Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

Prologue

April 1811

The Old Barn near Brancaster

Norfolk, England

Three horsemen pulled out of the trees before the Old Barn. Harness jingled, faint on the night breeze, as they turned their horses’ heads to the west. Clouds shifted, drifted; moonlight shone through, bathing the scene.

The Old Barn stood silent, watchful, guarding its secrets. Earlier, within its walls, the Hunstanton Gang had gathered to elect a new leader. Afterward, the smugglers had left, slipping into the night, mere shadows in the dark. They would return, nights from now, meeting under the light of a storm lantern to hear of the next cargo their new leader had arranged.

“Captain Jack!” As he swung his horse onto the road, George Smeaton frowned at the man beside him. “Do we really need to resurrect him?”

“Who else?” Mounted on his tall grey, Jonathon Hendon, better known as Jack, gestured expansively. “That was, after all, my nom de guerre.”

“Years ago. When you were dangerous to know. I’ve lived the last years in the comfortable belief that Captain Jack had died.”

“No.” Jack grinned. “He’s merely been in temporary retirement.” Captain Jack had been active in more devil-may-care days, when, between army engagements in the Peninsula, the Admirality had recruited Jack to captain one of his own ships, harassing French shipping up and down the Channel. “You have to admit Captain Jack’s perfect for this job-a fitting leader for the Hunstanton Gang.”

George’s snort was eloquent. “Poor blighters-they’ve no idea what they’ve let themselves in for.”

Jack chuckled. “Stop carping-our mission’s proceeding better than I’d hoped, and all in only a few weeks of coming home. Whitehall will be impressed. We’ve been accepted by the smugglers-I’m now their leader. We’re in a perfect position to ensure no information gets to the French by this route.” His brows rose; his expression turned considering. “Who knows?” he mused. “We might even be able to use the traffic for our own ends.”

George raised his eyes heavenward. “Captain Jack’s only been with us half an hour, and already you’re getting ideas. Just what wild scheme are you hatching?”

“Not hatching.” Jack threw him a glance. “It’s called seizing opportunity. It occurs to me that while our principal aim is to ensure no spies go out through the Norfolk surf, and perhaps follow any arrivals back to their traitorous source, we might now have the opportunity to do a little information passing of our own-to Boney’s confusion, needless to say.”

George stared. “I thought that once we’d investigated any recent human cargoes, you’d shut the Hunstanton Gang down.”

“Perhaps.” Jack’s gaze grew distant. “And perhaps not.” He blinked and straightened. “I’ll see what Whitehall thinks. We’ll need Anthony, too.”

“Oh, my God!” George shook his head. “Just how long do you imagine the Gang will swallow your tale that we’re landless mercenaries, dishonorably discharged no less, particularly once you take full command? You’ve been a major for years, landed gentry all your life. It shows!”

Jack shrugged dismissively. “They won’t think too hard. They’ve been looking for months for someone to replace Jed Brannagan. They won’t rock the boat-at least, not soon. We’ll have time enough for our needs.” He twisted, glancing back at the third rider, a length behind to his left. Like himself and George, a native of these parts, Matthew, his longtime batman, now general servant, had merged easily into the smuggling band. “We’ll continue to use the old fishing cottage as our private rendezvous-it’s secluded, and we can guard against being followed.”

Matthew nodded. “Aye. Easy enough to check our trail.”

Jack settled in his saddle. “Given the smugglers are all from outlying farms or fishing villages, there’s no reason they should stumble on our real identities.”

Checking his horse, Jack turned left, into the narrow mouth of a winding track. George followed; Matthew brought up the rear. As they climbed a rise, Jack glanced back. “All things considered, I can’t see why you’re worrying. Captain Jack’s command of the Hunstanton Gang should be plain sailing.”

“Plain sailing with Captain Jack?” George snorted. “When pigs fly.”