Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

George grimaced and rummaged in his coat pocket. “Here,” he said, holding out the note Kit had sent him. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t need to show you this, but obviously your wife knows your stubbornness even better than I.”

Puzzled, Jack took the note and smoothed it out.

“Read the last sentence,” said George helpfully.

Jack did. I feel sure that you, being so much more in Jack’s confidence, will know better than I how to proceed. Crushing the note in his hand, Jack swore. “How the hell was I supposed to know she felt that strongly over it?” He glared at George.

George was unimpressed. “You knew damn well she wanted to know. Dash it-she deserved to know, after what she did that night on the beach. And as for her recent efforts in the cause-all I can say is she’s been damned understanding.”

Jack was taken aback. “You don’t even approve of her!”

“I know. She’s wild beyond excuse. But that doesn’t excuse you.”

Hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed and smoky grey, Jack glared at George. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve told Amy of our mission?”

Unaffected by Jack’s belligerence, George sat on the chaise. “No, of course not. But the point is, Kit’s not Amy.”

Jack’s lips twisted in a pained grimace. He fell to pacing once more, his brow furrowed. “If I’d told her, God knows what she’d have got up to. Our dealings were too dangerous-I couldn’t expose her to such risks.”

George sighed. “Hell, Jack-you knew, what she was like from the start. Why the devil did you marry her, if you weren’t prepared to accept those risks?”

“I married her because I love her, dammit!”

“Well, if that’s the case, then the rest should come easily.”

Jack shot him a suspicious glance. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means,” said George, “that you wanted her for what she was-what she is. You can’t start changing bits and pieces, expecting her to change in some ways but not in others. Would you be pleased if she turned into another Amy?”

Jack bit back his retort, his lips compressed with the effort to hold back the unflattering reply.

George grinned. “Precisely. Not your cup of tea. Thankfully, she is mine.” The door opened at that moment; George looked up, smiling warmly as Amy entered, preceding her butler, who bore a tray burdened with a variety of strong liquors in addition to the teapot. Dismissing the butler, Amy poured tea for George and herself while George poured Jack a hefty glass of brandy. “Now that we’ve resolved your differences of opinion, what exactly has happened?”

With a warning frown, Jack took the glass. “I came back from London on Monday evening and got your message-as you’d instructed, as soon as I’d crossed the threshold. I went to see our friend, then returned to the Castle. Kit wasn’t there.” He took a swallow of his drink, then pulled a letter from his pocket. “As we seem to be passing my wife’s epistles about, you may as well read that.”

George took the letter. A quick perusal of its few lines had him pressing his lips firmly together to keep from grinning. “Well,” he said, “you can’t claim she’s not clear-headed.”

Jack humphed and took the letter back. “I assumed she’d gone to Cranmer Hall and reasoned she’d be safe enough there until I got back from reporting Anthony’s news to Whitley.”

George’s gaze was exasperated. “Hardly a wise move.”

“I wasn’t exactly in a wise mood at the time,” Jack growled, resuming his frustrated prowl. “I’ve just endured the most harrowing morning of my life. First, I went to Cranmer. I didn’t even make it to the Hall. I met Spencer out riding. Before I could say a word, he asked how Kit was.”

George raised his brows. “Could he have been protecting her-throwing you off the track?”

Jack shook his head. “No, he was as open as the sky. Besides, I can’t see Spencer supporting Kit in this little game.”

“True,” George conceded. “What did you tell him?”

“What could I tell him? That I’d lost his granddaughter, whom I vowed not a month ago to protect till death us do part?”

George’s lips twitched but he didn’t dare smile.

“After enduring the most uncomfortable conversation of my entire life, I raced back to the Castle. I hadn’t thought to ask my people about how she’d left, as she’d obviously made all seem normal, and I didn’t see any point in raising a dust. As it transpired, she’d told Lovis she’d been called to a sick friend’s side. She had my coachman drive her to the King’s Arms in Lynn on Sunday afternoon, from where, according to her, this friend’s brother would fetch her. I checked. She took a room for the night and paid in advance. She had dinner in her room. That’s the last anyone’s seen of her.”

George frowned. “Could someone have recognized her as Young Kit?”

Jack threw him an anguished glance. “I don’t know. I came here, hoping against hope she’d simply laid a trail and then gone to ground with Amy.” He stopped and sighed, worry etched in his face. “Where the devil can she have gone?”

“Why the King’s Arms?” mused Amy. Sipping her tea, she’d been calmly following the discussion. George turned to look at her, searching her face as she frowned, her gaze distant.

Then Amy raised her brows. “The London, coaches leave from there.”

“London?” Jack stood, stunned into stillness. “Who would she go to in London? Her aunts?”

“Heavens, no!” Amy smiled condescendingly. “She’d never go near them. She’d go to Geoffrey, I suppose.”

George saw Jack’s face and leapt in with, “Who’s Geoffrey?”

Amy blinked. “Her cousin, of course. Geoffrey Cranmer.”

The sudden easing of Jack’s shoulders was dramatic enough to be visible. “Thank God for small mercies. Where does Geoffrey Cranmer live?”

Frowning, Amy took another sip of tea. “I think,” she began, then stopped, her frown deepening. “Does Jermyn Street sound right?”

George dropped his head back and closed his eyes. “Oh, God.”

“It sounds all too right.” His jaw ominously set, Jack picked up his gloves. “My thanks, Amy.”

George swung about as Jack made for the door. “For God’s sake, Jack, don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Jack paused at the door, a look of long suffering on his face. “Never fear. Aside from giving her a good shaking, and one or two other physical treatments, I intend to spend a long, long time explaining things-a whole host of things-to my wife.”

At five o’clock, Geoffrey studied the elegant timepiece on his mantel and wondered what he could do to fill the time until dinner. He’d yet to come to a conclusion when the knocker on his door was plied with the ruthless determination he’d been expecting for the last three days.

“Lord Hendon, sir.”

Hemmings had barely got the words out before Jonathon Hendon was in the room. His sharp and distinctly irritated grey gaze swept the furniture before settling with unnerving calm on Geoffrey’s face.

Geoffrey remained outwardly unmoved, rising to greet his wholly expected guest. Inwardly, he conceded several of the points Kit had attempted to explain to him. The man standing in the middle of his parlor, stripping riding gloves off a pair of large hands and returning his welcoming nod with brusque civility, didn’t look the sort to be easily brought to the negotiating table. Now he could understand why Kit had felt it necessary to flee her home purely to gain her husband’s attention.

His knowledge of Jonathon Hendon was primarily based on rumor-not, he was the first to admit, a thoroughly reliable source. Hendon was a number of years his senior; socially, their paths had crossed infrequently. But Jack Hendon’s reputation as a soldier and a rake was close to legendary. Undoubtedly, had the country not been at war, he and Kit would have met much sooner. But how his slip of a cousin coped with the powerful male force currently making itself felt in all sorts of subtle ways in his parlor was beyond Geoffrey’s ability to guess.

“I believe, Cranmer, you have something of mine.”

The steel encased in the deep velvety tones brought Geoffrey’s well-honed defense mechanisms into play. Angry husbands had never been his cup of tea. “She’s not here.” Best to get that out as soon as possible.

Arrested, the grey gaze trapped him. Some of the tension left the large frame. “Where is she?”