Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Good morning, Geoffrey.” Kit took a sip of her coffee and watched her cousin over the rim of the cup.

  Geoffrey wasn’t slow. As his gaze took in her attire, his expression settled into dazed incredulity. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

  “I decided a week or so away from Castle Hendon was in order.” Kit smiled. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

  “Dash it, Kit, you know I am. But…” Geoffrey ran a harassed hand through his dark locks. “Where the hell’s your husband?”

  Abruptly, Kit dropped her pose. “Coming after me, I hope.”

  Geoffrey stared. Abruptly, he reached for the coffeepot. “Cut line, my girl. Start from the beginning. What kind of dangerous game are you playing?”

  “It’s no game.” Kit sighed and leaned both elbows on the table. Geoffrey drew up a chair. When he waved at her to continue, Kit related her story. In the cold light of morning, it didn’t sound particularly sane. And trying to explain to Geoffrey why she felt as she did was even more futile. She wasn’t surprised when he showed every indication of taking Jack’s part.

  “You’ve run mad,” was Geoffrey’s verdict. “What the hell do you suppose he’s going to do when he finds you?”

  Kit shrugged, dreaming of the moment.

  Geoffrey stiffened. “Did you tell him you’d be here?”

  Kit’s shaking head let him breathe again. “But he’ll figure it out.”

  Geoffrey stared at her. That wasn’t the assurance he’d wanted. He studied Kit, then asked: “You’re not breeding, are you?”

  It was Kit’s turn to stare. “Of course not!”

  “All right, all right.” Geoffrey held up both hands placatingly. “I just thought it might be a good excuse to have handy when Hendon makes his entrance. Everyone knows women do strange things at such times.”

  Incensed, Kit glared at him. “That’s not the point! I want him to realize I won’t be put aside, tucked safely away in some niche, every time he decides what he’s doing is not…not suitable for me to be involved in.”

  Geoffrey clapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, my God!”

  The door opened to admit Julian, the youngest of the three brothers, the only one younger than Kit. Geoffrey sat, staring into his coffee while Julian and Kit exchanged joyful greetings over his head, and Kit filled Julian in on the reasons for her present excursion. When they finally turned their attention to their breakfasts, Geoffrey spoke. “Kit, you can’t stay here.”

  Her face fell. “Oh.”

  “It’s not that I mind, personally,” Geoffrey assured her, ignoring the dark look his brother was throwing him. “But can you please try to understand how your husband is going to feel if he arrives here to find you cavorting about Jermyn Street in breeches?” Geoffrey paused, then added: “On second thought, rescind that ‘personally.’ I do mind, because it’s my hide he’ll be after.”

  “I’ve got a dress with me.”

  Geoffrey cast his eyes to the ceiling. “With all due respect, Kit, trotting about Jermyn Street in a dress is likely to prove even more dangerous to your reputation than the other.”

  Kit grimaced, knowing he was right. She’d lived in London long enough to know the rules. Jermyn Street was the haunt of the well-to-do bachelors of the ton. Women of her standing definitely did not live in Jermyn Street. “But where can I go? And for God’s sake, don’t suggest your parents.”

  “I’m a coward, not daft,” returned Geoffrey.

  The three cousins sat considering their acquaintance. None of it was suitable. Then Julian bounced to life.

  “Jenny-Jenny MacKillop!”

  Miss Jennifer MacKillop had been governess to Frederick Cranmer’s sons and had filled in a few years more as governess-companion to Kit until the time of Kit’s first Season. Subsequently, she’d retired to look after her aging brother in Southampton.

  “I had a letter from her a few months back,” said Kit. “Her brother died and left her the house. She thought she’d stay there for the rest of the year, before making up her mind what to do.”

  “Then that’s where you’ll go.” Geoffrey sat up. He studied Kit sternly. “How far behind you do you suppose Hendon is?”

  Kit looked uneasy. “I don’t know.”

  Geoffrey sighed. “Very well. I’d better wait here in case he arrives, breathing fire. No!” he said, as Julian opened his lips. “From everything I’ve heard about Jonathon Hendon, he’d eat you alive before he paused to ask questions. At least I’ll have my wits to help me. You may escort our lovely cousin to Southampton.”

  Julian beamed. “May I use your curricle?”

  Geoffrey’s sigh was heartfelt. “If I find a scratch on it, you’ll be painting it with your eyelashes.”

  Julian whooped.

  Geoffrey raised his brows. “You wouldn’t think he shaves yet, would you?”

  Kit giggled.

  Geoffrey smiled. “That’s better. I’d started to wonder if you’d forgotten how.”

  “Oh, Geoffrey.” Kit put out a hand to clasp his.

  Geoffrey gripped her fingers. “Yes, well, I suggest you leave as soon as possible. You should be able to make it by nightfall if Julian keeps a proper eye on the cattle. It sounds as if Jenny will be able to put you both up.”

  Her immediate future decided, Kit poured herself another cup of coffee. She didn’t want to go to Southampton. It was too far away from Castle Hendon. But she had to agree with Geoffrey’s reasoning. Jack wouldn’t be pleased to find her frequenting a bachelors’ residence. And she would enjoy seeing Jenny again. Perhaps catching up with her old mentor would distract her from the problems of her new role.

  Jack woke on Friday morning feeling thoroughly disgruntled. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, his eyes devoid of expression. Life, full to brimming but short days before, had taken on a greyish hue.

  He missed his wife.

  Not only did he miss her, he couldn’t seem to function, knowing she wasn’t here, where she belonged. He couldn’t sleep; he couldn’t recall what he’d eaten for the last three days. His faculties were enmeshed in a constant retreading of their last encounters, of the opportunities he’d missed to read her mind and head off her startling, but characteristic action.

  It had been a mistake to leave her at Cranmer Hall. He saw that now. But he hadn’t known then how much the thought of her would prey on his mind.

  With a half groan, he pushed back the covers and hauled himself upright. Without more ado, he’d rectify his error. He’d ridden in from London late the previous night, his hope that Kit might have reassessed her objectives and returned home dashed by the sight of her empty bed. His empty bed had proved even less inspiring.

  He dressed with unusual care, choosing a morning coat of simple elegance, determined to impress his wife with every facet of his personality. He knew exactly what he’d do. After greeting her coolly, he’d insist on seeing her alone. Then, he’d explain to her why her action in leaving him was unacceptable behavior in Lady Hendon, why no circumstance on earth could excuse her absence from the saftey of his hearth. Then he’d kiss the damned woman witless and bring her home. Simple.

  He grabbed a cup of coffee and ordered Champion brought around.

  “If she’s not here, where the devil is she?” Jack ran an agitated hand through his hair, dragging golden strands loose to fly in wisps about his haggard face. He paced the Gresham’s morning room like a caged and wounded tiger.

  Amy watched him, sheer amazement in her face.

  “Perhaps, my dear, you should get us some refreshment.” George smiled reassuringly into Amy’s eyes. Drawing her to her feet, he steered her to the door and held it for her.

  Once Amy had escaped, George shut the door and fixed Jack with a stern eye. “I told you not to leave Kit alone.” His voice held a note of decided censure. “And if you left without explaining what was going on, I’m not surprised she’s left you.”

  Jack paused to stare at him.

  Ge
orge grimaced and rummaged in his coat pocket. “Here,” he said, holding out the note Kit had sent him. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t need to show you this, but obviously your wife knows your stubbornness even better than I.”

  Puzzled, Jack took the note and smoothed it out.

  “Read the last sentence,” said George helpfully.

  Jack did. I feel sure that you, being so much more in Jack’s confidence, will know better than I how to proceed. Crushing the note in his hand, Jack swore. “How the hell was I supposed to know she felt that strongly over it?” He glared at George.

  George was unimpressed. “You knew damn well she wanted to know. Dash it-she deserved to know, after what she did that night on the beach. And as for her recent efforts in the cause-all I can say is she’s been damned understanding.”

  Jack was taken aback. “You don’t even approve of her!”

  “I know. She’s wild beyond excuse. But that doesn’t excuse you.”

  Hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed and smoky grey, Jack glared at George. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve told Amy of our mission?”

  Unaffected by Jack’s belligerence, George sat on the chaise. “No, of course not. But the point is, Kit’s not Amy.”

  Jack’s lips twisted in a pained grimace. He fell to pacing once more, his brow furrowed. “If I’d told her, God knows what she’d have got up to. Our dealings were too dangerous-I couldn’t expose her to such risks.”

  George sighed. “Hell, Jack-you knew, what she was like from the start. Why the devil did you marry her, if you weren’t prepared to accept those risks?”

  “I married her because I love her, dammit!”

  “Well, if that’s the case, then the rest should come easily.”

  Jack shot him a suspicious glance. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means,” said George, “that you wanted her for what she was-what she is. You can’t start changing bits and pieces, expecting her to change in some ways but not in others. Would you be pleased if she turned into another Amy?”

  Jack bit back his retort, his lips compressed with the effort to hold back the unflattering reply.

  George grinned. “Precisely. Not your cup of tea. Thankfully, she is mine.” The door opened at that moment; George looked up, smiling warmly as Amy entered, preceding her butler, who bore a tray burdened with a variety of strong liquors in addition to the teapot. Dismissing the butler, Amy poured tea for George and herself while George poured Jack a hefty glass of brandy. “Now that we’ve resolved your differences of opinion, what exactly has happened?”

  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.”