at him through the shimmering veil of tears. “I’m sorry…”

His heart contracted unbearably.

“Sorry, Jack, darling…It’s just that I’m so happy…” she wailed.

It was so wonderful to be held like this, safe and warm in his arms, her cheek resting against his heart, her head tucked beneath his chin. She rubbed her cheek softly against the rough bristles along his jawline, and sighed with pleasure. She looked up and met his eyes, and the tenderness she saw in them warmed her clear down to her toes. After some time Kate forced herself to push him away. Reluctantly he allowed it. She sat up and straightened her dress. He lay there watching her, a tender, proud smile on his face.

“I’ve just thought of another reason for you to marry me,” he drawled.

“Hmm?”

“Valet service. I never knew a woman who was so good at getting into a mess,” he chuckled, picking pieces of grass out of her hair. She slapped his hands away and pushed him back on to the ground. Her hands rested on his chest, partly to ensure he kept his distance, partly so she would not lose the contact with his body.

Her face grew serious and her eyes darkened with anxiety. “I have to ask this, Jack. Do you truly not mind about what happened to me, in Spain?”

His eyes softened. “On the contrary, I mind it a great deal…but not for the reasons you’re worrying about, my love.” He pulled her down into the curve of his body. “I mind that you were hurt, that you were frightened and abused, that you were hungry and in danger and that you were alone with no one to protect you. I mind that you did not get the support and assistance you needed, that you were subjected to gossip, cruel impertinence and worse. I mind that you came home to nothing and no one, facing destitution, and I mind that to earn a living you had to scrub my floors and put up with my vile temper…”

His voice came to a shaky halt and he held her tight, trembling with emotion. After a time, he stopped shaking, his grip altered and his mouth came down over hers, infinitely gentle, infinitely loving. “I give you my word, Kate, that you will never again suffer hunger, fear, pain or loneliness, not while I am alive to prevent it. And I vow to dedicate the rest of my life to loving and protecting you.”

She was weak with relief and joy. “And I to you, my love,” she whispered. It was all she had time to say before his mouth came down over hers again.

After a long, tender interval, he added, “Besides which, it is my firm belief—” he moved against her in an unmistakably erotic fashion, his face coming alive with wicked humour “—my very firm belief, that virginity has absolutely no place in marriage.”

Distracted by the feelings engendered by his movement, Kate was a little slow in realising his meaning, but gradually she became aware of his wickedly quizzing look, the laughter, and deep, passionate love and acceptance in his eyes. In relief she began to giggle, and his lazy chuckle joined hers as he swept her into his arms and hugged her tightly against him.

After a time, Kate pulled his chin down so she could look him in the eye. There was a hint of mischief in the loving look she gave him. “So you promise to love and protect me always…”

“Always, sweetheart.”

“And to make sure I never go hungry again?”

“Of course.”

“And kill spiders for me.”

“As many as you want.”

“And never make me scrub your floors.”

“Baggage!” He flicked her nose teasingly. “If you recall, it was not my idea in the first place.”

She nodded wisely. “Oh, yes. I recall now. You prefer your floors dirty.”

A low mock-growl and a swift, hard kiss was her only answer.

“And you promise I will never have to put up with your ‘vile temper’ again?” She reached up and curled a lock of dark hair around and around her finger until it was held tight. She gave it a little tug to make her point.

A baleful look from glittering blue eyes made her giggle.

“That depends,” he said sternly.

“On what, dearest?” she murmured, fluttering her lashes innocently.

“Oh, on such things as whether coffee pots and vases remain on tables or come flying through the air.”

She dimpled. “Oh, I do not know if I can possibly promise such a thing. Coffee pots are so unpredictable, you know.”

“Mmm,” he agreed dryly. “I see it will take me at least twenty or thirty years to understand the ways of coffee pots.”

He looked quizzically down at her. His heart thudded at the blatant adoration that poured from her eyes.

“Much longer than that, my darling, much, much longer,” she murmured, reaching up and pulling his mouth down to hers.