Inwardly, Kit was delighted with his raspy growl, but she needed no demonstration of Jack’s possessiveness. She immediately dismissed the idea of making him jealous. But she was truly puzzled by Belville’s presence and felt Jack should hear of her tenuous connection with that questionable peer from her, rather than from Belville. “When I was eighteen, I nearly accepted a proposal of marriage from him.”
Jack tugged the sash of his midnight blue robe open and shrugged the silk from his shoulders. Kit’s mouth went dry as her eyes disobeyed all injunctions and roamed his large and very aroused body, caressing each and every muscle, homing in on the promise of pleasure soon to be enjoyed. She fervently hoped her mention of Belville was not going to mar that pleasure.
But Jack’s “Tell me,” uttered as he stretched out on the bed beside her, was encouraging.
Kit moistened her lips and tried to drag her eyes up to his face and her wits back from whence they’d wandered. She fastened her gaze on Jack’s silver eyes, gleaming under heavy lids. “Did I tell you my uncles and aunts kidnapped me and took me to London to be married for their convenience?”
Jack’s lips twitched. He shook his head. “Lie back, close your eyes, and start at the beginning.”
Kit drew an unsteady breath and did as she was told. His voice had dropped to a husky growl. She commenced her story with her grandmother’s death and her removal from Cranmer Hall. She felt Jack shift and come up on one elbow beside her. As she reached London, she felt a tug loosen the first of the silk bows that held her nightgown closed.
Her narrative faltered. Her lids flickered.
“Keep your eyes shut. Go on.”
Another unsteady breath was necessary before she could. Slowly, her story unfolded, kept moving by Jack’s rumbling prompts. Equally slowly, her nightgown was opened all the way down to her feet. She’d got to refusing her first suitor when she felt the bow on each shoulder give way. A second later, the two halves of her nightgown were lifted from her.
Kit’s voice suspended. She was lying naked beside her husband.
“What happened then?”
“Ah…” It was an effort to collect her wits but, falteringly, she took up her tale. Jack’s fingertips touched her, tracing patterns over her skin. His lips followed the trails they’d laid, but his body, his limbs, never touched her. It was like being made love to by a ghost. Soon, her nipples were hard crests atop her swollen breasts. Her stomach was as tight as a drum. Her skin was a mass of sensitized nerves, flickering in anticipation of his next touch.
Kit had no idea how coherent she was, but Jack seemed to follow her tale. His voice, deep and vibrating with passion, urged her on whenever she failed. But when his lips touched her navel and his fingers grazed her thighs, she gave up.
Resisting the temptation to open her eyes, she replied to his “And?’ with a simple, “Jack, I can’t think, lying here like this.”
“Turn over then.”
She was halfway over before her mind focused. She hesitated, and would have turned back to ask why, but two large hands fastened about her hips and helped her onto her stomach. Resigned, Kit settled her cheek into her pillow, feeling the sensuous slide of silk and satin beneath her, the coolness soothing her aching breasts and that other ache buried in the soft fullness of her belly. Air played over the heated contours of her back. Jack still lay beside her, not touching her at all.
Assuming that after her protest he’d remain that way, Kit took up her story. She made it to Belville’s offer before Jack’s palm made contact with her bottom. Moving in slow, sensuous circles, barely touching, his hand stroked her body to instant life.
“Jack!” Kit’s eyes flew open. She tried to turn, but Jack leaned over her, his chest angled across her back.
“What happened next?” His lips were at her nape.
In a garbled rush, Kit babbled the tale of her eavesdropping, barely aware of what she said. Jack’s hand continued its gentle stroking, extending his area of attentions to the sensitive backs of her thighs. As she recounted her ultimate refusal of Belville’s offer, she felt Jack’s other hand slip beneath her to close possessively about one breast. Kit moaned softly. The hand on her bottom paused, poised on the fullest point in the curve. The fingers about her breast squeezed gently. Kit felt her body tense; her thighs parted slightly. Jack’s hand slipped between, nudging them farther apart. Kit’s tension wound tighter. A long finger slid effortlessly into her.
“Tell me again-what does Belville do?”
What was left of Kit’s mind reeled. She told him, as quickly as she could, as completely as she could, her mind centered on his fingers, sliding easily in and out of her body, delving deep one minute, twirling about the next. She got to the end an instant before her vocal cords seized. “
He heard her. His fingers left her. To her surprise, Kit felt her hips being lifted and a pillow stuffed under her stomach. Jack’s weight pressed against her, then she felt the pressure build between her thighs.
He came into her with a rush. Her mind disintegrated. She gasped, with shock. He held still for a few moments, allowing her to grow accustomed to this latest variation, to get used to the sensation of fullness and the deep penetration he’d achieved. Then he started to move.
Kit soon caught the rhythm, riding his downward thrusts before twisting her hips upward to capture and hold him, before he drew back again. He rode her long, he rode her hard, each deep, controlled stroke sending her closer to ecstasy; she writhed beneath him, wordlessly begging for more. When the final all-consuming wave of passion caught them and flung them clear, exhausted, wrung out, and deliriously sated, Jack collapsed on top of her. His lips caressed her earlobe, before, chuckling, he lifted away and dropped to the bed beside her once more.
“Kitten, if you were any wilder, I’d have to tie you up.”
Moonlight patterned the floor of Kit’s bedroom when Jack woke from his sated slumber. He lay still, savoring the deep contentment of the moment, the warmth of the silken limbs entwined with his. Kit’s breath was a butterfly’s kiss on his collarbone. He resisted the temptation to tighten his arms about her.
The long-case clock in the corridor struck eleven.
Jack stifled a sigh and carefully disengaged from Kit’s embrace. He slipped from her warm bed and found his robe on the floor. Shrugging into it, he paused, looking down on his sleeping wife. Then, a smile on his lips, he turned toward his room.
The instant the doohr to Jack’s room shut behind him, Kit opened her eyes. She blinked rapidly, then sat up, shivering when the cold found her naked shoulders. She dragged the coverlet to her chin and listened.
The heavy tock of the clock was the only sound to reach her straining ears.
Quickly, she slipped from the bed and made for her wardrobe. She’d need to hurry if she was to have any hope of following her husband to his rendezvous.
Chapter 27
The soft shush of the waves on Brancaster beach filled Jack’s ears. Leaning against a rock, he looked across the moonlit sands. In the lee of the cliff, Champion snorted, unhappy at being tied next to Matthew’s gelding. The rest of the Gang had yet to arrive; the boats weren’t due for another hour.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Jack settled down to wait. The memory of the silken limbs he’d left so reluctantly warmed him. She was a passionate woman, his kitten. She’d succeeded in dramatically altering his view of marriage. Before she’d burst into his life, the urge to settle down and manage his inheritance had been driven more by duty than desire. Now, there was nothing he wanted more than to devote his energies to being the lord of Castle Hendon, to watching his children grow, and to taking delight in his wife. He’d no doubt she’d keep him amused-in the bedroom and out of it. Once this mission was finished, he’d be free to follow his own road. Now, thanks to his wild woman, he knew where that road was headed.
His thoughts of Kit reminded him of Lord Belville. He wasn’t sure why she’d mentioned him. He’d never met the man; the only piece of her information that had interested him had been Belville’s connection with Whitehall. As for
