Jack couldn’t even summon a smile. His world centered on the room at the end of the wing. Other than an obligatory visit to Hunstanton to follow up Tonkin’s suspicions, and an equally obligatory appearance at the church at Docking on Sunday, he’d not left the Hall. Matthew acted as his go-between, relaying his orders to Castle Hendon and supplying him with clothes, as well as taking messages to George, who’d temporarily assumed the leadership of the Gang. The bed in the room next to Kit’s had been made up, so he could grab a few hours’ sleep whenever exhaustion forced him to yield his place to Elmina.
It wasn’t that he distrusted Elmina; he’d learned she’d been maid to Kit’s mother and had been with her petite since her birth. However, like Spencer, she was incapable of exerting any control over her erstwhile charge. On the second night, he’d fallen into exhausted slumber, stretched, fully dressed, on the bed next door. He’d been awoken by a high-pitched altercation. In Kit’s room, he’d come upon the staggering sight of Kit, out of bed, rummaging through her wardrobe, while Elmina remonstrated helplessly. He’d walked in and picked Kit up, ignoring her struggles and the curses she’d laid about his ears. He’d discovered she was fluent in two languages.
Even when he’d put her back in bed, she’d fought him, but eventually yielded to his greater strength. Delirious, she hadn’t known who he was; her confusion that someone existed who could deny her had been obvious. The conviction that his kitten had gone her own way ever since she’d set foot from her cradle took firm root in Jack’s mind.
And when her fever mounted, draining what little strength she still possessed, leaving him to watch, impotent, as death fought to claim her, he made a solemn vow that if she was spared, he’d keep her safe for the rest of her life. Without her, his life would be worthless-he knew that now. His vulnerability angered him, but he couldn’t deny it. Nor could he walk away from his own part in her ill-fated masquerade. When all this was over, she’d be his responsibility-a responsibility he’d take more seriously than any other in his life.
For Kit, the week passed in a peculiar haze, lucid moments submerged in mists of confusion. Her body went from chilled shivering to heated dampness; her brain hurt dreadfully whenever she tried to think. Throughout it all, she was aware of a protective presence at her side, of a rock which remained steady within her whirling world. In the few scattered moments when she was fully conscious, she recognized that presence as Jack. Why he was in her bedroom was beyond her; she could only be grateful.
The end came abruptly.
She opened her eyes in the early dawn and the world had stopped spinning. She saw Jack, sleeping, slumped in an armchair facing the bed. Smiling, she wriggled to turn over, the better to appreciate the unexpected sight. A dull ache in her left shoulder stopped her. Frowning, she relived the night on the beach and her race from the Revenue. She’d been shot but had reached the quarries. After that came-nothing. Jack must have found her and brought her home.
Smiling at his evident concern, for it must have been that which had driven him to stay overnight, braving Spencer’s wrath, Kit stumbled on her first difficulty. How had Jack convinced Spencer to allow him to stay, not just at the Hall, but in her room? She tried to concentrate, but her mind wasn’t up to it. An elusive recollection niggled. Sergeant Tonkin was caught up in it somewhere; perhaps she’d been conscious for a time at the quarries and had overheard the sergeant and his men? Kit frowned, then mentally shrugged. No doubt it would come back to her.
Thoughts of Spencer reminded her she should go and reassure him as soon as possible; she knew how he fretted when she was hurt. Kit flexed her shoulder. She squinted down; all she could see was bandage. She felt nothing more than a mild ache.
Her gaze rested on Jack’s sleeping figure, drinking in the familiar features like a soothing draft. His cheekbones and brow seemed more angular than she recalled. The normally smooth planes of his cheeks were roughened by stubble. He looked thoroughly rumpled, nothing like her last image of him. Kit frowned. Again, that elusive memory flitted past, tantalizingly insubstantial. She grimaced and shook her head. Her lids were heavy. It was too early to get up. Besides, Jack was still sleeping and looked like he needed the rest. Perhaps she should nap, just until he awoke?
Lips curved, she drifted back to sleep.
The sensation of being stared at penetrated Jack’s slumber. Opening his eyes, he looked straight into shocked amethyst. Kit was awake and staring at him as if she’d seen a ghost. The look on her face told him he didn’t need to worry about how to remind her of the scene in Spencer’s library.
“Lord Hendon?” The weakness in her voice owed more to shock than illness. Suddenly, purple flares erupted in her violet eyes. “You’re Lord Hendon!”
Jack winced at the accusation. He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. It was just like her to return to the living with a rush. All his notions of gently explaining matters to a meek and confused woman went out the window. Kit was awake, alive and well, and in full command of her senses. And she hadn’t changed one bit.
Kit jumped when Jack’s hands dropped from his face to slap the arms of the chair. He surged to his feet, grinning inanely, his expression a mixture of joy, delight, and unadulterated relief. Before she could gather her wits, she’d been scooped from her bed and, in a tangle of sheets, deposited in his lap. Then he kissed her.
To Jack, Kit’s lips, warm and sweet, tasted better than ambrosia. Stubbornly, she kept them locked against him. She struggled, but it was a weak effort-he felt perfectly justified in ignoring it.
Kit tried to protest, but her mumbles fell on deaf ears. She was confused and angry-and she intended telling him about it before he stole her wits. But it was already too late. A familiar warmth was spreading through her. She clamped her lips tight shut, only to feel her body respond shamefully to his nearness. Of their own volition, her lips parted, eager to yield him the prize he sought. Kit gave up. She wound her arms about his neck and returned his kiss with all the fervor of a woman too long denied.
It felt like heaven to be with him again.
Jack shifted his hold and Kit winced. He raised his head immediately. “Damn! I forgot about your shoulder.”
“Forget my shoulder.” Kit drew his head back to hers, but it was clear she’d unintentionally brought him to his senses. When he drew away again, she let him go.
Jack looked deep into Kit’s eyes and wondered just how much she’d remembered. Whatever the answer, now was the time to tell her of their betrothal. Lifting her, he placed her back on the bed, plumping up the pillows at her back and tucking the coverlet about her. Kit accepted his ministrations, her expression turning suspicious.
Should he return to the formality of the chair? Jack temporized and sat on the bed, one of Kit’s hands in his. He glanced into her eyes and squared his shoulders. Proposing would have been a damn sight easier. “As you’ve realized, I’m Lord Hendon.”
“Not Captain Jack?”
“That, too,” he admitted. “Lord Hendon is Captain Jack.”
“When did you realize who I was?”
“The evening before you were shot.” Memory stirred and Jack rose to pace the room. “I recognized you as a Cranmer at the outset, but I thought you one of the family’s by-blows-as you well know.” He shot an accusing glance at Kit. She met it with bland innocence. “That afternoon, George came to see me. He’d been visiting Amy-”
“Amy?” Kit stared.
Jack stopped and considered, but Kit’s mind made the jump without further assistance.
“George is George Smeaton?”
Jack nodded. “We grew up together.”
Kit tried to juggle the pieces of the jigsaw that were falling into her hands.
“The Greshams’ groom told George who the black Arab mare belonged to. George came and told me.”
Kit’s mind was racing, filling in gaps, recalling snippets here and there. One particularly disturbing fragment was rapidly growing in importance. “My memory is still a little
hazy,” she began, “but I seem to recall some mention of a wedding?” She tried to make the question as innocuous as such a question could be. When Jack’s brows rose arrogantly, her heart stood still.
“Naturally, in the circumstances, we’ll be married.” Neither his tone nor the glint in his grey eyes suggested there was any alternative.
Kit blinked. “Married?” Just like that? To a man like Jack? Worse-to a lord like Jack. Merciful heavens! She’d never be able to call her soul her own. “Just a minute.” She tried to keep her voice even. “I’m not quite clear on what happened. When did we become betrothed?”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Jack growled, his eyes gleaming, “we became betrothed when you begged me to take your maidenhead.”
“Ah.” Kit’s eyes glazed. Arguing that point was impossible. She tried a different tack. “When did this idea of marriage enter your head?”
Frowning, Jack tried to gauge her direction, wary of answering in the wrong way.
“After you’d found out who I was?”
Jack scowled.
Which was answer enough for Kit. “If you’ve determined on marriage purely to save my reputation, you can forget it.” She sat up. “I’d already decided not to marry, so there’s really no need for any charade.”
The idea that she was rejecting him held Jack speechless for all of ten seconds. “Charade?” he growled. “Charade be damned! If you’ve a dislike of marriage-though what you can know of the matter defies me-you should have remembered that before you gave yourself to me.You offered-Iaccepted. It’s too late for second thoughts.” Hands on hips, he glowered at Kit. “And in case it hasn’t sunk in yet, let me tell you that women of your station can’t go about giving themselves to men like me and expect to get let off the hook!”
Kit’s eyes blazed. “Dammit! There’s no sense in marrying me if you don’t want to!”
Jack nearly choked. “What’s wanting got to do with it? Of course I want to marry you!”
The statement, uttered at half bellow, stopped them both in their tracks.
Turning it over in his mind, Jack decided there was nothing he wished to add. He had to marry. He wanted to marry Kit. In fact, as far as he was concerned, they were married already. He just had to get her to agree.
Kit watched him, a considering frown on her face. Lord Hendon was fast becoming a far greater threat to her future than Captain Jack had ever been. Jack was an arrogant rogue, who could send her senses spinning with a single caress and was quite prepared to tie her up and carry her off if she didn’t obey his orders. But she’d been in no danger of having to marry Captain Jack. Lord Hendon had all Jack’s attributes, if anything, in greater measure. While Jack might bellow to overcome any resistance, Lord Hendon, she suspected, would simply raise one of those supercilious eyebrows and people would fall over themselves to obey. Kit swallowed a snort. And he expected her to marry him?
She glanced up, into his silver-grey eyes, and saw something in their shimmering depths which made her throat contract. The implication of his watchful silence broke over her.
He wanted her to marry him. He wanted her.
Abruptly, Kit threw off the bedclothes and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She’d forgotten that curious sense of being stalked. Right now, she’d prefer to be a moving target.
“Stay in bed, Kit.”
The undisguised command flicked Kit on the raw. She threw Jack a fulminating glance, but before she could take up her verbal cudgels, he was speaking again. “Dr. Thrushborne will be here soon, as he has been every morning for the past week.”
“Week?” Kit stared. It couldn’t have been that long. “What day is it?”
Jack had to think before answering: “Tuesday.”
“God lord! I’ve lost a week!”
“You nearly lost your life.”
The deliberate tones jerked Kit back to full awareness. Jack had drawn closer. He stooped and scooped her legs in one arm and toppled her back on her pillows, tucking her legs under the covers.
“No more games, Kit. For God’s sake, stay in bed and do whatever Thrushborne says. The story we’ve put about-”
While Jack sat beside her and filled her in on their tale, Kit struggled to regain some sense of reality, some semblance of normality. But nothing seemed the same anymore.
Jack came to the end of his tale. “Elmina will be here soon, and I should return to Castle Hendon. I’ll be back this evening.” He rose, wondering what more he could say. He wasn’t sure if she’d accepted their marriage as inescapable fact; he hadn’t yet told her how soon it would be. But it was high time someone took charge of Kit Cranmer; he was that someone.
Kit couldn’t clear her brow of the frown, born of puzzlement and uncertainty, that had settled there. She glanced up at Jack, towering over her. To her surprise, his long slow smile transformed his face. Swiftly, he bent to run his lips along her forehead, easing the tension. Then, his fingers tipped up her face and his lips touched hers in a kiss of warmth and promise.
With a flick of her curls, he was gone.
Kit sank back onto her pillows with a groan. She needed to think.
But the time to think was hard to find.
Elmina entered the room before Jack could have reached the top of the stairs. Intrigued by her maid’s apparent acceptance of a man in her life, Kit couldn’t resist a few leading questions. What she learned left her even more adrift than before. It seemed that during her illness, Jack had taken over-taken her over-with Spencer’s and everyone else’s blessing.
Before she could decide what she felt about that, Spencer himself appeared. That interview was more painful than she’d anticipated. It very quickly became clear that Spencer blamed himself for her wildness, a fact which irritated Kit immensely. Her wildness was her cross to bear-it didn’t owe its existence to anyone else; no one else was to blame. She’d always loved Spencer precisely because he’d never sought to draw rein on her. In her rush to reassure him, she found herself accepting her impending marriage with glib serenity. She convinced Spencer. When he left, much happier than when he’d entered, she was left wondering if she could convince herself.
Dr. Thrushborne was the next to cross her threshold. He was thrilled to find her awake and lucid. He examined her wound and declared it healing well. Pleased, he congratulated her on her forthcoming nuptials, teasing her on the anticipated date of her first confinement. As he was a favorite, Kit let him off with a glare.
In reply to her query, he agreed she could leave her bed, on condition she remained within the house and took care not to overtax herself.
Which was why, when Lady Gresham and Amy arrived that afternoon, she was lying on the chaise in the back parlor.
“Amy!” Kit sat up with a start, simultaneously remembering her wound and that she’d no idea how much Amy knew. Did George confide in Amy? Kit hesitated, just long enough for Lady Gresham to sweep in.
“Don’t get up, Kit, dear.” Her ladyship bent, offering a cheek for Kit to kiss. “The whole county knows how pressed you’ve been with Spencer so ill. I take it he’s improved?”
Kit nodded, fervently hoping Spencer was still keeping to his rooms. “Greatly improved, I’m pleased to say.” That, at least, was the truth.
While Lady Gresham settled her skirts in an armchair, Kit smiled at Amy, still wondering, but her friend only returned the smile gaily, apparently oblivious to any deeper currents. Perhaps George was as secretive as Jack.
“Well!” Lady Gresham smiled beatifically. “We called last week and again yesterday, as I hope they’ve told you. The first was simply to see how you were coping but, of course, we heard your news on Sunday and simply couldn’t wait to congratulate you.”
Kit tried to disguise her stare. What news? Sunday? The suspicion she’d just set foot in one of Jack’s webs grew.
“It was such a shock to hear the banns read out.” Amy put a hand on Kit’s arm. “Lord Hendon made your excuses quite beautifully, didn’t he, Mama?”
Kit waited for the room to stop whirling. She could have told her ladyship just how accomplished Lord Hendon was-and how thrilling his handsomeness could be. “What was his father like?” She asked the question to gain time to gather her scattered wits and shackle her temper. If she screamed, she’d never be able to explain it.
But banns? Damn it, how had he managed that?
Her ladyship’s reminiscences on the previous Lord Hendon were tame compared to what Kit knew of the present incumbent. But by the time Lady Gresham had recalled to whom she was speaking and curtailed her ramblings, Kit was in command of herself once more.
The rest of their visit was spent in joyous discussion of her wedding, on which subject Kit invented freely. What else could she do? She could hardly tell Lady Gresham that the banns had been read without her consent. Even if she did, they’d probably put the outburst down to exhaustion consequent on nursing Spencer. And no matter how angry Jack made her, she wasn’t about to deny a betrothal. He’d made it perfectly plain how he saw that point. No-she was trapped. She might as well smile and enjoy it.
When she finally found solitude, in the peace of the gazebo with the red banners of sunset flying the sky, that attitude was close to the summation of her thoughts. She’d little choice but to marry Jack, Lord Hendon. Short of creating an almighty scandal, there was nothing she could do to avoid it. She’d made her decisions-her own mistakes; this was where they’d landed her.
Would marrying Jack be such a black fate? Settling on the seat, Kit couldn’t suppress a smile. The prospect of being Lady Hendon was not entirely grim. Her physical satisfaction was guaranteed. Jack was a magnificent lover. Moreover, he seemed very interested in teaching her all she would ever wish to know. But she was not a dim-witted miss, entranced by a handsome face. She knew Jack too well. His autocratic tendencies, his habit of command, his determination to have things his own way-all these she’d recognized from the first. They’d been bad enough in Captain Jack but in Lord Hendon, her husband, they could well prove overwhelming.
Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor Page 28