In growing panic, she glanced at her opponent’s face. The moon shone over her shoulder, leaving her own face in shadow. Even in the weak light, she saw the frown on the handsome face watching her. A second later, the effect of that face hit her. Kit blinked and dragged her mind and her gaze back to her blade, poised against that other. But her disobedient eyes flicked upward again, drawn by that face. She sucked in a painful breath.
An odd sensation bloomed in Kit’s midsection, a warm weakness that sapped what little strength she had. She wondered whether it was fear of impending death. At the thought, from deep inside, she heard a laugh, a warm, rich, seductive laugh.
Kit’s guard wavered-she came to herself with a sickening start. In that instant, her opponent launched an attack. Her blade had nowhere near enough strength to counter the sword effectively. By dint of sheer luck and fancy footwork, she survived the first rush, her heart pounding horribly, a metallic taste in her mouth. She knew she’d never survive the second.
But the clash she feared never came. Her opponent took a decisive step back, just one, but it was enough to get him out of her reach. His sword was slowly lowered until it pointed at the ground.
Glancing up at that distracting face, Kit saw his frown deepen.
Jack’s mind was reeling, overloaded by conflicting and confusing information. Champion had led them unerringly in the wake of the black mare. As soon as they saw the jumble of jagged rocks on the horizon, they’d recognized their destination. Respect for the smaller gang grew-the quarries were a perfect hideaway, made to order. They’d left their horses at the edge of the quarries, to ensure that Champion’s presence did not give them away.
They’d come into the clearing openly but quietly. He’d immediately seen the slim figure in black poring over something on the opposite side. His feet had taken him in that direction. That was when his problems started.
Even before the lad whirled to face him, sword in hand, he’d been conscious of a quickening of his pulse, an increase in his heartbeat, a tightening of expectation which had nothing to do with the dangers of the night. Being presented with a rapier, wrong end first, only compounded the confusion. His reaction had been instinctive. It was not common practice for men to wear swords, but neither he nor George had yet adjusted to walking abroad without theirs on their hips. His hand had grasped his hilt the instant he’d heard the hiss of steel leaving a scabbard.
The poor light put him at a disadvantage from the first. The young lad was an outline, nothing more. Straining into the gloom, he’d moved cautiously, testing his opponent, despite the likelihood he could walk over the lad without difficulty. His opening move had been tentative. The lad’s response had been another revelation-who’d have expected Italian ripostes from a smuggler? But the following moves left him wondering what was wrong with the lad. The arm wielding the rapier had no strength in it.
He’d peered hard at the boy then, and the impulse to shake his head grew. Something was damnably wrong somewhere. Despite not being able to see the lad’s eyes, he could feel the boy’s gaze and knew he was staring. At him. It was the effect of that stare that totally threw him. Never before had his body reacted so definitely, certainly never in response to a stare from a male.
The lad’s point had wavered, and he’d pressed forward, without any real aim, more a matter of keeping up pretenses while he decided what to do. The lack of response made his mind up for him. He didn’t know enough about the gang, and about this strange boy, to make forcing a submission wise. The lad was no fool; he’d know a fight between them could have only one end; they both knew that now. He stepped back and lowered his sword.
The boy’s head came up.
A moment passed, pregnant with expectation. Then the rapier lowered. Inwardly, Jack sighed with relief.
“Who are you?” Fear had tightened Kit’s throat; her voice came out gravelly and, if anything, even deeper than usual. Her eyes remained fixed on the man before her. His head turned slightly, as if to catch some half-heard sound, yet she’d spoken clearly. His unnerving frown didn’t waver.
Jack heard the question but couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. His senses registered not the fear, but the underlying quality in the husky voice. He’d heard voices like that before; they didn’t belong to striplings. Yet what his senses kept telling him, his rational mind knew to be impossible. It had to be some peculiar effect of the moonlight. “I’m Captain Jack, leader of the Hunstanton Gang. We want to talk, nothing more.”
The lad stood perfectly still, shrouded in shadow, his face invisible. “We’re listening.”
Moving slowly, deliberately, Jack sheathed his sword. The tension eased, but he noted that the stripling kept his rapier in his hand. His lips quirked. The lad had his wits about him-if their situations had been reversed, he’d have done the same.
Kit felt much safer when the long sword settled back into its scabbard and felt no compulsion whatever to sheathe hers. The man was more than dangerous, particularly when his features eased, as they’d just done. The slight smile, if it was even that, drew her eyes to his lips. What would they feel like against hers? Would they make her feel…Kit dragged her errant thoughts from the brink of certain confusion. Then another thought struck, out of the blue. What would she feel if he smiled?
But he was talking. Kit struggled to concentrate on his words, rather than letting her mind slide aimlessly into the rich, velvety-deep tones.
“We’d like you to consider a merger.” Jack waited for some response; none came. His cohorts shifted, but the lad made no sign. “Equal footing, equal share in the proceeds.” Still nothing. “With our gangs working together, we’d tie up the coast from Lynn to Wells and farther. We could set our conditions, so we get a decent share of the profits, given the risks we take.”
That idea caused a stir. Jack was pleased with the result, given that only half his mind was concentrating on his arguments. The better half was centered on the lad. Now, with his mates looking pointedly to him, the boy shifted slightly. “What exactly’s in this for us?”
It was a sensible question, but Jack could have sworn the lad paid scant attention to his answer.
While ostensibly listening to Captain Jack extoll the obvious virtues of operating as part of a larger whole, Kit wondered what on earth she was to do. The merger would be in the best interests of her small band. Captain Jack had already demonstrated an uncommon degree of ability. And good sense. And he didn’t seem overly bloodthirsty. Noah and company would be as safe as they could be under his guidance. But for herself, every sense was screaming the fact that remaining anywhere near Captain Jack was tantamount to lunancy. He’d eat her for breakfast, or worse. Even in bad light, she wasn’t sure of her ability to fool him-he seemed suspicious already.
He’d come to the end of his straightforward explanation and was waiting for her reply. “What’s in a merger for you?” she asked.
Jack’s feelings for the stripling became even more confused as grudging respect and exasperation were added to the list. He hadn’t entered the clearing with any real plan; the idea of a merger had leapt ready-formed to his mind, more in response to a need to accommodate the lad than anything else. His explanation of the benefits to them had been easy enough, but what possible benefits were there to him? Other than the truth?
Jack looked directly at the slim figure, still wreathed in shadows before him. “While you’re operating independently, the agents can use you as competition to force us to accept whatever price they offer. Without competition, we’d be better off.” He stopped there, leaving the other way of reducing competition unvoiced. He was sure the lad would get the message.
Kit did, but she was not convinced she understood the full ramifications of a merger, nor that she ever would, not while Captain Jack stood before her. “I’ll need time to consider your offer.”
Jack smiled at the formal phrasing. He nodded. “Naturally. Shall we say twenty-four hours?”
His smile was every bit as unnerving as his frown. In fact, Kit decided, she preferred his frown. She only just managed to stop her bewildered nod. “Three days,” she countered. “I’ll need three days.” Kit glanced around at the faces of her men. “If the rest of you want to join them now…”
Noah shook his head. “No, lad. You rescued us, you took us on. Decision’s yours, I’m thinking.” A murmur of
