Gallant Waif by Anne Gracíe Page A

if she had hurled a pot of hot coffee at his head. He’d have to carry her to her room, he supposed. His grip shifted and he bent to swing her into his arms.
    Instantly Kate moved. In a flash she escaped his arms and dealt him a smart slap across the face. “Brains before brute force every time!” she flashed, and took to her heels down the corridor.
    As she reached her room, she turned. “And girls do play cricket!” She slammed the door behind her, turned the key and leant against it panting, laughing, oddly exhilarated.
    He stared after her, frustrated, cursing her in English and Spanish. Then he turned and limped as quickly as he could towards his grandmother’s room, his face black as thunder.
    “Grandmama!” He burst into her room. “Who the devil is that. . .that little hell-cat?”
    The beady blue eyes examined her grandson’s face closely. He was in a fierce temper—it was positively blazing from his eyes. Splendid! Lady Cahill thought. No sign of the lacklustre absence of spirit that Amelia spoke of. Something, or rather someone, by the sounds of it, had stirred him up beautifully. And his loving grandmother would continue the process.
    She glared at him. “What the devil do you mean, sir, to come storming into my boudoir at this time of day, cursing and swearing and raising your voice?” The blue eyes were frosty with displeasure. “In my day, no gentleman would dream of entering a lady’s presence in such indecent attire, or should I say lack of it? Be off with you, boy, and don’t return until you are properly clothed! I am shocked and appalled, Jack, shocked and appalled!” She turned her head from his naked chest in a pained, offended manner.
    Jack opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap. Blast it, he could hardly give her a piece of his mind. She was his grandmother, dammit. He glared at her, fully aware of her game. She was the most outrageous old lady he knew—he would bet his last guinea that she was no more shocked at seeing a man without a shirt than he was. And as for his swearing. . .the old hypocrite, peppering almost every phrase she uttered with oaths, then pretending to blush at his! He was damned if he’d stay and let his grandmother rake him over the coals for the entertainment of herself and her dresser! Jack bowed ironically and left the room.
    He slammed the door and Lady Cahill relaxed back against the pillows, grinning in a most unladylike way.
    “Oh, how shocking, milady,” said the hovering woman dressed severely in grey.
    “Oh, don’t be such a ninny, Smithers. You’ve seen a man without his shirt before, haven’t you?” Lady Cahill cast a quick glance at her poker-faced maid. “Well, perhaps not. It’ll widen your education in that case.”
    “Milady!” said Smithers indignantly.
    “Oh, fetch me my wrap,” said the old lady. “I’m getting up.”
    “Before eleven!” gasped Smithers.
    Lady Cahill regarded the shocked face of her maid in amusement. “Perhaps not,” she decided. “You can fetch that child I brought with me. Ask her to come and take hot chocolate with me here, if such a thing can be found in this benighted place.”
    Her maid stiffened in displeasure. “ That. . .that shabby young person, milady?”
    The old lady’s voice turned to ice. “That ‘shabby young person’, as you refer to her, is the daughter of my beloved goddaughter, Maria Farleigh, and as such, Smithers, is to be treated as my honoured guest. Do you understand?”
    The woman curtseyed. “Yes, milady,” she murmured humbly.
    Kate stiffened at the knock on her door. She hunched her shoulder away from it and remained curled up on the bed. The knock sounded again. “Go away!” she said.
    There was a short silence.
    “Miss?” The voice was unmistakably female. Kate slipped off the bed and ran to the door. The disapproving face of Smithers met her eye. “Lady Cahill invites you to join her in her bedchamber to take chocolate.” The cold, pale eyes ran quickly over