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dismally.
    “Don’t play games.” The frown had returned to his face. “Who are you and what are you doing here? I know you came with my grandmother.”
    His grandmother? So this was the master of the house, Mr Jack Carstairs. His food was doing wonders for her spirits. She felt so much better. Kate almost smiled at his aggrieved tone. He obviously didn’t want her here. Well, she hadn’t asked to come.
    “Oh, you mustn’t blame me for that.” She licked the last crumb delicately from her lips. “It wasn’t my choice to come, after all.”
    “Why? What the deuce do you mean by that?” He scowled, watching the movement of the pink tongue. “What is your position in relation to my grandmother?”
    What was her position? Kidnappee? Charity case? Spurious great-goddaughter? None of them would exactly delight a doting grandson. Besides, it would be very ungrateful of her to upset the man who’d fed her a delicious meal by calling his relative a kidnapper. Although the idea was very tempting.
    “I’m not at all sure I can answer that. You will have to ask Lady Cahill.” Kate got to her feet. “Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, sir. The meal was delicious and I was very hungry after my journey.”
    She took two steps towards the door, then faltered, belatedly realising she had nowhere to go. “Could you tell me, please, where I am to sleep?”
    “How the deuce should I know?” he snapped. “I don’t even know who you are, so why should I concern myself where you sleep?”
    Rudeness obviously ran in the family, decided Kate. It mattered little. With a full stomach, she felt quite in charity with the whole world. She would find herself a bed without his assistance—having found billets all over Spain and Portugal she would be lacking indeed if she could not find a bed in one, not terribly large English country house.
    “Very well, then, sir, I will bid you goodnight. Thank you once again for your hospit…” She paused, then corrected herself wryly, “For the food.” She began to climb the stairs in a determined fashion. Halfway up, her knees buckled.
    “Dammit!” Jack leapt stiffly towards the stairs and caught her against his chest as she fainted for the second time. He carried her into a nearby bedchamber and laid her gently on the bed. He stood looking down at her for a long moment. Who the devil was she?
    In the soft light of a candle, he assessed her unconscious form. She was thin, far too thin. Clear delicate skin was stretched tightly over her cheekbones, leaving deep hollows beneath them. His gaze lingered where the neck of her shabby, too loose dress had slipped, revealing a smooth shoulder, hunched childlike against the chill of the night. Had he not chanced to be watching when she fainted, she would still be lying unconscious on the front driveway. It was an icy night. Doubtless she would not have survived.
    He’d get no answers tonight. Best to tuck the girl up in bed and take himself off. He bent and removed her shoes, then stopped in perplexity. He was sure he should loosen her stays, but how to go about that with propriety? His mouth quirked. Propriety! It was quite improper enough for him to be in this girl’s bedchamber. He shrugged and bent over the supine body, searching gingerly at her waist for stay laces. God, but the chit was thin! With relief he ascertained that she wore no stays, had no need of them, probably didn’t even own any.
    Carefully he covered her with warm blankets. She shifted restlessly and flung an arm outside the bedding. He bent again to cover it and as he did so her eyes opened. She blinked for a moment, then smiled sleepily and caressed his face with a cool, tender touch. “Night, Jemmy.” Her eyelids fluttered closed.
    Jack froze, his breath caught in his chest. Slowly he straightened. His hand crept up to his right cheek, to where she had touched him. As they had done a thousand times before, his fingers traced the path of the ugly scar.
    He