Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

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 arm 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.