Captain Jack's Woman (35 page)

With a warning frown, Jack took the glass. “I came back from London on Monday evening and got your message—as you’d instructed, as soon as I’d crossed the threshold. I went to see our friend, then returned to the Castle. Kit wasn’t there.” He took a swallow of his drink, then pulled a letter from his pocket. “As we seem to be passing my wife’s epistles about, you may as well read that.”

George took the letter. A quick perusal of its few lines had him pressing his lips firmly together to keep from grinning. “Well,” he said, “you can’t claim she’s not clear-headed.”

Jack humphed and took the letter back. “I assumed she’d gone to Cranmer Hall and reasoned she’d be safe enough there until I got back from reporting Anthony’s news to Whitley.”

George’s gaze was exasperated. “Hardly a wise move.”

“I wasn’t exactly in a wise mood at the time,” Jack growled, resuming his frustrated prowl. “I’ve just endured the most harrowing morning of my life. First, I went to Cranmer. I didn’t even make it to the Hall. I met Spencer out riding. Before I could say a word, he asked how Kit was.”

George raised his brows. “Could he have been protecting her—throwing you off the track?”

Jack shook his head. “No, he was as open as the sky. Besides, I can’t see Spencer supporting Kit in this little game.”

“True,” George conceded. “What did you tell him?”

“What could I tell him? That I’d lost his granddaughter, whom I vowed not a month ago to protect till death us do part?”

George’s lips twitched but he didn’t dare smile.

“After enduring the most uncomfortable conversation of my entire life, I raced back to the Castle. I hadn’t thought to ask my people about
how
she’d left, as she’d obviously made all seem normal, and I didn’t see any point in raising a dust. As it transpired, she’d told Lovis she’d been called to a sick friend’s side. She had my coachman drive her to the King’s Arms in Lynn on Sunday afternoon, from where, according to her, this friend’s brother would fetch her. I checked. She took a room for the night and paid in advance. She had dinner in her room. That’s the last anyone’s seen of her.”

George frowned. “Could someone have recognized her as Young Kit?”

Jack threw him an anguished glance. “I don’t know. I came here, hoping against hope she’d simply laid a trail and then gone to ground with Amy.” He stopped and sighed, worry etched in his face. “Where the devil can she have gone?”

“Why the King’s Arms?” mused Amy. Sipping her tea, she’d been calmly following the discussion. George turned to look at her, searching her face as she frowned, her gaze distant.

Then Amy raised her brows. “The London, coaches leave from there.”

“London?” Jack stood, stunned into stillness. “Who would she go to in London? Her aunts?”

“Heavens, no!” Amy smiled condescendingly. “She’d never go near them. She’d go to Geoffrey, I suppose.”

George saw Jack’s face and leapt in with, “Who’s Geoffrey?”

Amy blinked. “Her cousin, of course. Geoffrey Cranmer.”

The sudden easing of Jack’s shoulders was dramatic enough to be visible. “Thank God for small mercies. Where does Geoffrey Cranmer live?”

Frowning, Amy took another sip of tea. “I think,” she began, then stopped, her frown deepening. “Does Jermyn Street sound right?”

George dropped his head back and closed his eyes. “Oh, God.”

“It sounds all
too
right.” His jaw ominously set, Jack picked up his gloves. “My thanks, Amy.”

George swung about as Jack made for the door. “For God’s sake, Jack, don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Jack paused at the door, a look of long suffering on his face. “Never fear. Aside from giving her a good shaking, and one or two other physical treatments, I intend to spend a long, long time
explaining
things—a whole
host
of things—to my wife.”

At five o’clock, Geoffrey studied the elegant timepiece on his mantel and wondered what he could do to fill the time until dinner. He’d yet to come to a conclusion when the knocker on his door was plied with the ruthless determination he’d been expecting for the last three days.

“Lord Hendon, sir.”

Hemmings had barely got the words out before Jonathon Hendon was in the room. His sharp and distinctly irritated grey gaze swept the furniture before settling with unnerving calm on Geoffrey’s face.

Geoffrey remained outwardly unmoved, rising to greet his wholly expected guest. Inwardly, he conceded several of the points Kit had attempted to explain to him. The man standing in the middle of his parlor, stripping riding gloves off a pair of large hands and returning his welcoming nod with brusque civility, didn’t look the sort to be easily brought to the negotiating table. Now he could understand why Kit had felt it necessary to flee her home purely to gain her husband’s attention.

His knowledge of Jonathon Hendon was primarily based on rumor—not, he was the first to admit, a thoroughly reliable source. Hendon was a number of years his senior; socially, their paths had crossed infrequently. But Jack Hendon’s reputation as a soldier and a rake was close to legendary. Undoubtedly, had the country not been at war, he and Kit would have met much sooner. But how his slip of a cousin coped with the powerful male force currently making itself felt in all sorts of subtle ways in his parlor was beyond Geoffrey’s ability to guess.

“I believe, Cranmer, you have something of mine.”

The steel encased in the deep velvety tones brought Geoffrey’s well-honed defense mechanisms into play. Angry husbands had never been his cup of tea. “She’s not here.” Best to get that out as soon as possible.

Arrested, the grey gaze trapped him. Some of the tension left the large frame. “Where is she?”

Despite Kit’s instruction to tell her husband precisely where she was as soon as he appeared, Geoffrey found himself too intrigued to let the information go quite so easily. He waved his guest to a seat, an invitation that was reluctantly accepted. Smoothly, Geoffrey grasped a decanter and poured two glasses of wine, handing one to his guest before taking the other back to his armchair. “I’ve been expecting you for the past three days.”

To his surprise, a slight flush rose under his guest’s tanned skin.

“I thought the damned woman was at Cranmer. I went to fetch her this morning, only to find Spencer hadn’t seen her. It took some hours to uncover her trail. If it hadn’t been for Amy Gresham remembering you, I’d still be chasing my arse in Norfolk.”

Hearing exasperation ring behind the clipped accents, Geoffrey kept his expression serious. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think Kit intended that.”

“I know she didn’t.” Jack fastened his gaze on Geoffrey’s face. “So where is she?”

The commanding tones were difficult to resist but still Geoffrey hesitated. “Er…I don’t suppose you’d consider allaying my cousinly fears with an assurance or two?”

For a moment, Jack stared, incredulous, until the sincerity in Geoffrey’s eyes struck him. Here was another who, while recognizing Kit’s wildness, had learned to overlook the fact. With a grimace, Jack conceded: “I’ve no intention of harming a single red hair. However,” he added, his voice regaining its sternness, “beyond that, I make no promises. I intend taking my wife back to Castle Hendon as soon as possible.”

The strength in that reply should have reassured Geoffrey. Instead, the implication revealed a glaring gap in Kit’s plan. “I’m sure she has no other intention than to return with you.” Geoffrey frowned. Had Kit explained to her intimidating spouse why she’d taken to her heels as she had? “In fact, I was under the distinct impression she was waiting for you to arrive to take her home momentarily.”

Jack frowned, not a little confused. If she didn’t want to bargain with him, her return against his promises, what was this all about? Admitting she wished to return with him would leave her no leverage to wring promises from him.

His bewilderment must have shown, for Geoffrey was also frowning. “I don’t know that I’ve got this entirely straight—with women one never knows. But Kit led me to understand that her…er, trip was solely designed to make you sit up and take notice.”

Jack stared at Geoffrey, his gaze abstracted. Was she wild enough to do such a thing—simply to make him acknowledge her feelings? To force him to do nothing more than admit he understood? The answer was obvious. As the memory of the sheer worry he’d endured for the past four days washed through him, Jack groaned. He leaned his brow on one palm, then glanced up in time to catch the grin on Geoffrey’s face. “Has anyone warned you, Cranmer, against marriage?”

Jack stretched his long legs to the comfort of the fire blazing in Geoffrey Cranmer’s parlor. Kit’s cousin had invited him to dine and then, when Jack had confessed he’d yet to seek lodgings, Hendon House being let for the Season, had offered him a bed. By now at ease with both Geoffrey and the younger Julian, who’d joined them over dinner, he’d accepted. Both he and Geoffrey had been entertained by the conversion of Julian from guarded civility to hero worship. Aside from the ease of an evening spent with kindred spirits, Jack doubted Kit would find support from these two the next time she made a dash for town.

Not, of course, that there’d be a next time.

Before leaving with Julian for a night about town, Geoffrey had filled Jack in on Jenny MacKillop and her relationship to the Cranmer family. Julian had painted a reassuring picture of a genteel household in one of the better streets of Southampton. Kit was safe. Jack knew where he could lay his hand on her red head whenever he wished. He wished right now. But experience was at last taking root. This time, he would take the time to think before he tangled with his loving, devoted, and dutiful wife.

His record in paying sufficient attention to her words was not particularly good. He’d ignored her requests to be told about the spies because it had suited him to do so. He’d not listened as carefully as he should have to her warning about Belville, oblique though it had been, too engrossed in delighting in her body to pay due interest to the fruits of her brain. And he’d put off fetching her from Cranmer, knowing it would involve him in a discussion of topics he had not wished to discuss.

Uneasily, Jack shifted in the chair. Admitting to such failures and vowing to do better was not going to come naturally.

It would have to come, of course. He knew he loved the damned woman. And that she loved him. She’d never said so, but she proclaimed it to his senses every time she took him into her body. Even when she’d offered herself to him that night in the cottage, he hadn’t imagined she’d done so lightly; that was what had made the moment so special. For her, and now for him, although it hadn’t been so in the past, love and desire were two halves of the same whole—fused, never to be split asunder.

So he would have to apologize. For not telling her what she’d had a right to know, for treating her as if she was outside his circle of trust, when in reality she stood at its center. He’d never imagined a wife would be close to him in that way—but Kit was. She was his friend and, if he would permit it, his helpmate, more attuned to his needs than any man had a right to expect.

Jack grinned at the flames and sipped his brandy. He was a lucky man, and he knew it. Doubtless she’d want some assurance that he’d improve in the future. No doubt she’d assist, prodding whenever necessary, reminding him of this time.

With a confident snort, Jack drained his glass and considered his next meeting with his wife. His part was now clear. What of hers?

There was one point he was determined to make plain, preferably in sufficiently dramatic fashion so that his redheaded houri would not forget it. Under no circumstances would he again endure the paralyzing uncertainty of not knowing where she was, of not knowing she was safe. She must promise not to engage willy-nilly in exploits that would turn his golden brown hair as grey as his eyes. She’d have to agree to tell him of any exploit beyond the mundane before she did her usual headlong dash into danger—doubtless he’d arrange to block quite a few; others he might join her in. Who knew? In some respects, they were all too alike.

Jack stared long and hard at the flames. Then, satisfied he’d established all the important points in their upcoming discussion, he settled down to plan how best to take his wife by storm.

Despite her interest in some of his affairs, she’d neglected to ask about the family business. Perhaps, as the Cranmers relied totally on the land, she hadn’t realized there was a business to ask about? Whatever, one of his brigs was currently in the Pool of London, due, most conveniently, to set sail for its home port of Southampton on the morning tide. The
Albeca
was due to load at Southampton for a round trip to Lisbon and Bruges before returning to London. Like all his major vessels, the
Albeca
had a large cabin reserved for the use of its owner.

He’d commandeer the
Albeca.
It could still do its run, but, after Bruges, could lie in at one of the Norfolk ports to let them ashore. As a means of transporting his wife from Southampton to Norfolk, a boat had a number of pertinent advantages over land travel. Aside from anything else, it would give them countless hours alone.

It was definitely time to reel Kit back.

Back where she belonged.

K
it stared at the forget-me-nots bobbing their blue heads in Jenny’s small walled garden and wondered if Jack had forgotten her. It was Monday, more than a week since she’d left Castle Hendon. She’d been absolutely confident he’d be after her the instant he returned from London, which should have been on Tuesday at the latest. A minute should have sufficed to tell him where she’d gone. Cranmer was out of the question; likewise, her aunts could not be considered candidates. Her cousins should have stood out as the only possibility, and she’d mentioned Geoffrey was her favorite. Of course, her move to Southampton would have delayed him for a day, maybe two. But he’d yet to show his arrogant face in Jenny’s neat little parlor.

Worry creased Kit’s brow; she chewed her lower lip in something close to consternation. It had never occurred to her that he might not behave as she’d expected. Had she misread the situation? Men often had peculiar views and certainly, her flight was not the sort of action any husband would view with equanimity. But she hadn’t expected Jack to be overly concerned with the proprieties, or with how her actions reflected on him. Had she miscalculated?

She knew he loved her; where that certainty sprang from she couldn’t have said, but the fact was enshrined in her heart, along with her love for him. The whens and wheres and hows were beyond her. All she knew was those truths, immutable as stone.

But none of that answered her question—
where was he?

Kit heaved a heavy sigh.

So deep in contemplation was she that she failed to hear the footsteps approaching over the grass. Nevertheless, despite her distraction, her senses prickled as Jack drew close. She whirled with a gasp to find him beside her.

Her eyes locked with his. Her heart lurched to a standstill, then started to race. Anticipation welled. Then she saw his expression—stern, distant; not a flicker of a muscle betrayed any softer emotion.

“Good morning, my dear.” Jack managed to keep his tone devoid of all expression. The effort nearly killed him. He kept his arms rigid at his sides, to stop himself from hauling Kit into them. That, he promised himself, would come later. First, he was determined to demonstrate to his errant wife how seriously he viewed her actions. “I’ve come to take you home. Jenny’s packing your things. I’ll expect to leave directly she’s finished.”

Stunned, Kit stared at him and marveled that the words she’d so longed to hear could be delivered in such a way that all she felt was—nothing. No joy, no relief—not even any guilt. Jack’s words had been totally emotionless. Searching his face, she waited, more than half-expecting his austere expression to melt into teasing lines. But his frozen mask did not ease.

For the first time in her life, Kit did not know what she felt. All the emotions she’d expected to experience upon seeing Jack again were there, but so tangled with a host of newborn feelings, disbelief and resurgent anger chief amongst them, that the result was total confusion.

Her mind literally reeled.

Her face was blank; her mind had yet to sort out what her expression should be. Her lips were parted, ready to speak words she could not yet formulate. It was as if she was in a play, and someone had switched the scripts.

Wordlessly, Jack offered her his arm. Speech was still beyond her; her mind was in turmoil. Kit felt her fingers shake as she placed them on his sleeve.

Jenny was waiting, smiling, in the hall, Kit’s small bag at her feet. Still struggling to grasp what tack Jack was taking, and how she should react, Kit absentmindedly kissed her erstwhile governess, promising to write, all the while conscious of Jack’s commanding figure, an impregnable rock beside her.

Surely he hadn’t missed her point entirely?

Kit sank onto the cushions of the hired carriage, puzzled that it wasn’t one of the Hendon coaches. She blinked when Jack shut the door on her. Then it dawned that he’d elected to ride rather than share the coach with her.

Suddenly, Kit was in no doubt of what she felt. Her temper soared.
What
was going on here?

Ten minutes later, the carnage jolted to a halt. Sitting bolt upright on the carriage seat, Kit waited. Jack called an order. The keening of gulls came clearly on a freshening breeze. She narrowed her eyes. Where were they? Before she could slide to the window and peer out, Jack opened the door. He held out his hand, but his eyes did not meet hers.

Her temper on the tightest of reins, Kit coolly placed her fingers in his. He handed her down from the carriage. One glance was enough to tell her that she would have to delay giving him her reaction to his stoic performance. They stood on a wharf beside a large ship, amid bales and crates, ropes and hooks. Sailors rushed about; bustle and noise surrounded them. At Jack’s urging, she stepped over a coil of rope. His hand at her elbow, he guided her along the busy wharf to where a plank with a rope handrail led up to the ship’s deck.

Kit eyed the gangplank, rising and falling as the ship rode the waves of the harbor. She drew a deep breath.

Her chillingly civil request to be carried aboard never made it past her lips.

As she turned, Jack ducked. The next instant, Kit found herself staring down at the choppy green waves as Jack swiftly climbed the gangplank. Fury cindered the reins of her temper. She closed her eyes and saw a red haze; her fingers curled into claws. She’d wanted to be carried, but carried in his
arms,
not over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes!

Luckily, the gangplank was short. The instant Jack gained the deck, he set her on her feet. Kit immediately swung his way, her eyes going to his. But Jack had already turned and was speaking.

“This is Captain Willard, my dear.”

With an almighty effort, Kit shackled her fury—aside from not wanting to scare anyone else, she wanted to save it all for Jack. Her face set, expressionless, her lips a thin line, she turned and beheld a large man, potbellied and jovial, dressed in a braided uniform.

He bowed deeply. “Might I say what a pleasure it is to welcome you aboard, Lady Hendon?”

“Thank you.” Stiffly, Kit inclined her head, her mind racing. The man’s manner was too deferential for a captain greeting a passenger.

“I’ll show Lady Hendon to our quarters, Willard. You may proceed on your own discretion.”

“Thank you, m’lord.”

The truth struck Kit. Jack owned the ship. Yet another not-so-minor detail her spouse had failed to mention.

Jack steered Kit aft, to where a stairway led down to the corridor to the stern apartments. With every step, he reminded himself to hold firm to his resolution. He had endured a full week of the most wretched worry—surely an hour of guilty misery was not unreasonable retribution? That Kit was shaken by his retreat, his withholding of the responses she would have expected from him, was obvious. The stunned, searching expression that had filled her eyes in Jenny’s garden had wrenched his heart; the quiver in her fingers when she’d laid them on his sleeve had nearly overset his careful plans. He hadn’t been game to meet her eyes after that.

Carrying her up the gangplank had nearly done him in. Even with her tossed over his shoulder, he hadn’t been sure he’d be able to let her go, which would have shocked Willard out of his braid.

He couldn’t take much more of his self-imposed reticence. He’d leave her in his cabin until her hour was up, then surrender as gracefully as possible.

As he followed Kit down the narrow stairs, Jack closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His resolution was fraying with every step. The sight of her hips, swaying to and fro before him, was more than he could stand.

His quarters lay at the end of the short corridor, spread across the vessel’s square stern. The door he held open for Kit led into the room he used as his study and dining room. A single door led into the bedroom, the two rooms spanning the stern. Both rooms had windows instead of portholes, set in under the overhanging poop deck.

The bright light reflected from the water hit Kit instantly as she entered the room. She blinked rapidly; it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Then, drawing a very deep breath, she swung to face her husband.

Only to see him disappear through another door.

“The bedroom’s through here.” Jack reappeared immediately. Kit realized he’d left her bag in the room. His demeanor hadn’t altered in the slightest. It was still politely blank, almost vacant, as if they were mere acquaintances embarking on a cruise. He still hadn’t met her eyes.

“I’ll leave you to refresh yourself. We’ll be departing with the tide.” With that, he turned to leave.

The rage that gripped Kit was so powerful that she swayed. She grabbed a chair back for support.
Just like that?
She was being deposited in the cabin like some piece of baggage, and he thought he could walk away?

She was beyond fury, even beyond rage. Kit’s temper was now in orbit. “Will you be back?”

The words, uttered in precise and icy tones, halted Jack.

Slowly, he turned. He was nearly at the door; Kit stood with her back to the windows. The light streaming in left her face in shadow; he couldn’t make out her expression.

Jack stared at his wife and felt a familiar ache in his arms, in his loins. She was so damned beautiful. Despite her less-than-placatory tone, his righteous anger melted away, leaving a hollow ache. “Strange,” he said. “That’s a question I’ve been asking of you.”

The sincere doubt, the vulnerability revealed, pierced Kit’s rage; nothing else could have hauled her back to earth. She blinked—and suddenly felt cold. “You
couldn’t
have thought I intended to leave you permanently?”

When Jack’s face remained shuttered, Kit frowned. “I didn’t intend…that is, I…” Abruptly, she shook her wits into order. This was ridiculous! What misguided notion had he taken into his head? Drawing in an exasperated breath, she laced her fingers together, fixed her gaze on her husband’s grey eyes and clearly enunciated: “I only meant my absence to focus your attention on my wish to be informed as to what was going on. I never intended to be away from Castle Hendon for longer than a few days.”

Slowly, Jack raised his brows. “I see.” He paused, then, strolling forward, said: “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that I might be…concerned for your safety?” Kit turned as he neared; he could now see her face. “That; given your propensity for landing yourself in dangerous situations, I might, with justification, feel worried over your well-being?” The arrested look in Kit’s large eyes stated quite clearly that the idea had never occurred to her. Abruptly, Jack’s mock anger crystallized into the real thing. “Damn it, woman! I was
worried sick!”

His bellow shook Kit. She grasped the chair back with both hands and blinked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” Her words trailed into fascinated silence as, wide-eyed, she watched her husband fight to shackle his temper, a temper she’d never seen unleashed. He vibrated with angry tension, muscles clenched as if to hold the violence in. His grey eyes burned with a dark flame.

Jack heard her words through a haze of conflicting emotions, the suppressed fears of the past week unexpectedly erupting. Anger overrode all else—the damned woman really
didn’t
understand. “In that case,” he said, his voice a steely growl, “I suggest you listen very carefully, my love. Because the next time you endanger yourself recklessly, without me by your side, I swear I’ll tan your pretty hide.”

Trapped in the grey fury of his gaze, Kit felt her eyes grow rounder, a species of delicious fright tickling her spine. He’d called her
his love—
that would do for a start. His confession sounded promising.

With an effort, Jack forced himself to remain where he was, a bare three feet from his wife. If he touched her now, they’d go up in flames. He fixed his eyes on hers and enunciated clearly: “I love you, as you damned well know. Every time you head into danger,
I worry
!” Her eyes searched his; he saw her lips soften. Abruptly, he swung away and started to pace. “
Not
a passive emotion, this worry of mine. When in its throes, I can’t think straight! I know you’ve never run in anyone’s harness before. But you married me—you vowed to obey. Henceforth, you’ll do precisely that.” Jack came to a halt and fixed Kit with an intimidating stare. “Henceforth, you’ll tell me
before
you embark on any escapade beyond what your dear friend Amy would countenance. And if I forbid it, so help me, you’ll forget it. If not, I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll lock you in your room!”

His voice had risen. His final threat struck Kit while she was still engrossed with his first revelation. He loved her. He’d said so, in words, out loud. In silence, she stared at him, her gaze softening, caressing the angry lines of his cheek and jaw. Her mind belatedly scrambled to catch up. Did worry over her truly affect him so? Is this what love did to him?

With a frustrated groan, Jack turned and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. He swung up the short stairway and headed for the foredeck, his only aim to cool his heated brain before he returned to his cabin and made passionate love to his wife. He was so wracked with violent emotions he didn’t trust himself to lay hands on her delicate limbs. She bruised easily enough as it was.

Kit stared at the cabin door. Her face drained of emotion, then she stiffened. Her eyes flared, purple flames erupting from the violet depths.

How dare he?
One moment, vowing love and demanding obedience, the next, walking out on her, as if he’d said the final word.

“
Hah!
’ Kit drew a deep breath and drew herself up, her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed. If he thought he was going to so easily escape the rest of their discussion, the clear statement of what
she
wanted henceforth from
him,
he was wrong! She’d wanted his attention—she’d got it. But he hadn’t left it with her long enough!

With a determined stride, Kit made for the door.

*     *     *

His arms on the foredeck railing, Jack watched the waves slide under the bow. They’d slipped their moorings and were heading for the mouth of the harbor. Soon, the heavy swell of the ocean would tilt the decks. He drew a deep breath and felt sanity return.