Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

Jack smiled. “I will.” And that, he thought, as he wheeled Champion, was a vow every bit as binding as the ones he’d given earlier that day.

The horses needed no urging to leave the noisy crowd behind. Well matched for pace, they fell to the task of covering the five miles to Castle Hendon with highbred ease. Jack felt no urge to converse as the miles disappeared beneath the heavy hooves. One glance at Kit’s face had told him his bright idea had been a master stroke.

His lips curved. In his present state, being forced to traverse the eight miles of road between Cranmer Hall and Castle Hendon in a closed carriage with Kit, knowing they’d have to appear before the Castle staff immediately upon their arrival, would have been nothing less than torture.

Riding was far safer.

Beside him, Kit gloried in the rush of wind on her face. The regular thud of Delia’s hooves steadied her skittering pulse until it beat to the same racing rhythm. There was excitement in the air, and a sense of pleasure shared. She slanted a glance at Jack, then looked ahead, smiling.

They sped through the night, the moon’s luminescence spilling softly over them, lighting their way. For Kit, the black mass of Castle Hendon appeared before them too soon, bringing her respite from jangling nerves to an end. Grooms came running. Jack lifted her down before the steps leading up to the huge oak doors of her new home.

Her feet touched the ground, then she was swung up into Jack’s arms.

Kit bit back a squeal and glared at him.

Jack grinned and carried her up the steps and through the open door.

Kit blinked in the glare of lights that greeted them. As Jack set her on her feet, she adjusted her features and smoothly moved into the business of greeting her new staff.

She vaguely remembered Lovis from her single visit as a child. Jack hadn’t been at home at the time. Many of the other staff had family at Cranmer, so her progress down the long line was punctuated by explanatory histories. When she reached the end and acknowledged the bob of the sleepy scullery maid, Kit heard Jack’s deep voice just behind her.

“Lovis, perhaps you’d show Lady Hendon to her room?”

Lovis bowed deeply. “Very good, m’lord.”

Kit hid a nervous grin, realizing there was a tradition to be upheld. Lovis led the way, positively steeped in ceremony. Kit followed him up the wide curving staircase. When she reached the bend, she was relieved to see her husband still at its foot, conversing with one of the male staff-the head groom, as far as she recalled. The thought that he would doubtless give her time to soothe her frazzled nerves before coming to her eased her skittish pulse.

Please, God, let it be slow and steady. Too often, their first encounters resembled a clash of the furies.

The chamber Lovis led her to was enormous. Castle Hendon had grown up about a medieval donjon. Looking about her, Kit surmised her room might well have been part of the donjon’s main hall. The walls were of solid stone, papered and painted over, the doors and windows set into their thickness. Extensive reworking had enlarged the windows; Kit felt sure that when she drew the curtains the next morning, the views the Castle was famed for would greet her eyes. Her sleepy, sated eyes.

With a start, Kit fell to examining the furnishings. They were exquisite, every one. She stopped by the four- poster bed. It was huge, covered in pale green satin, the Hendon arms carved in the headboard.

Kit wondered what the pale satin would feel like against her skin.

Abruptly, she remembered she had no clothes with her. In a panic, she flew to the massive mahogany armoire, pulling open doors and drawers. She found a complete wardrobe-dresses, underwear, accessories-all put carefully away, as if she’d always lived here. But none of them were hers. Her luggage was somewhere between Cranmer and Castle Hendon, with Elmina.

Puzzled, she drew forth a fine voile nightdress. Shaking out its folds, she held up the almost transparent garment. That her husband had chosen this wardrobe-for her-was instantly apparent.

Muttering an imprecation against all rakes, Kit bundled the shocking nightgown into a ball and crammed it back in the drawer. Her fingers pulled at the next fold of material. They couldn’t all be like that, surely?

“What are you doing?”

Kit jumped and whirled to face her husband. To her surprise, he was not where she expected-at the door from the corridor-but lounged against another door she’d yet to investigate. Presumably, it led to his apartments. Kit swallowed nervously. The smile on Jack’s face sent the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach into a frenzy.

“Er…” Think, dimwitl! “I was looking for a nightdress.”

As she watched Jack’s smile widen, Kit could have bitten her tongue.

“You won’t need one.” Jack pushed away from the door and started toward her, his smile growing more devilish with every stride. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“Er…yes. Jack, stop!” Kit held up her hand in panic. “Shouldn’t you send for a maid?”

The witless question had the desired effect. It pulled him up short. It also brought a frown to his face and darkened his eyes.

Jack stopped in the middle of his wife’s bedroom and placed his hands on his hips, the better to intimidate her into dropping her silly pose. He’d had enough. “What the devil’s the matter with you, woman? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m perfectly qualified to undress you. I hardly need a maid to show me how.” With that statement of intent, he stepped purposefully forward but stopped when he saw sheer alarm flare in Kit’s eyes.

What was the matter with her? Kit wished she knew. If he’d come to her as Captain Jack, she’d have been in his arms in a trice. Making love to Captain Jack had been easy. With Captain Jack there hadn’t been a tomorrow.

But there was no way she could possibly confuse the man standing in the middle of her bedroom with Captain Jack. The physical manifestations were the same, but there the similarity ended. This was Lord Hendon, her husband. The superb cut of his coat, the fine linen of his shirt, the gleaming hair neatly confined, and especially the sapphire signet ring glinting on his right hand, all underlined the essential difference. This was the man she’d married, vowed to honor and obey. This was the man who as of this evening was all things to her. The man who now had legal rights over her far beyond those any other had ever had. Her mind was not capable of equating making love to this man with making love to Captain Jack.

It simply wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the same. Kit drew a shuddering breath. No matter what he thought, she’d never made love to him before.

Jack watched the expressions flit across her pale face and his confusion grew. She couldn’t possibly be nervous, but he hadn’t previously thought her such an accomplished actress. Her eyes were enormous pools of fright, skittering and restless. Her fingers were clenched so tightly on the door of the wardrobe her knuckles showed white. When a shiver of apprehension flickered over her skin, he gave up the fight against incredulity.

She was nervous.

“Hell!” Jack turned toward the bed, running one hand through his hair, disarranging it. Absentmindedly, he tugged at the black riband and freed the long locks, dropping the riband on the floor. He shot a glance at Kit, all but petrified by the wardrobe. If she was nervous, he hoped she’d keep her gaze level, and not let it drop to the bulge he was well aware was distorting the perfect cut of his inexpressibles. Hell and the devil! This looked set to be a long-drawn act, and he wasn’t at all sure he was up to it.

“Come here.” He struggled to soften the raw desire in his growl and only partly succeeded.

Kit’s alarm flared again, but when he held out his hand, imperiously beckoning her forward, she hesitated, then came to his side, slipping a trembling hand into his. Smoothly, Jack drew her into his arms, turning to clasp her fully to him.

“Relax.” He breathed the command into the soft curls by her ear. Now that he had his hands on her, he didn’t need any further confirmation of her state. She was wound tight, quivering with tension. He wasn’t fool enough to ask for explanations. Instead, his lips found the pulse point beneath her ear.

Kit shivered and wondered how she was to obey that order. His lips traveled her jaw, placing gentle kisses along the curve. Reassured she was not about to be devoured, she leaned into the warmth of his embrace, yielding her mouth to his expert attentions.

When her lips parted automatically to receive him, Jack clamped an iron hold on his reactions. What sort of hell