Gallant Waif. Anne Gracie

he murmured at last, shaking his head. “How the devil did you come to be brought here by my grandmother?”

      Kate looked up at him in surprise. The dark head was still frowning over her hand. She repressed a rueful grin. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for that. She was surely dressed for the part and he had seen her working in the kitchen, obviously at home. Well, if the master of the house insisted on calling Kate a kitchen maid, Kate would oblige him—and serve him right! She had an imaginary spider to pay him back for, after all!

      “Sir.” She tugged at her hand.

      His thumb still absently caressed her.

      “I must get back to my duties, sir. The kitchen floor needs scrubbing.” She tried to pull her hand free again, becoming increasingly unsettled by the gentle motion of his thumb on her skin.

      “But where on earth did you learn to speak like a lady?”

      Oh, drat the man! Would he never leave off? Kate’s sense of humour got the best of her. “A lady, sir?” She goggled in mock-surprise, and did her best to simper. “I never thought I sounded like a real lady.” She pronounced it “loidy’.

      “I kept house for an old gentleman for a long time and he insisted I learn to speak proper-like. He was a true scholar, sir, and a Reverend he was, too, and he hated what he called the mangling of the English language.”

      He did not appear to notice that her accent had broadened considerably during this speech, a fact which Kate found immensely encouraging. She twisted her hands awkwardly, as she imagined a rustic wench would, when confronted by a handsome gentleman.

      “He taught me to read and write and cipher an’ all,” she added ingenuously, regarding him with wide, innocent eyes—which she was tempted for a moment to cross, but didn’t.

      “But you understand Spanish,” Jack persisted. “Where does a kitchen maid come to know a foreign tongue like that?”

      “I imagine there are hundreds of kitchen maids in Spain,” she responded pertly, her eyes downcast to hide the mischief in them.

      “Don’t be impertinent, girl; you know perfectly well I was asking how an English kitchen maid like you came to know Spanish. It’s obvious to me that you have no Spanish blood.”

      She beamed up at him foolishly. “You’re absolutely right, sir—no Spanish blood at all. You are a clever gentleman. Coo, so you are.”

      The chit was playing games with him again! He was hard put to it not to laugh—except that he had an equally strong impulse to turn her over his knee. How on earth had this cheeky little miss survived this long without being strangled, let alone kept a position in a household? He couldn’t imagine his grandmother putting up with this type of cheek from a maidservant. His mouth quirked in some amusement. His grandmother would not take kindly to competition in the art of impertinence and this little baggage was every bit her equal.

      “Enough of your sauce, girl. I asked you how an English maid came to understand Spanish.”

      “Oh, the gentleman did a lot of foreign travel and it were easier for him to take me than leave me behind, so a’ course I was bound to pick up some of the lingo, wasn’t I? Will that be all, sir?” she asked humbly, her head bent to hide her laughter.

      She could see perfectly well that she hadn’t satisfied his curiosity, and that he didn’t like it. He was used to being in control. Well, he wasn’t going to control her. He’d be furious when he found out who she really was, but it served him right for jumping to conclusions. And for the spider.

      “Hmm. Yes, all right,” he mumbled ungraciously.

      Kate bobbed him the sort of rustic curtsey her old nurse used to make to her father, and picked up the tray. She stepped lightly down the stairs, her mouth trembling on the verge of laughter as she imagined his face when his grandmother finally explained who she was.

      Jack watched her slight figure disappear, then turned and knocked at his grandmother’s door.

      Chapter Four

      “Where the devil did you find that girl, Grandmama?” he demanded on entry.

      His grandmother regarded him coolly. “I am very well, Jack, thank you for asking.”

      “Dammit, Grandmama…” he began, then, noting the light of battle in the beady blue eyes, decided it would be politic to capitulate. His grandmother, Jack knew from long experience, was quite capable of parrying his questions all day. Curse it, he sighed, what had he done to be plagued with such females? Only a few days ago, life had been so peaceful.

      He sat himself down on the edge of her bed, his stiff leg out before him, ignoring the strangled gasp of horror from his grandmother’s maid at the impropriety.

      “Oh, get out, Smithers, get out if you cannot stomach the sight of a man seated on my bed!” snapped Lady Cahill. She waited until the maid removed herself, after having favoured her mistress with a look of deep reproof.

      “Stupid woman!” muttered the old lady. “But she’s worth her weight in gold at la toilette. Makes an old woman like me look less of an old hag.”

      Jack smiled, his good humour restored. “Old hag, indeed! What a shocking untruth, Grandmama. As if you haven’t remained an acknowledged beauty all your life. You’ve clearly recovered from the ordeal of the journey, for I must tell you that you are in great looks, positively blooming in fact.”

      “Oh, pish tush!” said his grandmother in delight. “You’re a wicked boy and I know perfectly well that you’re only trying to turn me up sweet.”

      Jack’s lips twitched, as he recalled the time his grandmother had read his sister a blistering lecture for using exactly that piece of slang. “Turn you up sweet, indeed?” he quizzed her. “Good God, Grandmama. What a vulgar expression. I’m shocked!”

      “Don’t criticise your elders and betters, young man,” she retorted, her twinkling eyes revealing she was fully aware of her inconsistency. “Now, what’s all this I’ve heard about you falling into the megrims? It’s not like you, Jack, and I won’t have it!”

      Jack took a deep breath, struggling to overcome the surge of annoyance that rose within him at her blunt statement. “As you see, Grandmama,” he responded lightly, “your sources have misinformed you. I’m in the pink of health despite being a cripple.”

      Lady Cahill frowned at him. “You’re no more a cripple than I am,” she snapped. “What’s a stiff leg? Your grandfather had one for years as a result of a hunting accident and it never stopped him from doing anything he wanted to.”

      “As I recall, ma’am, my grandfather was still able to ride to hounds until shortly before his death.”

      A short silence fell. Lady Cahill considered the cruel irony of her grandson’s injury. A noted rider to hounds until his injury, Jack had received as his only inheritance a house in one of the most famous hunting shires in the country. Now, when he was unable even to sit a horse.

      Jack stood up awkwardly. He still found it hard to face discussion of his wounds. “Can one enquire as to what brought you to my humble home?” he asked, changing the subject.

      “You may well ask that,” she said crossly.

      “Yes, I just did,” he murmured irrepressibly.

      “Don’t be cheeky, boy! I came to find out what was happening to you. Now, tell me, sir, what did you mean by denying your own sister hospitality?”

      “Grandmama, you can see for yourself that this place is not yet fit to receive guests…Besides, I was castaway at the time. I do regret it, but I’ve had enough of women weeping and sighing over my…my disfigurement,” he finished stiffly.

      “Disfigurement, my foot!” She snorted inelegantly. Her eyes wandered to the scar on his right cheek. “If you