Gallant Waif by Anne Gracie (best ereader manga .TXT) 📕

scrubbing the floor? Hah! To think he’d been worried about her! No doubt the little wretch was sitting somewhere with her feet up, laughing up her shabby sleeve at the fine trick she had played on him.

Entering the kitchen, he came to a dead halt. Kate was down on hands and knees, vigorously scrubbing the large flagstones of the kitchen floor, exactly as she’d said she would.

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

Kate jumped, then turned, laid down the hard-bristled scrubbing brush and sat back on her heels. She noted the black frown, the clenched fists and the outrage. Her eyes twinkled. So, he had finally discovered who she was. And was feeling rather grumpy about it. She pressed her lips firmly together to stop them quivering with laughter.

Jack’s violent reaction to the sight of her scrubbing his floor confused him. He battled with anger and an equally strong desire to lift her up and whisk her upstairs. She looked so small and delicate. She had no business attempting such a dirty and demeaning task. “I said, what do you think you’re doing?”

She glanced at the floor, still swimming with dirty water, then at the discarded scrubbing brush. “It’s called scrubbing the floor,” she explained helpfully, unable to resist teasing him a little. “I would have thought a man of your age—”

“Don’t play games with me, girl!” he growled. “What the devil is my grandmother’s guest doing scrubbing my floors and cooking my breakfast?” He glared at her. “I won’t have it, do you hear me? I won’t have it!”

Kate, kneeling in a pool of scummy water, endeavoured to look soulful. “But you did, don’t you remember? Three eggs, six rashers of bacon, and almost a whole pot of coffee.”

“Dammit, I’m not talking about that—”

“But you were. You accused me of cooking your breakfast and then said you wouldn’t have it,” she interrupted gently. “I’m sorry if you didn’t like my food.”

She attempted to make her lower lip quiver sorrowfully, but abandoned the effort and rattled on, well aware that she was fanning his temper to flames and oddly excited by the prospect. “If you prefer, I won’t cook your breakfast again. Indeed, I hadn’t intended to do so, for it was my own breakfast I was cooking and you stol—commandeered it.”

With a grubby hand she pushed a straggling curl off her face, leaving a smear of dirt in its place. Unaware, she continued, “I gather you didn’t like it after all. But I dare say you are one of those people to whom the mere thought of breakfast is anathema. Perhaps the consumption of food at such an early hour made you feel. . .unwell? Certainly, if you’d been drinking the night before… I do seem to recall…” She lowered her eyelashes discreetly.

”I. . .that’s not…I wasn’t… The breakfast was very goo—” Jack glared at her again. The interview was not going at all as he had planned it. The cheeky little urchin. She was tying him into knots with a flow of polite-seeming nonsense, for all the world as if she were sitting in his grandmother’s drawing-room, instead of at his feet in a puddle of water with dirt on her face.

“Why are you scrubbing this floor?” He bit out each word.

“I thought it was the best way to clean it. Perhaps there’s a more modern method you would prefer?” She looked up at him as if for enlightenment, her gaze wide-eyed and artless.

“No, there isn’t!” he snapped, infuriated.

“Well, in that case…” Kate hid a grin and picked up the scrubbing brush.

“Put down that blasted thing!” he roared.

Kate obligingly put it down, in the manner of humouring a lunatic. “I see. You don’t wish me to use the brush. Perhaps you would like me to use another implement?” She looked around the room, apparently seeking an alternative.

“I don’t wish you to use anything!” he growled.

“But how else can I clean the floor?”

“I don’t wish you to clean the floor at all!” he snapped.

Kate’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I see. You like it dirty.” She shook her head in amazement. “Well, if you prefer to live in filth…”

“I prefer nothing of the sort,” he roared, goaded beyond endurance. Bending down, he grasped her shoulders and dragged her to her feet.

“You impudent little baggage! Don’t bandy words with me! I won’t have you scrubbing my floors. Curse it, you’re my grandmother’s guest! Guests do not scrub floors!” He shook her in frustration. “Do you understand me?”

It was one thing, Kate found, to tease him into losing his temper. It was quite another to be hauled unceremoniously to her feet and treated like a naughty child.

“Let go of me!” she gasped angrily, struggling in the iron grip. She swung back her foot, ready to kick him in order to free herself, but he was ready for her.

“No, you don’t, you little vixen!” He lifted her at arm’s length; her feet dangled six inches from the floor. “My grandmother said you were a lady but, by God, she doesn’t have any idea of what a shrew you really are!”

“Well, no doubt your grandmother is also under the impression that you are a gentleman!” Kate flashed back. “I’m sure she has no knowledge of your. . .your manhandling habits!”

She freed herself at last with a final twist and darted behind the kitchen table.

“My what?” he said wrathfully.

“Well, what else would you call it?” she responded, pushing back several more curls which had come loose in the struggle. She glared at him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, panting. “I haven’t been in this house above a day and on several occasions you have. . .have used violence on me!”

“Violence?” he repeated incredulously. “And who threw a pot of hot coffee at my head not an hour ago?”

“And who deserved it, and more, for sitting there discussing me so horridly, as if I was. . .was…a…?” Kate flushed.

Jack looked uncomfortable. “Well, how was I to know you understood what we were saying?”

“A gentleman would