Kit’s eyes felt as if they’d pop from her head. Horrified, she tried to shuffle back in the bed but her elbows tangled in the covers and she sprawled full-length instead. Then he was towering over her, his shadow engulfing her. Hands on hips, he looked down at her from the foot, of the bed. He held out one hand. “Come here.”
He was mad. She had no intention of going anywhere near him. He was smiling now, devilishly. She decided she preferred his scowl—it was infinitely less threatening. She tried a scowl of her own.
Jack’s smile gained intensity; his eyes grew brighter. He had every intention of putting the vixen in her place once and for all. She was giving him more trouble than a troop of drunken cavalry. First she played the tease, curling on the bed so much like a cat he was quite sure that if he’d stroked her she’d have purred. Now, because he’d forced her into a blush, she was playing the threatened virgin.
But he wasn’t so far gone in lunacy as to get on the bed with her. When she continued to scowl, her amethyst eyes spitting purple chips, he made a grab for her hand.
Unfortunately, Kit chose the same moment to sit up, the better to deliver a verbal broadside. She saw his movement; he saw hers. Both tried to compensate. Jack’s fingers curled about her hand as he tried to straighten to avoid a collision of heads. Kit half rose, then fell back, wrenching her hand in an effort to free it. The result was the reverse of both their intentions. Jack’s leg hit the bed end and he stumbled, then was pulled off-balance by the unexpected violence of Kit’s tug. He landed on the bed beside her.
Kit smothered a shriek and tried to roll off the bed. A large hand grabbed her hip and rolled her back. A curse she didn’t comprehend fell on her ears. Memories of tussles with her cousins awoke in her brain. Instead of fighting the pull, she turned with it.
It was purely reflex action that saved Jack’s manly parts from Kit’s rising knee. Giving up any attempt at gentlemanly behavior, he grabbed both her hands and swung over her, straddling her hips, pinning her beneath him.
To his amazement, she continued to struggle, her hips writhing between his thighs.
“Be still, you witless wanton, or I won’t answer for the consequences!”
That stopped her. Wide eyes stared up at him. The front of her shirt rose and fell rapidly. Jack couldn’t see through it, but the memory of what lay beneath it acted powerfully on his brain. The temptation to let go of her hands and cup the sweet mounds grew stronger by the second. His palms tingled in anticipation.
Jack forced his gaze upward. He met her eyes and saw the panic there. Panic? Jack closed his eyes against the plea in the violet depths and drew a deep breath. What the hell was going on? Now, she even looked like a threatened virgin. As sanity slowly seeped back into his brain, the rigidity of the slim form between his thighs registered.
Could she be a virgin? Jack’s worldly brain rejected that idea out of hand. A woman of her background, of her age, with her attributes—one who declared herself “more than passing familiar” with men—could not be a virgin. Besides, she’d made moves enough that smacked of experience. No. The truth was, she didn’t, for whatever reason, want him. Because he wanted her? Some women were like that. Jack prided himself on his knowledge of the female sex. He’d spent fifteen and more years in an extensive study of the fascinating creatures. In between fighting a few wars. If she really had taken an aversion to him, he could use it to his advantage in the short term. And when the need for Young Kit had passed, he could look forward to spending countless interesting hours changing her mind.
Jack opened his eyes and studied Kit’s face. She was scowling again. He smiled crookedly. He was aching with need, but she wasn’t about to welcome him aboard. Not yet.
He changed his hold on her hands, so that his thumbs rested in her palms. Slowly, deliberately, he moved his thumbs in a circular motion, caressing her sensitive skin. He watched as her eyes grew larger, rounder.
Kit was speechless. Worse, she was close to mindless. Neither her own experiences nor Amy’s had prepared her for the effect Jack was having on her. Despite the fact that he hadn’t even kissed her, she couldn’t think straight. His touch on her palms was driving little shivers down every nerve, focusing her mind on her hands, as if to distract her from the heat seeping insidiously through every vein, radiating from the junction of her thighs. There was a complementary heat above, where he straddled her. Dimly, she sensed a growing urge to lift her hips and press heat to heat. She resisted it, struggling to break free of his spell. “Let me go, Jack.” Her words were soft, feminine, not the decisive demand she intended at all.
Jack grinned, inordinately pleased to hear his name on her lips. “I’ll let you go if you promise to do as I ask.”
Kit frowned. Was he threatening her? It was an effort to put her thoughts into words. Particularly when he looked as if he’d like to eat her. Slowly. “What do you mean?” She asked.
“Be Young Kit for two months. After that, we’ll arrange your retirement.”And you can start your next assignment—as my mistress. Jack smiled into her beautiful eyes. He was sure they’d turn deepest violet when she climaxed. He was looking forward to conducting that experiment.
Kit couldn’t steady her breathing. She shook her head. “It’ll never work.”
“It’ll work. We’ll make it work.”
The idea was tempting, very tempting. Kit struggled to get a grip on the situation. “What if I won’t?”
Jack’s brows rose but he was smiling—that devilish smile again. Then he sighed dramatically and stopped stroking her palms. Kit relaxed, relief surging through her. Only to be overridden by panic when he raised her hand to his lips and kissed one fingertip. Her lips formed an O of sheer shock.
Watching her, Jack nearly laughed. No reaction to him? If she was any more responsive she’d be climbing the walls. “If you won’t join me in abusiness venture, we’ll just have to consider what other type of…partnership we can enjoy.”
Kit stared at him in undisguised horror.
Jack turned her hand over to press a kiss to her palm. He felt her entire body tense. “The first thing we’ll have to investigate is whether this aversion of yours is any more than skin deep.” Involuntarily, his gaze dropped to her shirt and his mind shifted to a contemplation of the delights it concealed. Just a single thickness of material was all that protected her breasts from his hungry gaze. And his ardent attentions. Almost, he wished she’d hold firm to her resolve not to be Young Kit. At least long enough to make a little persuasion necessary.
Kit’s mind was sluggish. Aversion? Her aversion? Here she was, in a flat panic lest he realize just how very attracted she was, and he thought she held him in aversion? She almost laughed hysterically. If she hadn’t been so frightened by her response to him, she would have. Having him so close drained her willpower; every little attention he bestowed only made matters worse. Another few moves and he’d have her egging him on. The idea of what would happen if he kissed her brought her to a rapid decision. “All right.”
Jack hauled his gaze back to her face and his mind back to her words. “All right?”
Kit heard the disappointment in his voice. He’d have carried out his threat with enthusiasm. “Yes, all right, damn you!” She pushed hard at his hands. “If the others agree, I’ll be Young Kit, but only for a month. Until my men settle in with your gang.”
Jack’s sigh was heartfelt. Reluctantly, he released her. Before moving off her, he smiled winningly, directly into the large eyes lit by violet sparks. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”
The look he got set him chuckling. He rolled to her side and lay back on the pillows, content for the moment. Her capitulation wasn’t exactly complimentary, but he’d a month to work on that.
Beside him, Kit lay still, struck by the revelation that, although he was still close, now that he wasn’t touching her, her mind was functioning again. Recalling her uncertainties about the Hunstanton Gang’s cargoes, she remembered what had led her to such questions. “
I take it you’ve heard about Lord Hendon, the new High Commissioner, and his interest in the trade?”
Jack managed to suppress the start her words gave him. What had she heard? He settled his hands behind his head and spoke to the ceiling. “It’s well known the Revenue are working out an excess of zeal about Sheringham.”
Kit frowned. “That’s not what I meant. I heard that Lord Hendon has been appointed specifically to take a greater interest in the traffic.”
From under his lashes, Jack watched her profile. “Who told you that?”
“I overheard someone tell my grandfather about it.”
“Who?”
“The Lord Lieutenant.”
Jack pursed his lips. It wasn’t exactly the message Lord Marchmont had been sent to deliver, but it was close enough. He was sure the Lord Lieutenant would have communicated his message accurately but if Kit had been flapping her ears at a distance, she might not have caught the whole of it. He couldn’t imagine the two peers openly discussing such business in front of Spencer’s housekeeper. “If that’s the case, we’ll have to keep a close eye on his lordship’s activities.”
Kit snorted derisively and sat up. “If he ever actually stirs himself to anything that can be so described. I’m beginning to think he’s gone to ground in that castle of his and just issues orders to the Revenue from his daybed.”
Jack looked at her in amazement. “What makes you think that?”
“He’s never seen about, that’s why. He’s been here for a few months, yet most people haven’t sighted him. I know because Spencer gave a dinner party. Lord Hendon was invited but had a prior engagement.”
The disgust in her voice made Jack blink. “What’s wrong with that?”
Kit’s lip curled. “A prior engagement with whom—when all the surrounding families were at Cranmer that night?”
Jack looked much struck, a fact Kit missed. She found the glass of brandy, now empty, amid the covers and, with the trailing ends of her muffler, ineffectually dabbed at the small stain where the dregs had spilt in their tumble. Suddenly, she giggled.
“What’s funny?”
“I was just wondering if I should pity the poor man, when he finally condescends to make a public appearance. The ladies of the neighborhood are all so anxious to meet him. Mrs. Cartwright has designs on him as a husband for her Jane, and Lady Marchmont—” Kit broke off, horrified by what she’d nearly said.
“Who’s Lady Marchmont got in mind for the poor devil?” The laughter bubbling beneath the smooth surface of Jack’s voice was encouraging.
“Someone else,” Kit replied repressively. “And I don’t envy the chit one bit.”
“Oh?” Jack turned a fascinated eye on her. “Why’s that?”
Kit was enjoying the unexpected sensation of sitting beside Jack, feeling oddly at ease and totally unthreatened, despite the panic of only minutes ago. For some inexplicable reason, she was quite sure he intended her no harm. His conviction that he could make her welcome his advances was frightening purely because she knew it was the truth. But when he wasn’t engaging in that sort of play, she felt completely at one with him, perfectly ready to share her opinion of the new High Commissioner. She pulled an expressive face. “From all I’ve heard, Hendon sounds a dry old stick, positively fusty.” She studied the glass in her hand. “He must be fifty and he limps. Lady Marchmont said he was ‘Hendonish’ but I’ve no idea what that means—probably stuffy.”
Jack’s brows had risen to considerable heights. He could have informed Kit precisely what “Hendonish” meant—she’d just been treated to a sample, albeit restricted—but he didn’t. He was too taken up with grappling with a sense of outrage. “You’ve met the man, I take it.”
“No.” Kit shook her head. “Hardly anyone has, so he can hardly take exception to our visions of him if they’re unfairly unflattering, can he?”
And that, thought Jack, was a deucedly difficult argument to counter.
A sudden shriek of wind brought their situation forcibly to Kit’s mind. Heavens! Here she sat in Captain Jack’s bed, with him beside her, chatting the night away. She must have rocks in her head! She wriggled toward the edge of the bed. “I must go.”
Long fingers encircled her wrist. Jack didn’t exert any great pressure, yet Kit didn’t fool herself into thinking she could break free. “I take it we’re agreed, then. Your men and mine to join from now on.”
Kit frowned. “If the others agree. I’ll have to ask them. I’ll meet you at the quarries as we planned and tell you what we’ve decided.”
She glanced at Jack. His face was blank, his expression unreadable. But she sensed he didn’t like her conditions. Unconsciously, she tilted her chin.
Jack pondered her defiant expression and considered the advisability of pulling her to him and kissing her into agreement. Her lips were temptation incarnate, soft and full and devastatingly feminine. Particularly in their present half pout. Abruptly, he dragged his mind from its preoccupation. What she’d suggested was fair enough, but he didn’t trust her in the quarries. He’d a shrewd suspicion she knew them better than he did. “I’ll agree to wait two nights for your answer on the condition that you, personally, bring it to me here—not at the quarries.”
Kit forced herself not to look down at the hand trapping hers or at the long body stretched at ease on the covers. She needed no demonstration to understand her vulnerability. She looked into Jack’s eyes and read cool determination in their depths. Did it really matter if she came here again?
How deliriously dangerous, her wilder self purred.
“Very well.” The hand about her wrist was withdrawn. Kit stood. Then immediately sank back on the bed, blushing furiously. Her bands were still undone. She couldn’t ride back to Cranmer with them about her waist; and she didn’t fancy the idea of stopping along the way to get undressed and do them up.
It took Jack a moment to work out the reason for her blush. Then he laughed, a low chuckle that set Kit’s nerves skittering. He sat up. “Turn around and let me do them up for you.” When Kit sent him a scandalized look, he grinned wickedly. “I undid them, after all.”
At his teasing tone, Kit blushed again and reluctantly turned about, wriggling to work the bands into position. What else could she do? He’d already seen her naked back—and her seminaked front, too. She felt his weight shift on the bed, then he rolled up the back of her shirt.
“Hold them where you want them tied.”
Kit slipped her hands beneath her shirt to settle the bands over her breasts. “Tighter,” she said, as she felt him cinch the ends only just tight enough to stay up.
An unintelligible mutter came from behind her, but he tightened the knot.
“More.”
“Christ, woman! There ought to be a law against what you’re doing.”
Kit took a moment to work that out, then giggled. “There won’t be any permanent damage.”
The knot was tied, just tight enough, and her shirt pulled down. Kit stood and tucked the shirt into her waistband, then shrugged on her coat before winding the muffler tight about her nose and chin.
Lounging on the bed, Jack watched the transformation critically. Even knowing she was a woman, he had to admit her disguise was good. “Your mare’s in the stable out back, keeping company with my stallion. Don’t get too close to him; he bites.”
Kit nodded. She found her tricorne in the corner by the bed and crammed it over her curls. “You didn’t say where we are.”
“About two miles north of Castle Hendon.”
Beneath her muffler, Kit’s lips twisted wryly. Jack seemed a man very much after her own heart. “You do like to live dangerously, don’t you?”
Jack smiled brilliantly. “It keeps boredom at bay.”
With a regal inclination of her head, Kit sauntered to the door.
Jack grinned. With her husky voice and the mannish airs she assumed with such ease, he was confident they’d manage her charade for the requisite month.
&
nbsp; At the door, Kit paused. “Until the night after tomorrow, then.”
Jack nodded, his expression leaching into impassivity. “Don’t try to disappear, will you? Your men might do something rash. And I know where to find you.”
For the first time that night, Kit confronted the side of Captain Jack that had, presumably, made him the leader of the Hunstanton Gang. She decided she wasn’t going to give him the joy of knowing how unnerving she found it. With a nourish, she swept him a bow before unlatching the door and pausing on the threshold to say, “I’ll be here.”
Then she left.
In the cottage, Jack dropped back onto the pillows and fell to a contemplation of the first woman to have ever left his bed untried. A temporary aberration but a novel one. He was deep in dreams when the quick clop of hooves told him Kit was on her way. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, wishing that Young Kit’s month of service was already past.
Chapter 10
Next morning, Lord Hendon, the new High Commissioner for North Norfolk, visited his Revenue Office in King’s Lynn, accompanied by his longtime friend and fellow ex-officer, George Smeaton.
His long limbs elegantly disposed in the best chair the Office possessed, his shoulder-length hair confined by a black riband at his nape, Jack knew he looked every inch the well-to-do gentleman lately retired from active service. His left leg was extended, kept straight by the discreet splint he wore under his close-fitting breeches. He’d carried such an injury for months after the hell of Corunna; the splint jogged his memory into a limp, increasing the overt difference between Lord Hendon and one Captain Jack.
One long-fingered hand languidly turned a page in the Office’s logbook, the sapphire in his signet ring catching the light, splintering it through prisms of blue. His ears were filled with the drone of Sergeant Tonkin’s explanations for his continuing lack of success in apprehending the smuggling gang operating between Lynn and Hunstanton. George sat by the window, a silent witness to Tonkin’s performance.