Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

might not live he blanked from his mind; that was a possibility he could not face. Drawing an unsteady breath, he fought to focus his mind on the here and now, on the tasks immediately before him. The next hours would be crucial. Kit had to live. And she had to be protected from the consequences of her actions. First things first. He had to get her out of her wet clothes.

Jack turned to survey Henry’s handiwork. The fire blazed in the grate, throwing light and warmth into the room. “Good. Now go shake that maid awake.”

Henry’s eyes grew round. “Elmina?”

Jack frowned. “Miss Kathryn’s maid.” He nodded a curt dismissal, wondering what was wrong with Elmina.

Henry swallowed and looked doubtful, but went.

Jack paced before the fire, rubbing sensation and strength back into his arms. When Elmina failed to materialize, he swore and returned to Kit’s side. Carefully, he untied their makeshift bandage. The wound had stopped bleeding. He started the difficult task of easing Kit from her wet clothes.

He’d removed her coat and was fumbling with the laces of her shirt when the door behind him opened and shut. Quick footsteps and stiffly swishing skirts approached.

“Man Dieu! Ma pauvre petite! Qu’est-ce qui s’est passe?”

Jack blinked at the torrent of French that followed hard on the heels of that beginning. He stared at the small darkhaired woman who appeared on the other side of the bed to lean over Kit, laying a hand on her forehead. Then she noticed what he was doing and slapped furiously at his hands.

Jack recoiled from the ferocious attack and her equally ferocious words. Glancing toward the end of the bed, he saw two young maids hovering uncertainly. From their blank looks, Jack surmised they couldn’t understand French. The virago, presumably Elmina, was dividing her time between verbally wringing her hands over Kit and hurling insults at him. What loosely translated as “black-guard” and “mountebank” were the least of them.

When Elmina bustled around and tried to shoo him from the room, Jack came to his senses. “Silence!” He spoke smoothly in French. “Cease your wailing, woman! We need to get her into something dry immediately.” Jack leaned back over Kit and started on her laces again. His idiomatic French had set Elmina back on her heels. “We’ll need bandages and hot water. Can you manage that?”

His sarcasm flicked Elmina to attention. She drew a fulminating breath; Jack looked at her and imperiously lifted one brow. Elmina’s glance fell to the still figure on the bed, then she swung about and addressed the two maids. “Ella-get all the old sheets you can find. Ask Mrs. Fogg. Emily-run to the kitchen and fetch the kettle. And tell Cook to prepare some gruel.”

Jack shook his head. “She won’t be able to eat. Not until we get the bullet out of her.”

“Man Dieu! It’s still there?”

The last lace unraveled. Jack looked up into Elmina’s black eyes, pieces of coal in a face pale with anxiety. Despite her sprightly movements, she was a lot older than he’d expected. And, judging from her tirade, hellishly protective of Kit. How had his kitten escaped this mother cat? “Your mistress is lucky to be alive. She’s going to need help to stay alive. Now help me get this off her.” He pulled his sharp knife from its sheath in his boot and quickly slit the shirt. “Come around here. Bring that towel with you.”

Picking up the small towel lying folded on Kit’s washstand, Elmina hurried to obey. Jack freed the wound of torn fragments of shirt, then covered the angry flesh with the towel. “Help me ease off this sleeve.”

With Elmina’s help, the sleeve was removed without jarring the wound. Picking up his knife, Jack reached for Kit’s wet bands.

“Monsieur!”

Jack all but snarled. “What now?”

Elmina’s eyes were huge black orbs. Under Jack’s glare, she clenched her hands tight. “Monsieur, it is not proper that you should be here. I will take care of her.”

Proper? Jack closed his eyes in frustration. Neither he nor Kit possessed a proper bone in their bodies. He opened his eyes. “Damnation, woman! I’ve seen every square inch of skin your pauvre petite possesses. Right now, I’m trying to ensure that she lives. The proprieties be damned!”

He’d spoken in English. Elmina took a moment or two to catch up. By then, Jack had expertly slid the knife between Kit’s breasts and slit the bands.

Elmina’s “Sacre Dieu!” was a weak effort as, grudgingly, she gave up her fight. Muttered references to the madness of the English, and the shocking want of delicacy displayed by unnamed peers, punctuated the next ten minutes.

The hot water and bandages arrived. Jack watched Elmina bathe the wound. The maid’s hands were steady, her touch sure. When the ugly hole had been cleansed, he helped her tie a wad of torn sheeting over it. Kit’s breathing had improved, but her complexion remained alarmingly pallid.

Jack left Elmina in charge with strict instructions to be called immediately should Kit regain consciousness or Dr. Thrushborne appear. In the corridor outside Kit’s room, he slumped against the wall and shut his eyes. For one instant, despair overwhelmed him-Kit lay so very still, her skin so very cold. Her breathing was the only sign of life. Even if the wound didn’t kill her, in her weakened state, an inflammation of the lungs might.

He tried to imagine his life without her-and couldn’t. Abruptly, he opened his eyes and pushed away from the wall. Kit wasn’t dead yet. If she could fight, he’d be by her side.

His face grave, Jack went to face Spencer.

Jenkins was waiting at the top of the stairs. “Lord Cranmer’s in his chamber, m’lord. If you’ll follow me?”

A weary grin twisted Jack’s lips. The formal phrasing seemed out of place. He suspected he looked like a disreputable gypsy. And he was on his way to tell one of his father’s closest friends that he’d seduced his granddaughter.

Spencer’s rooms were in the opposite wing. Jenkins knocked, then held the door wide. Jack drew a deep breath and entered.

The dark was dispelled by a single lamp, turned low, set on a table in the center of the large room. In the uncertain light beyond, Jack saw the man he’d met in King’s Lynn months before. Swathed in a dressing robe, Spencer sat in an armchair. The mane of white hair was the same; the shaggy brows overhanging his deep-set eyes had not changed. But the anxiety in the pale eyes was new, etching lines about the firm lips, deepening the shadows in the sunken cheeks.

Held by Spencer’s gaze, Jack paused just inside the pool of lamplight, aware of Spencer stiffening as he took in his odd attire. Abruptly, Spencer raised a hand and dismissed the small man hovering at his side.

As the door closed, Spencer lifted his chin aggressively. “Well? What have Kathryn-and you-been up to?”

Feeling as if he was facing a court-martial, Jack clamped a lid on his natural arrogance and replied simply and straightforwardly. “I’m afraid Kit and I have become rather closer than is acceptable. In short, I seduced her. The only fact I can proffer in my defense is that I didn’t know at the time she was your granddaughter.”

Spencer snorted incredulously. “You didn’t recognize the coloring?”

Jack inclined his head. “I knew she was a Cranmer but…” He shrugged. “There were other possibilities.”

Spencer’s gaze was sharp. “Led you to believe she was something she’s not, did she?”

Jack hesitated.

“You may as well give me the whole of it,” declared Spencer. “I’m not likely to faint from the shock. Told you she was illegitimate, did she?”

Jack grimaced, remembering that first night, so long ago. “Let’s just say that when I made my supposition plain, she didn’t correct me. I’d hardly expected your granddaughter to be riding the countryside alone at night in breeches.”

Spencer sighed deeply. Slowly, his head sank. For a long moment, he stared into space, then in a gruff voice he muttered: “My fault-no denying it. I should never have let her grow so damned wild.”

Minutes ticked by; Spencer seemed sunk in abstracted gloom. Jack waited, not sure what was going through the old man’s mind. Then Spencer shook his head and looked him straight in the eye. “No sense in wailing over past history. You say you seduced her. What do you plan to do about it, hen?”

Jack’s lips twisted wryly. “I’ll marry her, of course.”

“Damn right you will!” Spencer’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “Think you’ll enjoy it-being married to a wildcat?”

Briefly, Jack smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”