Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

by Stephanie Laurens

  Finally, Thrushborne straightened, flourishing his forceps. “Got it!” He beamed, then, dropping the forceps in a basin, gave his attention to staunching the blood, flowing freely again.

  By the time Kit was bandaged and dosed with laudanum, Jack felt dizzy and weak.

  About to leave, Thrushborne turned to him. “I take it I haven’t seen anything at all of Miss Kathryn?”

  Gathering his wits, Jack shook his head. “No. You were called to see Spencer.”

  The doctor frowned. “My housekeeper saw your servant come for me-why was that?”

  “I was here when Spencer was taken badly and sent Matthew, rather than one of the Cranmer staff.”

  Thrushborne nodded briskly. “I’ll call again in the morning-to see Spencer.”

  With a weary but grateful half smile, Jack shook hands. Thrushborne departed; Elmina followed, taking the bloody rags to be burned. Alone with Kit, Jack stretched, easing his aching back. He’d have to see Spencer and make sure the servants, both here and at Castle Hendon, understood their story sufficiently well to play their parts. He didn’t doubt they’d do it. The Hendons and Cranmers were served by locals whose families lived and worked on the estates; all would rally to the cause. Tonkin was thoroughly disliked by all who knew him; the Revenue in general were favorites with no one. With care and forethought, all would be well. With a long-drawn sigh, Jack turned to the bed.

  Kit lay stretched out primly, not wantonly asprawl as he was used to seeing her. It would be some time before he saw her like that again. How long? Three weeks, maybe four? Jack contemplated the wait, by dint of sheer determination holding back the thought that he might never see her like that again. She would live-she had to. He couldn’t live without her. The space beside her looked inviting, but Spencer was waiting, and Elmina would soon be back. With a wrenching sigh, Jack gazed down at the silent beauty. Her chest rose and fell beneath the sheet, her breathing shallow but steady. Jack put out a hand to brush a silky curl from her smooth brow, then bent to gently kiss her pale lips.

  He dragged himself away. Elmina had said she’d watch Kit for what was left of the night, and Spencer was still waiting.

  “Sergeant Tonkin, my lord.” Jenkins held the library door wide, an expression of supercilious condescension on his face.

  Stepping over the threshold, Sergeant Tonkin hesitated, his regulation hat clutched in his hands. Spying Spencer behind the desk, Tonkin headed in that direction, his stride firmly confident.

  Spencer watched him approach, an expression of calm boredom on his aristocratic features. From an armchair halfway down the long room, Jack studied Tonkin’s face. The sergeant hadn’t seen him, so focused was he on his goal. An air of smug belligerence hung about Tonkin as he halted on the rug before the desk and saluted.

  “My lord,” Tonkin began. “I was a-wondering if I might have a word with Miss Cranmer, sir.”

  Spencer’s shaggy brows lowered. “With my granddaughter? What for?”

  The barked question, so direct, made Tonkin blink. He shifted his weight. “We have reason to believe, m’lord, that Miss Cranmer might be able to help us with our investigations.”

  “How the devil do you suppose Kathryn could know anything of your business?”

  Tonkin stiffened. He shot Spencer a swift glance, then puffed out his chest. In a portentious tone, he stated: “Some of my men were chasing a smugglers’ leader last night. The man…that is, this leader…was shot. I found the fellow-the leader-in the quarries.”

  “So?” Spencer’s gaze turned impatient. “If you’ve got the man, what’s the problem?”

  Tonkin colored. With one finger, he tugged at his collar. “But we haven’t got him-that’s to say, this leader.”

  “You haven’t?” Spencer leaned forward. “The man was wounded and you let him get away?”

  Watching, Jack sensed the moment when Tonkin’s obsession came to his rescue. Instead of wilting under the heat of Spencer’s glare, his backbone straightened like a poker, his beady eyes suddenly intent. “Before others of the gang knocked me out, I managed to get a good look at the fellow’s-that is…” Gritting his teeth, Tonkin drew a deep breath then continued: “I got a good look at the leader’s face. Red curls, my lord,” Tonkin pronounced with relish. “And a pale, delicate-looking face with a small pointy chin.” When Spencer merely looked blank, Tonkin added: “Afemale face, my lord.”

  Silence filled the library.

  When Spencer frowned, Tonkin nodded decisively. “Exactly, m’lord. If I hadn’t seen it with me own two eyes, I’d have laughed the idea aside, too.”

  Spencer’s expression turned openly puzzled. “But I still don’t see, Sergeant, what this has to do with my granddaughter. You can’t seriously imagine she’ll be able to help you?”

  Tonkin’s face fell; a second later, crafty suspicion gleamed in his small eyes. He opened his mouth.

  Jack smoothly intervened. “I really think, Sergeant, that you’ll have to explain why you imagine Miss Cranmer would be more help to you in identifying and locating a Cranmer…connection than Lord Cranmer himself. I must tell you such matters are not normally the province of the ladies.”

  Tonkin whirled, his expression, unguarded for an instant, a medley of fury and rampant suspicion. With the next breath, his unlovely mask fell back into place; he drew himself up and saluted. “Good morning, m’lord. Didn’t see you there, sir.” Then the implication of Jack’s words registered. “Connection, m’lord?”

  Jack raised a bored brow.

  Visibly girding his loins, Tonkin shook his head. “No, sir.” Chin up, at attention, he spoke to the air above Jack’s head. “I know what I saw, sir. This woman rode a magnificent black horse. I saw with my own eyes the hole my men blew in her shoulder.” Tonkin pressed his lips tightly together against the impulse to explain whose shoulder; meeting his eyes, Jack understood. Fanatical determination flared in those beady orbs as Tonkin, his chin pugnaciously square, glanced sideways at Spencer.

  Jack smothered the urge to strangle the man. “Perhaps, Sergeant, if you’d tell us exactly what happened, his lordship might be able to clarify matters for you?”

  Tonkin hesitated, eyes going from Jack to Spencer and back again before, very slowly, he nodded. And determinedly began his tale.

  In her bed abovestairs, Kit lay flat on her back and tried to remember how she’d got there. Her shoulder was on fire; one minute she felt flushed, the next as cold as ice. Eyes closed against the light, she heard the door open and shut.

  “Sergeant Tonkin’s ’ere, miss.” Kit identified the whisperer as Emily, one of the upstairs maids. “Jenkins just showed ’im into the library.”

  “This is the Revenue man, yes?” Elmina answered from the direction of the fireplace. Kit frowned. The Revenue? Here?

  “He’s a terrible bully, that one,” Emily explained. “He’s asking to see Miss Kathryn. Jenkins said as he’d seen her face.”

  Elmina’s response was dismissive. “His lordship will take care of it. And Lord Hendon is there, too, is he not? Rest assured, all will be well.”

  “Elmina!” Kit struggled onto her good elbow, wincing at the pain in her left shoulder. Her weak call brought both Elmina and Emily rushing to the bed. “Get me my dove grey gown. Quickly.”

  Her face a mask of horror, Elmina remained rooted to the spot. “No, no, petite! You are much too weak to get up! You will reopen your wound.”

  “If I don’t go down and let Tonkin see me, I might not live to heal anyway.” Gritting her teeth, Kit managed to sit on the edge of the bed. Suddenly, she remembered all too well. Closing her eyes, she willed her dizziness away. “Dammit, Elmina! Don’t argue-or I’ll do it myself.”

  The threat worked, as it usually did; muttering, Elmina hurried to the wardrobe. Returning within minutes with the grey dress and Kit’s underclothes, she ventured: “Lord Hendon is downstairs.”

  “So I heard.” Kit looked at her clothes and wondered how she was going to cope. Lifting her left ar
m was to be avoided at all costs. She was wearing a fine linen nightgown with a high frilly neck. She’d chosen the grey gown because of its neckline, round and high enough to conceal her bandages. If she wore the dress on top of the nightgown, hopefully Tonkin wouldn’t notice.

  Battling dizziness, she stood; in a voice devoid of all unnecessary strength, she directed Elmina in helping her into the dress and easing the bodice up over her injured shoulder. She felt weak as a newborn kitten-just standing was an effort. While Elmina quickly laced the gown, Kit considered what might be transpiring downstairs. If Tonkin had seen her face, she doubted he’d go away without laying eyes on her. She hoped Spencer wouldn’t lose his temper before she got down. The most puzzling aspect was why the elusive High Commisioner had chosen this particular day to pay a morning visit. Perhaps, if she could think straight enough, she might be able to enlist his aid in getting rid of Tonkin. Then, later, she could tell him about Jack and ask for his help in that matter, too.

  How she was to manage that with Spencer looking on was beyond her at present. She’d worry about that once Tonkin was gone.

  Elmina finished lacing the dress and hurried to get Kit’s brushes. Kit looked down. The room swayed and she quickly raised her head. Fixing her gaze on her mirror across the room, she tried a step or two. It was going to be dicey, but she’d do it if it killed her. Her chin went up. She hadn’t done anything she was ashamed of; she wasn’t going to let a bully of a sergeant drag the Cranmer name through the mud.

  Downstairs, Tonkin was struggling to keep his head above water. At Jack’s artful prompting, he’d explained what had happened, in detail. When retold in such a way, his night’s efforts lost much of their glory.

  With that accomplished, Jack sat back and calmly engaged Spencer in a detailed discussion of all the Cranmer “connections” currently known. Throughout, he kept a careful eye on Tonkin, noting the sergeant’s rising impatience-and his increasing irritation. Despite being subjected to considerable discouragement, Tonkin wasn’t about to let go. When Spencer came to the end of the list of his sons’ acknowledged bastards, Jack quietly put in: “But I believe the Sergeant said the face he saw was distinctly feminine. Is that right, Tonkin?”

  Tonkin blinked, then nodded eagerly. “Yessir, your lordship. A woman’s face, it was.”

  Spencer frowned, then shook his head. “Can’t think of any male Cranmer with effeminate looks.”

  “I hesitate to suggest it,” Jack said, “but could it possibly have been a female relative?” He could almost hear Tonkin’s satisfied sigh.

  “Aren’t any,” Spencer decisively replied. “Only girl in the family’s Kathryn and stands to reason couldn’t be her.”

  With a fleeting smile, Jack nodded in agreement.

  Tonkin’s face was a study in dismay. “Pardon me, your lordship, but why’s that?”

  Spencer frowned at him. “Why’s what, Sergeant?”

  Tonkin gritted his teeth. “Why couldn’t it be Miss Cranmer, m’lord?”

  As one, Jack and Spencer stared at him, then both erupted into laughter. Tonkin reddened; he looked from one to the other, ugly suspicion gathering in his eyes.

  Spencer recovered first, waving his hand to and fro. “A rich jest, Sergeant, but I can assure you my granddaughter does not consort with smugglers.”

  Tonkin reacted as if slapped.

  “I think, perhaps,” put in Jack, sensing Tonkin’s swelling belligerence, “that the Sergeant might as well know-just so he can accept Miss Cranmer’s innocence as proven fact, my lord-that Miss Cranmer had dinner with both you and myself last night. We sat late, Miss Cranmer with us, discussing the details of our impending nuptials.”

  Jack smiled at Tonkin, the very picture of helpful assurrance.

  “Nuptials?” Tonkin stared.

  “Precisely.” Jack adjusted the cuff of one sleeve. “Miss Cranmer and I will shortly be married. The announcement will be made in the next day or so.” Jack smiled again, openly confident. “You can be one of the first to wish us happy, Tonkin.”

  “Er…yes, of course. That is…I hope you’ll be very happy, sir…” Tonkin faltered to a halt.

  The door behind him opened.

  The three men turned. Three pairs of eyes fastened on the slim grey figure who appeared in the doorway; shock registered, in equal measure, on all three faces.

  Kit saw it and glided forward, filling the telltale void. “Good morning, Grandfather.” She crossed to Spencer’s side. Placing her right hand on his shoulder, she planted a dutiful kiss on his cheek, grateful that impassivity had dropped like a veil over his features. Straightening, denying the wave of dizzying pain that threatened to engulf her, she looked directly at Tonkin. “I heard Sergeant Tonkin was asking after me. How can I help you, Sergeant?”

  It was a bold move. Jack held his breath, wondering if Tonkin could see how pale she was. To him, her condition was obvious, but apparently Tonkin had never set eyes on Kit before last night. His heart in his mouth, Jack willed his muscles to relax. He’d shot to his feet the instant Kit had appeared; only by the most supreme effort had he stifled the overwhelming urge to go to her side. How on earth she’d got dressed and downstairs was a wonder; how long she’d remain on her feet was a major concern. She’d seen him as she’d entered. As her gaze had passed over him, he’d seen the shock of recognition flare beneath the haze of pain.

  Sergeant Tonkin simply stared, speechless. His gaze flicked to Jack, then to Spencer, then, surreptitiously, he darted a glance at Kit, dwelling on her left shoulder.

  Aware of his scrutiny, Kit held herself erect, her expression relaxed and open, waiting for Tonkin to state his business. Her grasp on Spencer’s shoulder was nothing less than a death grip; luckily, Spencer had put up his hand to cover hers, the warmth of his large palm imparting strength and support enough to anchor her to consciousness. Kit drew on it unashamedly.

  From where she stood, Kit could see Spencer’s expression, arrogantly supercilious as he stared at Tonkin. A peculiar hiatus held them all.

  Jack broke it, strolling casually forward to Kit’s side.

  The instant he moved, he drew Kit’s gaze. Lips slightly parted to ease her increasingly painful breathing, Kit watched him approach. Her wits were slowing, becoming more sluggish. They’d said Lord Hendon was with Spencer. There was no one else in the room except Jack. And it was Jack, for all that he was far more elegantly dressed than she’d ever seen him, moving with a languid grace she recognized instantly. The man approaching her was a rake of the first order, one who’d learned his recreational habits in the hothouse of the ton. The man approaching her was Jack. Confusion welled; Kit resisted the urge to close her eyes against it.

  Jack stopped by her side; she looked into his eyes and saw his concern and his strength. He reached for her right hand, lifting it from Spencer’s shoulder. She let him, relief spreading through her at the comfort in his touch. His other arm slid about her waist, a very real support.

  Aware of the picture he was creating for Tonkin, Jack raised Kit’s fingers to his lips. “The sergeant thought he saw you last night, my dear. Your grandfather and I were just explaining that he must have been mistaken.” Jack smiled reassuringly into wide amethyst eyes, hazed and dull with pain. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve given you an alibi. Even one so earnest as Sergeant Tonkin will have to accept that while you were having dinner with me, and later discussing our wedding, you couldn’t possibly have been simultaneously riding the hills.”

  “Oh?” It was no effort to infuse the syllable with bewilderment. Kit dragged her eyes from Jack’s to gaze in confusion at Sergeant Tonkin. Dinner?Wedding? Her faintness intensified. The arm about her waist tightened possessively, protectively.

  Kit’s obvious confusion dispelled the last vestige of Tonkin’s certainty. Jack could see it in his eyes, in the sudden slackness of his features. The pugnacity that had kept him going drained away, leaving him off-balance.

  Swallowing, Tonkin half saluted. “I can se
e as you don’t know nothing about it, miss.” He glanced warily at Jack, then Spencer. “If it’s all right with you, my lords, I’ll be on my way.”

  Jack nodded; Spencer simply glared.

  With a last salute, Tonkin turned and quickly left the room.

  As soon as the door shut, Spencer turned in his chair, anxiety and relief flooding out in a fiercely whispered: “And what’s the meaning of all this, miss?”

  Kit didn’t answer. As the door clicked shut, she’d leaned back against Jack’s arm and shut her eyes. The willpower that had kept her going abruptly faded. She felt Jack’s arms close about her. She was safe; they were all safe.

  She heard Spencer’s question as if from a distance, muffled by cold mists. With a little sigh, she surrendered to the oblivion that beckoned, beyond pain, beyond confusion.

  Chapter 23

  During the next week, the servants of Cranmer Hall and Castle Hendon struggled to preserve a facade of normality in the absence of their masters. Lord Cranmer was seriously ill and took to his bed. Miss Kathryn Cranmer stayed by his bedside, unable because of the exigencies of her nursing to see anyone. Lord Hendon was as mysteriously elusive as ever.

  Behind the scenes, Spencer remained in his rooms, too worried to be of much practical use. Jack spent most of his time with Kit, helping to nurse her. Her shoulder wound healed well, but in her weakened state the cold she’d caught in the quarries rapidly developed into something worse. As the week progressed, Kit’s fever mounted. Only Jack had the strength to hold her easily, to cajole and if necessary force her to drink the drafts the doctor prepared. Only his voice penetrated the fogs Kit wandered through, dazed, weak, and confused.

  Dr. Thrushborne called every morning and afternoon, worried by Kit’s state. “It’s the combination of things,” he explained to Jack. “The chill coming on top of a massive loss of blood. All we can do is keep her warm and quiet and let Nature work for us.”

  Two grim days later, he answered an exhausted Jack’s unvoiced question: “The fact she’s still with us is the brightest sign. She’s a slip of a thing, but all the Cranmers are as stubborn as hell. I don’t think she plans to leave us just yet.”