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

had just come through a dreadful ordeal and all he could think of was how desperately he wanted to make love to her. He stared at the stained and sagging ceiling and tried desperately to think of other things.

He was failing miserably at this task when Francis reentered the cottage, staggering under a load of wood. Swiftly he cleared the grate and soon had a fire crackling briskly. From his position on the pallet Jack grinned approvingly. Francis left again, and soon returned with several rugs.

“Found ‘em in the carriage.” He tossed one over Jack and Kate. “Brought you something else, too.” Grinning, he produced from his pocket a substantial flask of brandy.

“Good man!” whispered Jack, and reached out. He took a long pull on the flask and sighed, feeling the liquor burn a cosy trail through his body. “Ah, that’s better.”

“Leg paining you much?”

“Not too bad.”

Francis grunted. “Always were a shocking bad liar, old man. Have another drink. It’s going to be a long, uncomfortable night for you. She’s all right?”

Jack nodded. “Just cold and the after-effects of the drug— filthy swine. I gather you let the bastard go.”

“Couldn’t have you clapped up for murder, old thing. You gave him a good enough hiding and I sent him out into the night. Bloody cold at that. Might not survive. If not, no bad thing. If he does, well, he’s still been punished.”

“Not enough.”

“Try and get some sleep, old man. Or worry about young Kate if you must, not Cole. I’ll sleep in the carriage, keep an eye on the horses.”

The cottage fell silent, the only sound the occasional crackling of the fire and the blowing of the wind in the trees outside.

Kate was the first to waken next morning. She came slowly to consciousness, her mind still fuzzy from the drug she had been given. Despite a slight headache and a stomach that was insisting it be fed, she was aware of a tremendous feeling of lightness. Still with her eyes closed, she inhaled slowly, moving her cheek sensuously against its pillow. She stopped. Her pillow felt…odd.

She opened one eye. Her pillow was a naked male chest, lightly sprinkled with dark hair. Good God! Cautiously she lifted her head and looked at the owner of the chest. Jack? She had slept with Jack? Swiftly, with a minimum of movement, she glanced around the room. She had never seen this place in her life.

The last time she had wakened with no recollection of the previous day she had found herself in the hands of the French. But Jack was here. Grimly she forced her mind to recall its last memory. Arguing with Cousin Jeremiah…and drinking that bitter coffee. Had she been drugged? Or had she passed out for some other reason? It was no use. She couldn’t answer. She would have to wait until Jack woke.

She looked down at Jack as he lay sound asleep and her mouth curved in a tender smile. He looked so young and boyish and handsome, the harsh bitterness wiped away in sleep. Gently she stroked the lines of his face, smoothed the tousled thick dark hair. Unable to help herself, she touched her lips to his in the lightest of kisses. She froze as he stirred, then relaxed as his breathing returned to its previous regularity.

She watched the broad chest moving up and down with each breath and marvelled that she had slept all night on it without realising it. She bent and kissed the warm, slighdy salty skin. She feathered tiny damp kisses up his chest, over his throat, along his jaw and back to his lips. She spent long moments tasting and caressing him, all in the lightest of gossamer touches so as not to disturb his sleep, revelling in the contrast of texture of his darkly rugged jaw, scraping her soft lips against its harsh texture, then placing her mouth gently against his soft, relaxed lips. Greatly daring, she touched his lips with her tongue, just to know again the taste of him. He moaned and shifted slightly and she froze again, watching him, but he was still asleep, and she returned to her illicit explorations.

Kate’s heart was pounding. She knew she should not be doing this, lying so with a man, exploring his unconscious body like a thief in the night. It went against every principle she had been raised by, every tenet of the proper behaviour for a lady—but she couldn’t help herself. She would never have this opportunity again. This was not simply a man—it was Jack, the man she longed for with every fibre of her being, the man she loved but could never have. Surely God would forgive her this once.

She gazed at his sleeping face, her body tingling all over. Oh, but he was a beautiful man. Gently she ran her hand over his naked torso, marvelling at the smoothness of his skin, the contained power in the relaxed muscles of his chest. Delicately she ran her fingers through the soft curls of his chest hair. His flat brown nipples were ringed with whorls of dark hair. She kissed them and he shuddered under her touch.

She lifted her head, waiting for signs of him awakening. Her eyes ran over his face, his dear battered cheek, his long aquiline nose, the deep grooves that ran from nose to mouth. Her gaze stopped on his open mouth and slowly she lowered her mouth to his, seeking that incredible, wonderful sensation she had experienced before, when her tongue had touched his.

Jack silently groaned as he felt her mouth come down on his again. He couldn’t take much more of this without responding. His body was aflame with the desire to hold her, return her sweet, tentative caresses, to take her and bring them both to glorious crescendo. But he couldn’t, not here, not now, not in silence and stealth, for he was too aware of their situation: the filthy cottage, the sagging ceiling, the hard floor. And Francis