Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

Chapter 26

Why wouldn’t he tell her? Kit cantered up the Gresham’s drive with that refrain ringing in her ears. She’d not seen her aggravating husband since dawn, when, after exhausting her thoroughly, he’d carried her back to her bed. She vaguely recalled him saying something about inspecting his coverts. She wasn’t deceived. He’d purposely found some activity to keep him out all day so she couldn’t pursue her questions. Doubtless, he thought time would blunt her curiosity.

With a snort, Kit slid from the saddle without waiting for the assistance of her groom. “Is the family in, Jeffries?”

“Lord Gresham’s off to Lynn, miss-I mean, your ladyship.” Jeffries smiled as he took her bridle. “Lady Gresham took the carriage out an hour ago. But Miss Amy’s inside.”

“Good!” Kit stalked to the house and entered by the morning room windows.

Amy was there, idly plying her needle. She jumped up as soon as she saw Kit. “Oh, good. Mama’s gone to Lady Dersingham’s. Now we can talk.” Then Amy noticed Kit’s high color and the brisk way she stripped off her gloves. Her eyes widened. “What’s the matter?”

“That damned husband of mine’s as close as an oyster!” Kit flung her gloves onto a table and fell to pacing the room, her long swinging strides more suited to Young Kit than Lady Hendon.

“What do you mean?” Frowning, Amy sank back onto the chaise.

Kit glanced her way. Amy knew nothing of her husband’s alias but the need to unburden herself was strong. “What do you think of a gentleman who refuses to tell his wife,” Kit paused, searching for words, “the details of a transaction he’s involved in, when he knows she’s interested and it would not be a…a breach of confidence or any such thing?”

Amy blinked. “Why do you want to know about Jonathon’s business?”

The simple question sent Kit’s temper into orbit. With a frustrated growl, she went about the room again, struggling for calm. Why did she want to know what Jack was up to? Because she did. While she’d been Young Kit and he Captain Jack, she’d felt a part of his adventures. She couldn’t-wouldn’t-accept that being his wife meant she had to remain distanced from what affected him most nearly. Besides which, if she knew what he was up to, she was sure she could help.

She stopped in front of Amy. “Let’s just say that not knowing is driving me crazy. Besides which,” she added, kicking her skirts out of the way to pace again, “there are reasons of…of honor which say he should tell me. If he had any gentlemanly instincts, he would.”

Amy looked stunned-and thoroughly confused. “Do you mean that Jonathon’s not truly the gentleman?”

It was Kit’s turn to blink. “Of course not!” She frowned at Amy. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Amy eyed Kit with affectionate understanding and patted the chaise. “Do sit down, Kit-you’re making me dizzy. Now tell me-is it really as exciting as they say?”

The point of the question missed Kit entirely. She dropped into a chair opposite Amy and frowned. “Is what so exciting?”

“You know.” Amy’s slight blush jolted Kit’s mind into the right rut.

“Oh, that.” Kit waved dismissively, then abruptly changed her mind. She wagged a knowledgeable finger at Amy. “You know, you didn’t have the half of it when you told me all that stuff about getting hot and wet.”

“Oh?” Amy sat straighter.

“No,” Kit affirmed. “It’s much worse than that.”

When Kit fell into a reverie and said nothing further, Amy glared. “Kit! You can’t just stop there. I told you all I know-now it’s your turn. I’m marrying George next month. It’s your duty to tell me so I’ll know what to expect.”

Kit considered; she decided her vocabulary wasn’t up to it. “Do you mean to tell me your George hasn’t gone beyond a kiss and a fondle?”

“Of course not.” Amy’s expression held more disgruntled disgust than shock. “Jonathon didn’t go any farther with you before your marriage, did he?”

Kit’s eyes glazed. “Our relationship didn’t develop along quite the same lines as yours and George’s.” Her voice sounded strangled. Memories of how far Jack had gone threatened to overcome her. Even if she gave Amy an edited version, it would shock her to the core. “I’m sorry, Amy, but I can’t explain. Why don’t you press George for further details? Here he comes now.”

Through the morning room windows she could see George striding up from the stables. He reached the windows and checked at the sight of her. Then, smoothly, he entered and greeted Amy, bowing over her hand before raising it to his lips.

Watching closely, Kit noted the glow that infused Amy’s face and the brightness in her eyes. When his eyes met Amy’s, George’s face softened; as his lips brushed Amy’s fingers, his eyes remained on hers. The warm affection in his gaze was fully returned by Amy. Kit felt uncomfortably de trop.

Releasing Amy with understated reluctance, George turned to Kit and took her hand in greeting. “Kit.”

She returned his nod graciously. They’d met only twice since she’d dropped the guise of Young Kit-once at the wedding, once at their belated betrothal dinner. She’d always had the distinct impression that George disapproved of her wild ways far more strongly than Jack did. “Amy and I were discussing the merits of a husband being open with his wife.” Kit kept her gaze innocent and unthreatening. “Perhaps, in the interests of a well-rounded argument, you could give us your views on the matter.”

George raised his brows, his expression growing wary. “I suspect it depends very much on the nature of the relationship, don’t you think?” With a smile for Amy, George sat on the chaise beside her.

“True,” Kit acknowledged. “But given the relationship was right, the husband’s willingness to confide is the next hurdle, don’t you think? What reasons could a man have for keeping secrets from his wife?”

Their next half hour was spent in a peculiar three-way conversation. George and Kit traded oblique references to Jack’s reticence, none of which Amy understood. Amy, for her part, urged Kit to unburden herself and explain her problem more fully-an undertaking George endeavored to discourage. In between, all three traded local gossip, and George managed to discuss the details of their wedding, which he’d come to the Manor to clarify.

Sensing the currents between Amy and George, suppressed in her presence, Kit rose and picked up her gloves. “I must be going. I feel sure my husband won’t approve of my being out after dark.”

With that acerbic comment, she embraced Amy fondly, nodded to George, and sailed from the room.

Amy watched her go, sighed-then went straight into George’s arms. They closed about her; she and George exchanged a warm and unrestrained kiss. Then Amy pulled back with a sigh. “I’m worried about Kit. She’s troubled by something-something serious.” She met George’s gaze. “I don’t like to think of her riding alone in such a mood.”

George grimaced. “Kit’s a big girl.”

Amy pressed closer. “Yes, but…” The eyes that met George’s twinkled. “And Mama will be home any minute.”

George sighed. “Very well.” He kissed Amy again, then set her from him. “But I’ll expect a reward next time I call.”

“You may claim it with my blessing,” Amy declared. “Just as long as Mama is out.”

George grinned, more than a touch wickedly. “I’ll be back.” With a wave, he headed for the stables.

He caught up with Kit as she left the stables, mounted on a chestnut mare. George stared. “Where’s Delia?”

For one fractured moment, Kit thought she’d erupt in flames. Her glance seared George. “Don’t ask!” She swung the chestnut toward the drive.

“Wait!” George called. “I’ll ride part of the way with you.”

When he rode out a minute later, Kit was schooling the mare in prancing circles, her groom watching from a distance. She fell in beside George; together they headed north and west.

George glanced at Kit. “I take it Jack hasn’t explained about the smuggling?”

Kit narrowed her eyes. “Explanations do not seem to be his strong point.”

George chuckled. When Kit glared, he explained: “You don’t know how true that is. Neither explanations nor excuses are part of Jack’s makeup. They weren’t characteristics of his father’s either.”

Kit frowned. “Someone once said he was ‘Hendonish.’ Is that what that means?”

George grinned. “If it was a woman who said it, not entirely, but it’s not unrelated to what I’m trying to say. Jack’s a born leader-all Hendons have been for generations. He’s used to being the one who makes the decisions. He knows what he wants, what needs to be done, and he gives orders to make it happen. He doesn’t expect to have to explain his actions and doesn’t relish being asked to do so.”

“That much, I’d gathered.”

George glanced at Kit’s disgruntled expression. “If it’s any consolation, despite the fact Matthew and I have known him for most of his life, and shared most of it, too, we received not the smallest word of explanation for your inclusion in the Gang. He didn’t even tell us you were a woman.”

They rode on in silence, Kit considering George’s words. His confidence did, in fact, ease some of the frustration dragging at her heart. Clearly, her husband was an autocrat of long standing; if George was right, a hereditary one. Equally clearly, none of those close to him had made the slightest push to influence his high-handed ways. The determination to make him change his attitude, at least with respect to her, grew with every short stride her meek chestnut took.

The fork that led to Smeaton Hall appeared ahead. Kit drew rein. “You know the truth about the smuggling, don’t you?”

Pulling up beside her, George sighed. “Yes, but I can’t tell you. Jack’s my superior in this. I can’t speak without his approval.”

Kit nodded and held out her hand. “Thank you.”

George met her eyes, then squeezed her fingers encouragingly. “He’ll tell you in the end.”

Kit nodded. “I know. When it’s over.”

George could only grin. He bowed and they parted, understanding each other rather better than before.

Kit stared at the packages on the carriage seat opposite. Had she bought enough? She’d come to Lynn to get some cambric. After last night, she’d decided that cambric shirts would be much more sensible for Jack to wear around the estate. He’d spent all yesterday helping thin coppices. She hadn’t known but should have guessed he’d be the sort of landowner who got off his horse, took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and helped his men. She’d come upon him entirely unintentionally, when, just before changing for dinner, she’d gone into his room in search of the sash that went with her silk negligee. It had been missing ever since the storm, three nights before. A groan emanating from the room beyond had drawn her to the open door.

The room had been fitted out as a bathing chamber, with a huge copper tub in the center. Jack had just sunk into the steaming water. He was facing away from her and as he bent forward to rest his head on his knees, she saw his back. It was covered with scratches.

“What on earth have you been doing?”

She’d strode forward, entirely forgetting her sash, oblivious of Matthew standing to one side.

Water had hit the floor as Jack swiveled, then he’d grimaced and leaned back in the tub, settling his head on the raised edge. “Falling through brambles.” A wave of his hand had sent Matthew from the room, a fact of which she should have taken more notice.

She’d stood by the tub, hands on hips, and examined all of her husband that she could see. Jack opened his eyes and squinted up at her through the steam. “You’ll be pleased to know it’s only my back.”

At his grin, she’d humphed. “Lean forward and let me see.”

She’d had to nag but in the end, he’d let her examine his wounds. Some of the scratches were deep and had bled, but none qualified as serious.

“Seeing you’re here, you may as well minister to my injuries.” He’d held out the sponge.

She’d pulled a face and taken the bait.

She should, of course, have guessed which track his mind had taken. But it hadn’t occurred to her that the tub was big enough for them both. And she’d certainly never imagined it was possible to perform the contortions they had within its slippery confines.

Yet another novel experience her husband had introduced her to.

Kit shook aside the distracting memory. She counted the ells of material again and wished she’d brought Elmina. Still, Lynn wasn’t so far that she couldn’t come again if they needed more. Kit turned to the window, to call to Josh the coachman that they could leave, when her gaze alighted on a natty trilby, entirely out of place in provincial Lynn.

Intrigued, she drew closer to the glass to view the body beneath the hat. “Good Lord!” Kit stared, seeing a ghost.

It was Belville-Lord George Belville.

Kit blinked, then stared again. The four years since he’d been a suitor for her hand had not treated him kindly. He still possessed a large, strong-boned frame, but his face was more fleshy and his girth had increased dramatically. His skin bore the pasty complexion of one who spent too much time in the gaming room. Features Kit remembered as finely chiseled had been coarsened by drink and general decadence, until he was but a bloated caricature of the man she’d nearly agreed to wed.

A cold shiver touched Kit’s nape and spread over her shoulders. Keeping within the shadows of the carriage, she watched as her erstwhile suitor strolled across the square to the King’s Arms, Lynn’s most comfortable inn. Belville was addicted to town pursuits. What was he doing here?

At the door of the inn, Belville paused. He glanced about, studying all those his pale gaze could find. Then, slowly, he entered the inn and shut the door behind him.

Frowning, Kit sank back against the squabs. Then, shifting to the other side of the carriage, she called to Josh to take her home. For some reason, she was sure she didn’t want Belville to see her. He represented part of her history that was no longer relevant; she didn’t intend to let him cloud her present happiness.

As the carriage rumbled out onto the open road, Kit’s frown deepened. Belville was nothing but a government official-he couldn’t harm her. So why did she feel so threatened?

Kit was already in bed when Jack entered her room that night.

He paused in the doorway, studying her pensive face. What was she planning now? His gaze dwelled on the halo of curls, on the full lips and delicate features, before sweeping over the alluring figure outlined in ivory silk. She hadn’t seen him yet; her nipples were soft rose circles at the peaks of her full breasts. Her arms were bare, as ivory as her nightgown and equally silky. The simple sheath clung to her curves, highlighting the indentation that marked her tiny waist before flaring over her luscious hips. The triangle of red curls at the apex of her thighs was just visible through the sheer material. The long sweep of her sleek thighs led to dimpled knees, peeking from the folds of the gown. Below her well-turned calves, her tiny feet were tinted a delicate pink. Slowly, Jack let his gaze travel upward once more. His lower chest contracted; a familiar tightening in his groin suggested full arousal was not far off. With a wry grin, he moved slowly into the room. It was comforting to know that these days, satisfaction was readily available. And guaranteed. It was, he felt, one of the less well publicized benefits of marriage.

As he circled the room snuffing candles and opening the curtains, he wondered again what devilry his wild woman was hatching. For once, her mind was definitely not on him.

“I went into Lynn today.”

“Oh?” Jack paused in the act of snuffing the last candle in the candelabrum.

“Mmm.” Kit looked around and located him, standing with the silver snuffer in one hand, the strong planes of his face lit by the single flame, his gilded hair winking wickedly in the golden light. “I saw Lord Belville.”

“Who’s Lord Belville?”

An impish grin twisted Kit’s lips. “You could say he was an old flame.”

Jack frowned and doused the candle, leaving the room lit by the wavering light of Kit’s bedside candle and the moonlight streaming in. Laying the snuffer down, he walked to the bed. “What do you mean-an old flame?”

Inwardly, Kit was delighted with his raspy growl, but she needed no demonstration of Jack’s possessiveness. She immediately dismissed the idea of making him jealous. But she was truly puzzled by Belville’s presence and felt Jack should hear of her tenuous connection with that questionable peer from her, rather than from Belville. “When I was eighteen, I nearly accepted a proposal of marriage from him.”

Jack tugged the sash of his midnight blue robe open and shrugged the silk from his shoulders. Kit’s mouth went dry as her eyes disobeyed all injunctions and roamed his large and very aroused body, caressing each and every muscle, homing in on the promise of pleasure soon to be enjoyed. She fervently hoped her mention of Belville was not going to mar that pleasure.

But Jack’s “Tell me,” uttered as he stretched out on the bed beside her, was encouraging.

Kit moistened her lips and tried to drag her eyes up to his face and her wits back from whence they’d wandered. She fastened her gaze on Jack’s silver eyes, gleaming under heavy lids. “Did I tell you my uncles and aunts kidnapped me and took me to London to be married for their convenience?”

Jack’s lips twitched. He shook his head. “Lie back, close your eyes, and start at the beginning.”

Kit drew an unsteady breath and did as she was told. His voice had dropped to a husky growl. She commenced her story with her grandmother’s death and her removal from Cranmer Hall. She felt Jack shift and come up on one elbow beside her. As she reached London, she felt a tug loosen the first of the silk bows that held her nightgown closed.

Her narrative faltered. Her lids flickered.

“Keep your eyes shut. Go on.”

Another unsteady breath was necessary before she could. Slowly, her story unfolded, kept moving by Jack’s rumbling prompts. Equally slowly, her nightgown was opened all the way down to her feet. She’d got to refusing her first suitor when she felt the bow on each shoulder give way. A second later, the two halves of her nightgown were lifted from her.

Kit’s voice suspended. She was lying naked beside her husband.

“What happened then?”

“Ah…” It was an effort to collect her wits but, falteringly, she took up her tale. Jack’s fingertips touched her, tracing patterns over her skin. His lips followed the trails they’d laid, but his body, his limbs, never touched her. It was like being made love to by a ghost. Soon, her nipples were hard crests atop her swollen breasts. Her stomach was as tight as a drum. Her skin was a mass of sensitized nerves, flickering in anticipation of his next touch.

Kit had no idea how coherent she was, but Jack seemed to follow her tale. His voice, deep and vibrating with passion, urged her on whenever she failed. But when his lips touched her navel and his fingers grazed her thighs, she gave up.

Resisting the temptation to open her eyes, she replied to his “And?’ with a simple, “Jack, I can’t think, lying here like this.”

“Turn over then.”

She was halfway over before her mind focused. She hesitated, and would have turned back to ask why, but two large hands fastened about her hips and helped her onto her stomach. Resigned, Kit settled her cheek into her pillow, feeling the sensuous slide of silk and satin beneath her, the coolness soothing her aching breasts and that other ache buried in the soft fullness of her belly. Air played over the heated contours of her back. Jack still lay beside her, not touching her at all.

Assuming that after her protest he’d remain that way, Kit took up her story. She made it to Belville’s offer before Jack’s palm made contact with her bottom. Moving in slow, sensuous circles, barely touching, his hand stroked her body to instant life.

“Jack!” Kit’s eyes flew open. She tried to turn, but Jack leaned over her, his chest angled across her back.

“What happened next?” His lips were at her nape.

In a garbled rush, Kit babbled the tale of her eavesdropping, barely aware of what she said. Jack’s hand continued its gentle stroking, extending his area of attentions to the sensitive backs of her thighs. As she recounted her ultimate refusal of Belville’s offer, she felt Jack’s other hand slip beneath her to close possessively about one breast. Kit moaned softly. The hand on her bottom paused, poised on the fullest point in the curve. The fingers about her breast squeezed gently. Kit felt her body tense; her thighs parted slightly. Jack’s hand slipped between, nudging them farther apart. Kit’s tension wound tighter. A long finger slid effortlessly into her.

“Oooh!” A delicious shudder wracked her as the soft, long-drawn moan left her lips. The finger probed deeply. Kit bit her lip to stifle the moans of surrender that welled in her throat. A second finger joined the first and she gasped.

“Tell me again-what does Belville do?”

What was left of Kit’s mind reeled. She told him, as quickly as she could, as completely as she could, her mind centered on his fingers, sliding easily in and out of her body, delving deep one minute, twirling about the next. She got to the end an instant before her vocal cords seized. “Jack!” His name was all she could manage in her need, her voice low and weak.

He heard her. His fingers left her. To her surprise, Kit felt her hips being lifted and a pillow stuffed under her stomach. Jack’s weight pressed against her, then she felt the pressure build between her thighs.

He came into her with a rush. Her mind disintegrated. She gasped, with shock. He held still for a few moments, allowing her to grow accustomed to this latest variation, to get used to the sensation of fullness and the deep penetration he’d achieved. Then he started to move.

Kit soon caught the rhythm, riding his downward thrusts before twisting her hips upward to capture and hold him, before he drew back again. He rode her long, he rode her hard, each deep, controlled stroke sending her closer to ecstasy; she writhed beneath him, wordlessly begging for more. When the final all-consuming wave of passion caught them and flung them clear, exhausted, wrung out, and deliriously sated, Jack collapsed on top of her. His lips caressed her earlobe, before, chuckling, he lifted away and dropped to the bed beside her once more.

“Kitten, if you were any wilder, I’d have to tie you up.”

Moonlight patterned the floor of Kit’s bedroom when Jack woke from his sated slumber. He lay still, savoring the deep contentment of the moment, the warmth of the silken limbs entwined with his. Kit’s breath was a butterfly’s kiss on his collarbone. He resisted the temptation to tighten his arms about her.

The long-case clock in the corridor struck eleven.

Jack stifled a sigh and carefully disengaged from Kit’s embrace. He slipped from her warm bed and found his robe on the floor. Shrugging into it, he paused, looking down on his sleeping wife. Then, a smile on his lips, he turned toward his room.

The instant the doohr to Jack’s room shut behind him, Kit opened her eyes. She blinked rapidly, then sat up, shivering when the cold found her naked shoulders. She dragged the coverlet to her chin and listened.

The heavy tock of the clock was the only sound to reach her straining ears.

Quickly, she slipped from the bed and made for her wardrobe. She’d need to hurry if she was to have any hope of following her husband to his rendezvous.