Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

by Stephanie Laurens

  They made as much noise as a fox hunt in full cry. Initially. When it was clear all the Revenue Officers were in dogged pursuit, floundering behind them, Jack pulled up in the lee of a small hill. Matthew and George brought their mounts to plunging halts beside him; Kit drew Delia to a slow halt some yards farther on. Her muffler had slipped slightly; she didn’t want George or Matthew to see her face. The drizzle was intensifying into rain. A drip from the damp curls clinging to her forehead coursed down to the tip of her nose. Raising her head, she looked east. Low clouds, purple and black, scudded before the freshening wind.

  Jack’s voice reached her. “We’ll split up. Kit and I have the faster horses. You two head south. When it’s safe, you can separate and go home.”

  “Which way will you head?” George shook the water from his hat and crammed it back on.

  Jack’s smile was confident. “We’ll head west on the beach. It won’t take long to lose them.”

  With a nod, George turned and, followed by Matthew, slipped into the trees lining the road on the south. They couldn’t head off until the Revenue were drawn away-the fields were too open and clearly visible from the road.

  The squad of Revenue men were still out of sight on the other side of the hill. Jack nudged Champion close to Delia. “There’s a path to the beach over there.” He pointed. Kit squinted through the rain. “Where that bush hangs over the cliff. Take it. I’ll follow in a moment.”

  Kit resisted the impulse to say she’d wait. His tone was not one to question. She kicked Delia to a canter, swiftly crossing the open area to the cliff’s edge. At the head of the path, she paused to look behind her. The Revenue came around the hill and saw them-she at the cliff, Jack riding hard toward her. He’d dallied to make sure the troop didn’t miss them. With a howl, the Revenue took the bait. Kit sent Delia to the sands, reaching the foot of the path as Champion landed with a slithering thump a few yards away. She’d forgotten that trick of his.

  “West!”

  At the bellowed order, Kit turned Delia’s head in that direction and dropped the reins. Primed by the tension, the mare obediently went straight to a full gallop, leaving Champion in her wake. Kit grinned through the raindrops streaking her face. Soon enough, the thud of Champion’s hooves settled to a steady beat just behind her, keeping pace between her and their pursuers.

  Behind Kit, Jack watched her flying coattails, marveling at the effortless ease of her performance. He’d never seen anyone ride better-together, she and Delia were sheer magic in motion. She held the mare to a long-strided gallop, a touch of pace in reserve. Jack glanced behind him. The Revenue were dwindling shapes on the sand, outdistanced and outclassed.

  Jack looked forward, opening his mouth to yell to Kit to turn for the cliff. A blur of movement at the top of the path, the last path before they passed onto the west arm of the anvil-shaped headland above Brancaster, caught his eye. He shook the water from his eyes and stared through the rain.

  Hell and confound the man! Tonkin had not only disobeyed orders and come east, but he’d had the sense to split his men into two. He and Kit weren’t leading the Revenue west-they were being herded west. Tonkin’s plan was obvious-push them onto the narrow western headland, then trap them there, a solid cordon of Revenue Officers between them and the safety of the mainland.

  Kit, too, had seen the men on the cliff; slowing, she glanced behind her. Champion did not pause; Jack took him forward to keep pace between Delia and the cliff. “Keep on!” he yelled in answer to the question in Kit’s eyes.

  “But-”

  “I know! Just keep going west.”

  Kit glared but did as he said. The man was mad-all very well to keep on, but soon they’d run out of land. She could just make out the place ahead where the cliff abruptly ended. There was only sea beyond it.

  Unconcerned by such matters, Jack kept Champion at a full gallop and pondered his new insight into Sergeant Tonkin. Obviously, he’d underestimated the man. He still found it hard to believe Tonkin had had wit enough to devise a trap, let alone put it into practice. It wasn’t going to work, of course-but what could one expect? Tonkin’s net had a very large hole which was one hole too many to trap Captain Jack.

  A crack of thunder came out of the east. The heavens opened; rain hit their backs in a drenching downpour. Jack laughed, exhilaration coursing through him. The rain would hinder Tonkin; it would be morning before the sodden Revenue men could be sure the prey had flown their coop.

  Kit heard his laughter and stared.

  Jack caught her look and grinned. They were still riding hard directly west. The tide was flowing in fast, eating away the beach. On their left, the cliff swept up to a rocky outcrop, then fell to a rock-strewn point. The beach ran out. Kit pulled up. Champion slowed, then was turned toward the rocks.

  “Come on.” Jack led, setting Champion to pick his way across the rocky point, waves washing over his heavy hooves. Delia followed, hooves daintily clopping.

  Around the point lay a small, sandy cove. Beyond, sweeping southeastward, the beaches on the southern side of the headland gleamed, a pale path leading back to the mainland. But the Revenue would be skulking somewhere in the murk, waiting.

  In the lee of the cliffs, the rain fell less heavily. Jack pulled up in the cove; Kit halted Delia alongside Champion. She sat catching her breath, staring through the rain at the headland on the opposite side of the small bay.

  “Well? Are you ready?”

  Kit blinked and turned to Jack. “Ready?” The sight of his smile, a melding of excitement, laughter and pure devilry, set her nerves atingle. She followed his gaze to the other side of the bay. “You’re joking.” She made the words a statement.

  “Why? You’re already soaked to the skin-what’s a little more water?”

  He was right, of course; she couldn’t get any wetter. There was, however, one problem. “I can’t swim.”

  It was Jack’s turn to stare, memories of their night of near disaster on the yacht vivid in his mind. In a few pithy phrases, he disabused her mind of any claim to sanity, adding his opinion of witless women who went on boats when they couldn’t swim. Kit listened calmly, well acquainted with the argument-it was Spencer’s standard answer to her desire to sail. “Yes, but what are we going to do now?” she asked, when Jack ground to a halt.

  Jack scowled, narrowed eyes fixed on the far shore. Then he nudged Champion closer to Delia. Kit felt his hands close about her waist.

  “Come here.”

  She didn’t have much choice. Jack lifted her across and perched her on Champion’s saddle in front of him. It was a tight fit; Kit felt the butt of Jack’s saddle pistol press into one thigh. He took Delia’s reins and tied them to a ring on the back of Champion’s saddle, then his belt was in his hands. “Hold still.” Peering at her waist, he threaded his belt through hers.

  “What are you doing?” Kit twisted about, trying to see.

  “Dammit, woman! Hold still. You can wriggle your hips all you like later but not now!”

  The muttered words reduced Kit to frozen obedience. Later. With all the excitement, she’d forgotten his fixation about later. She swallowed. The moment hardly seemed ripe to start a discussion on that subject. He’d been half-aroused before she’d wriggled; now…

  “I’m just making a loop so I can catch hold of you if you slip off.”

  The observation did nothing for Kit’s confidence. “If I slip off?”

  Jack straightened before she could think of any other route of escape. “Hold tight to the pommel. I’ll swim alongside once we’re in the water.” With that, he set his heels to Champion’s sides.

  Both horses took to the water as if swimming across bays in the dead of night was a part of their daily routine. Kit envied them their dull brains. Hers was frantic. She clung to the pommel, both hands frozen and fused to the smooth outcrop. As the first wave lapped her legs, she felt Jack’s comforting bulk, warm and solid behind her, evaporate. Swallowing her protest, she turned her head and f
ound him bobbing in the water alongside her.

  “Lean forward as if you were riding hard.”

  Kit obeyed, relieved to feel the weight of his hand in the small of her back.

  A moment later, a wave crashed over her, drenching her with icy water. She shrieked and came up sputtering. Instantly, Jack was beside her, his face alongside hers, his arm over her back, one large hand spread over her ribs, and her breast. “Sssh. It’s all right. I won’t let you go.”

  The reassurance in his tone washed through her. Kit relaxed enough to register the position of his hand but was in no mood to protest. If she could have got any closer to him she would have, regardless of any retribution later.

  The tide rushed through the narrow neck and into the bay. It carried them forward like flotsam and, in a short time, disgorged them on the sands of the mainland. As soon as Champion’s hooves scraped the bottom, Jack swung up behind Kit. She heaved a sigh of relief and decided not to take exception to the muscular arm that wound about her waist, pulling her back tightly, tucking her into safety against him.

  Jack countered the stallion’s surge up the beach, holding him back until the mare’s shorter legs reached the sand. As soon as they left the surf, he pushed Champion into a canter, heading for the closest path off the sand and the relative safety of the trees.

  Kit held her peace and waited for Jack to come to a halt and set her down. But he didn’t. Instead he steered Champion straight through the trees bordering the cliff and struck south through the teeming rain. Disoriented, Kit took a few minutes to work out where he was headed. Then her eyes flew wide. He was taking her straight to the cottage!

  “Jack! Stop! Er…” Kit struggled to think of a pressing reason for a sudden departure, but her mind froze.

  Champion’s stride didn’t falter. “You’ve got to get out of those clothes as soon as possible,” Jack said.

  Paralysis set in. Why as soon as possible? Wouldn’t some other time do? For the life of her, Kit couldn’t think of any words to counter his firm assertion. She decided to ignore it. “I can ride perfectly well. Just stop and let me get on Delia.”

  The only answer he gave was to turn Champion onto the road to Holme. A few minutes later, they reached the path that led south to the cottage. Fear loosened Kit’s tongue. “Jack-”

  “Dammit, woman! You’re soaked. You can’t ride all the way to Cranmer like that. And in case you hadn’t noticed, the storm’s about to break.”

  Kit hadn’t noticed. A quick glance around his shoulder showed thunderheads lowering through the gloom. Even as she watched, a bolt of lightning streaked earthward. Kit stopped arguing and snuggled back into the warmth of Jack’s chest. She hated thunderstorms; more importantly, so did Delia. Yet the mare seemed unperturbed, pacing steadily beside Champion. Perhaps she should ask Jack to ride home with her. No-they might have to stop under a tree.

  There was no denying she could not afford a chill she couldn’t explain. But what on earth was she to do when she got to the cottage? The thought focused her mind on what had hitherto proved the most reliable reflection of Jack’s state of mind. To her surprise, she couldn’t feel anything-there was none of the firm pressure she’d come to recognize, despite the fact that she was wedged more tightly against him than ever before. What was wrong?

  Then the import of his words registered. He’d only meant she had to get out of her wet clothes, not that…Kit blushed. To her shame, she realized she felt no relief at her discovery, only the most intense disappointment. The truth hit her, impossible to deny. Her blush deepened.

  Why not admit you wouldn’t mind trying it with him? What have you got to lose? Only your virginity-and who are you saving that for? You know Jack would never hurt you-a bruise or two maybe, but nothing intentional. You’ll be safe with him. Why not take the plunge? And what more perfect night for it-you know you hate trying to sleep during storms.

  Kit remained silent, battling her demons.

  Despite her beliefs, Jack’s mind was well and truly occupied with her forthcoming seduction. But he was freezing, too. They both needed to get out of the rain-soaked wind whipping across the land. The double meaning in his first statement had been entirely intentional-he couldn’t have planned this night better. He was looking forward to peeling Kit’s wet clothes from her and, after that, he knew just how to warm them both. What he was planning would eradicate any residual chill.

  There was no better way to while away a storm.

  Chapter 17

  The cottage loomed out of the dark, squat and solid, tucked into the protection of the bank behind it. Jack rode straight to the stable. He dismounted, then lifted Kit down. “Go in. The fire should be lit; there’s wood beside it and towels in the wardrobe. I’ll take care of Delia.”

  Kit stared through the darkness but couldn’t make out his expression. Dully, she nodded and headed for the cottage door. His last comment was obviously intended to let her know she’d have time to get undressed and dried before he came in. Doubtless there’d be a robe or something in the wardrobe for her to wrap herself in. Presumably, getting into her breeches the other night had slaked Jack’s lust, atleast for the present. Either that, or the drenching had doused his ardor. Kit grimaced and reached for the latch.

  The main room was lit by the red glow of a smoldering log. With a sigh, Kit fell to her knees on the mat in front of the fireplace. The wood was in a basket to one side. She laid logs on the flames, then sat back and watched them catch. The warmth slowly thawed her chilled muscles. With another sigh, she struggled to her feet.

  There were towels on the top shelf of the wardrobe. Kit drew down an armful of blessedly dry linen and went to the fire. Leaving the pile on the end of the bed, she spread one towel on the mat, then pulled up a chair and proceeded to struggle out of her wet clothes. Hat, muffler, and coat she draped on the chair. She sat and pulled off her boots, then knelt on one end of the towel and, after one wary glance at the door, pulled her shirt over her head.

  It was a battle to free her shoulders and arms, but eventually she managed it. Her bands were even more trouble, with the knot pulled tight and the sodden material clinging to her skin. She ran through her repertoire of curses before the knot finally gave way. It was a relief to unwind the yards of material and free her breasts.

  Kit dropped the long band on the towel and sat back on her heels, letting the fire chase away her chills. Reaching back, she tugged a towel from the pile. Bending forward, she draped the towel over her neck, running the ends over her curls, scattering droplets into the fire. Once her hair had stopped dripping, she dried her arms and back, then started on her breasts.

  The door opened.

  Kit turned with a gasp, the towel clutched to her chest.

  Jack stood in the doorway, looking for all the world as if he’d just forgotten what he’d come in to do. A deceptive expression. He’d come in to seduce Kit Cranmer, and there wasn’t anything capable of making him forget that. His stunned look was due to the vision before him-Kit, bare to the waist, kneeling before his fire, her curls burnished by the flames. Kit, with wide eyes darkening from amethyst to violet, the towel clutched to her chest totally failing to conceal the twin peaks of her breasts jutting provocatively on either side, the long line of her legs revealed by her wet breeches.

  Slowly, Jack shut the door, his eyes never leaving the woman silhouetted by the flames. Without turning, he slid the bolt home. He crossed to the table and laid his pistol down before shrugging out of his coat.

  Held immobile by his silver gaze, Kit watched, helplessly transfixed. When he pulled his shirt over his head, she blinked free only to be mesmerized by the play of light over the muscles of his chest. She didn’t notice him pause to release his hair, but it was swinging free, brown streaked with gold, brushing his shoulders, when he knelt on the towel beside her.

  His hands closed on her bare shoulders. Gently, he drew her to face him.

  Kit looked deep into eyes of brightest silver burnished with passion. D
esire burned, a steady flame in their depths. Her mouth went dry. She shuddered, swept by a force beyond her experience.

  Jack watched burgeoning passion turn Kit’s eyes to glowing purple. When her tongue came out to moisten her lips, he judged it safe to reach for the towel. She relinquished it without protest. He glanced down at the treasure now completely revealed and watched as, caressed by his ardent gaze, her nipples crinkled tight.

  With a slow smile of satisfaction, and anticipation, Jack returned his gaze to her face, noting her wide eyes and the lips already parted for his kiss.

  Kit could barely breathe as Jack brought his hands up, skimming the contours of her neck, to cradle her face, his long fingers sliding into her curls. For a moment, he paused, his eyes holding hers, an unanswered question in their silvered depths.

  She wanted this, she realized. Every bit as much as he did. In that instant, Kit made her decision. She put aside all the precepts of twenty-two years of training and reached for her heart’s desire.

  As Jack bent his head, she rose on her knees to meet him.

  Jack took her mouth in a burning kiss, slanting his head as she opened to his penetration. Kit braced her hands against his upper chest and leaned into his caress. In seconds, her blood was alight, ignited by his fire.

  Thank God her hands were free-free to roam the warm expanse of male skin, to caress the bands of hard muscle, to tangle in the springy brown hair. Kit’s questing fingers found a hidden nipple. To her delight, she felt it harden to her touch. Hands spread, she explored the ridges of muscle above his waist before moving on to his broad back. Her hands found water. He was still wet.

  Kit drew back from their duel of tongues. Jack’s brow quirked. He reached for her, but she stayed him, one small hand braced against his chest as she reached for a towel.

  A droplet of water fell from his hair and trickled, unheeded, down his chest. Kit saw it. She smiled, then leaned forward and licked it off. Jack shuddered and closed his eyes, his hands fisting by his sides.