Captain Jack’s Woman / A Gentleman's Honor

Chapter 24

The wedding of Jonathon, Lord Hendon, and Miss Kathryn Cranmer was the highlight of the year in that part of Norfolk. Women from miles about crowded the yard of the tiny church in Docking that had served the Cranmers and Hendons for centuries. Maids from the surrounding houses jostled with farmers’ wives, vying for vantage points from which to Ooh and Aah. All agreed that the bridegroom could not have been more handsome, in his bottle green coat and ivory inexpressibles, his brown hair, tied back in a black riband, glinting in the sunlight. He arrived commendably early and disappeared into the church, accompanied by his friend, Mr. George Smeaton of Smeaton Hall.

The subsequent interval was easily filled with satisfying gossip. The groom, with his military career as well as his natural heritage as a Hendon, provided much of the fare. The only stories known of Miss Kathryn dated from schoolroom days. While these were wild enough to satisfy the most avid gossip, all agreed the lady must have left such scandalous doings behind her. When she was handed down from the Cranmer coach, a slender figure in a cloud of ivory lace, beaded with pearls, the breath caught in every throat, only to be let out, a moment later, in the most satisfied of communal sighs.

The murmur which rose from the congregation behind him told Jack that Kit had arrived. He turned, slowly, and looked down the aisle. She’d paused just inside the church while a teary Elmina resettled her long train. As he watched, Kit started her walk toward him, her hand steady on Spencer’s arm. Behind her veil, she was smiling serenely, her chin tilted at that particular angle he knew so well. As she neared the end of her walk to his side, Jack met her gaze. His lips curved in a slow smile, quite impossible to deny. She looked superb. There were pearls about her throat, others dangled from her ears. Pearl rosettes held the heavy train on her shoulders. Even the headdress that held her delicate veil in place was composed of pearls. None, in his eyes, could vie with the pearl the dress contained.

The service was short and simple. Neither of the chief participants had any difficulty with their vows, uttering them in firm accents perfectly audible to the many guests squeezed into the church.

And then they were running the gamut of well-wishers, lining their route to the Hendon barouche. Jack handed Kit in, then jumped in behind her. “To the Hall, Matthew.”

To Kit’s astonishment, the coachman’s head turned to reveal Matthew’s lugubrious features. “Aye,” he chuckled. He nodded a welcome in her direction before giving the horses the office. A pair of high-stepping bays, they quickly drew the carriage free of the crowd.

Bowling along the country lanes, through shadows shot with sunlight, they had little chance to talk, too occupied with acknowledging the waves and wishes of tenants and other locals lining the way. Only when the carriage turned into the long Cranmer Hall drive did Jack get a chance to settle back and cast a knowledgeable eye over his bride’s gown.

“How did you manage that?” It occurred to him that the gown was a feat bordering on a miracle, given the short notice she’d had.

“It was my mother’s.” Kit glanced down at a lace sleeve, closed with pearl buttons. “She was particularly fond of pearls.”

Jack’s lips twitched. He hadn’t associated his Kit with anything so feminine as jewelry. He wondered how she’d look in the Hendon emeralds. They were somewhere in the Castle. He’d hunt them out and take them to London to be cleaned and reset; their present heavily ornate settings would not suit Kit’s delicate beauty.

They’d decided on a ceremony late in the day, to be followed by a banquet and ball. As the evening wore on, Jack sat at the high table and watched his wife enchant their acquaintances. There was, he reflected, nothing to complain of in Kit’s social graces. Ever since that evening when he’d found her in the gazebo, she’d behaved perfectly. Her demeanor had supported the fiction of their arranged marriage; even the most sharp-eyed observer could find no inconsistency in her manner. So successful had she been in projecting the image of a woman well pleased that Spencer now behaved as if the arrangement had always been in the wind. She was confident and serene; while her attitude held no overt maidenly modesty, neither did it suggest she was aware of her husband in any intimate way.

All of which, of course, was the most complete humbug. But only he knew that the elegant Lady Hendon stiffened slightly whenever he was near, clamping a stubborn hold over her normal responses to him. Only he was aware that she avoided meeting his eyes, using every feminine wile under the sun to accomplish that feat.

He wondered whether she knew what she was doing.

Since that night in the gazebo, he’d not so much as kissed her. She hadn’t given him a chance, and, wise enough to guess at her lack of enthusiasm for their union and the reasons behind it, he hadn’t gone out of his way to create one. Time enough, he’d reasoned, to reel her in once they were married.

Now they were married, and he was rapidly losing patience.

He hadn’t anticipated her degree of social confidence, either. He’d expected her to need help in taking up the role of Lady Hendon. Instead, the mantle had settled easily on her slim shoulders. He now understood why their story of an arranged marriage had been accepted so readily by their neighbors. Kit was the perfect candidate, one who, to all intents and purposes, could be said to have been bred for the position. Her six years in London were the icing on the cake. Aside from anything else, the fact she’d survived those years virgo intacta was the ultimate assurance she was not one of those women he mentally stigmatized as the gilded whores of the ton.

All in all, there was nothing in her manner or morals he wished to change. It was the distance she seemed intent on preserving between them that he could not abide.

Vignettes of memory, drawn from the hours they’d spent in the cottage, flashed through Jack’s mind. With a smothered curse, he stifled them. He took another sip of brandy and watched his wife go down the dance with some local squire. She must know he liked her as she was-would she try to pretend that all the wildness had gone out of her, that by marrying her he’d tamed her?

Jack’s lips twisted in a slow smile. If she thought that, she was in for a surprise. She might try to play the merely dutiful wife, but her fires ran deep. And he knew how to ignite them. Jack glanced at his watch. It was early, but not too early. And who was to gainsay him?

He raised his head and looked over the crowd to where Elmina sat by the door. She saw his nod and slipped away. Excusing himself to Amy, who was seated beside him in deep conversation with George, Jack rose and stepped from the dais.

Kit laughed at yet another weak joke elliptically alluding to her husband’s sexual prowess and expertly turned the conversation into safer channels. There’d been more than one moment that evening when she’d been sorely tempted to let loose the reins of her temper and give her teasing companions the facts. In truth, the facts were far more torrid than anything they imagined.

The music ceased, and she thanked Major Satterthwaite before moving off down the room. Within minutes, she was surrounded by a party of the district’s dames, the ladies Gresham, Marchmont, and Dersingham among them. Their talk was serious, revolving about the redecoration of Castle Hendon. Kit listened with half an ear, making the appropriate noises in the right places. She’d perfected the art of polite conversation during her stay in London. It was a prerequisite for retaining one’s sanity in the ballrooms of the ton. At least the ladies’ conversation was not peppered with allusions to the coming night’s activities. Every teasing comment simply added to her nervousness, which in turn increased her irritation with her own irrationality.

Why on earth should she feel nervous over what was to come? What could Jack possibly do to her-with her-that he hadn’t already done? Images of them, in various positions in the cottage, rose to torment her. Kit smiled and nodded at Lady Dersingham, and wondered whether her fever had truly addled her wits.

Then she saw him approaching through the crowd, stopping to chat here and there as people claimed his attention. But his silver-grey eyes were on her. Her breathing suspended. That familiar sensation of being stalked blossomed in Kit’s midriff. No, it wasn’t the fever that had addled her brain.

Kit wrenched her eyes from her approaching fate, fixing them on the mild features of Lady Gresham, and desperately tried to think of a reason why it was too early to leave for home. For Castle Hendon.

The instant Jack joined the group, she knew it was hopeless. All the ladies, grandes dames every one, positively melted at the first sound of his deep voice. She didn’t bother trying evasion. Instead, she raised her chin and nodded polite acquiescence to his suggestion that they leave. “Yes, of course. I’ll change my clothes.”

With that, she escaped upstairs, not bothering to haul Amy from George’s side.

In her bedroom, a surprise awaited her. Instead of the new carriage dress she’d ordered Elmina to lay out, her maid was smoothing the full skirts of a magnificent emerald velvet riding habit.

“Where did that come from?” Kit shut the door and went to the bed.

“Lord Hendon sent it for you, ma petite. He said you should wear it. Is it not enchanting?”

Kit examined the severe lines of the habit and could not disagree. Her mind raced, considering the implications. Her initial impulse was to refuse to wear clothes her husband had decreed she should wear. But impulse was tempered by caution. A habit meant horses. Kit slipped the heavy ivory wedding dress from her shoulders and Elmina eased it over her hips. Freed of her petticoats, Kit sat before her dressing table while Elmina pulled the pins from her headdress.

She hadn’t discussed how they were to travel to Castle Hendon, leaving Jack to deal with that as his prerogative. She’d imagined they’d go in the barouche. The riding habit said otherwise.

Suddenly enthusiastic, Kit hurried Elmina. A wild ride through the night was just what she needed to dispel her silly trepidation. The knots in her stomach would disappear once they were flying over the fields.

Pirouetting in front of her long mirror, Kit was pleased to approve of her husband’s taste. How had he known? A wry smile twisted her lips. Not only had Jack known she’d prefer to ride, he’d known she’d never refuse to wear the habit in such circumstances. As she’d once remarked, when it came to manipulation, he was a master.

When she appeared at the top of the stairs, it seemed that all of Norfolk had gathered in the front hall. Buoyed by the knowledge that she looked her best, Kit beamed upon them all. As she descended the stairs, an avenue opened from their foot, through the throng, to where Jack waited for her by the door. Even from that distance, Kit caught the glint in his eyes as they swept over her, appreciation glowing in their depths. Pride was etched in every line of his face.

She must have responded to the wishes of those lining her route for they seemed happy enough, but Kit was unaware of anything beyond Jack. He held out one hand as she approached and she slipped her fingers into his, dimly aware of the cheers that rose about them. Then Jack’s fingers tightened about hers and he drew her out onto the porch.

Some had noticed her dress and started whispering. The whispers turned to exclamations when the crowd, pushing through the door behind them, saw the two horses Matthew held prancing in the moonlight. Delia was a shifting black shadow, highlighted by the white flowers someone had plaited into her mane; beside her, Champion’s hide gleamed palely.

Kit turned to Jack.

He lifted one quizzical brow. “Are you game, my lady?”

Kit laughed, her nervousness drowned by excitement. Smiling, Jack led her down the steps and across to the horses. He lifted her to her sidesaddle before swinging up to Champion’s broad back.

Only Spencer approached them, all others too wary of the sharp hooves striking sparks from the flinty drive. He came between them, reaching up to squeeze Kit’s hand before placing it on her pommel with a valedictory pat. Then he turned to Jack. “Take care of her, m’boy.”

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 on earth had he landed himself in this time? Not only did she need to be wooed gently, but her responses were ingrained, a natural part of her that he’d taken care, in their earlier engagements, to encourage. Now they looked set to drive him to the brink of madness. Every time he thought he had their relationship pegged, she invented a new twist to torment him. Mentally gritting his teeth, Jack set about the task of seducing his wife.

Unaware of the trouble she was causing, Kit felt the knots in her stomach ease as Jack’s hands commenced a leisurely exploration of her fully clothed form, his tongue probing the soft contours of her mouth unhurriedly, as if he was willing to spend all night in such intoxicating play. She knew he wouldn’t, but it was a comforting sensation. The kiss deepened by almost imperceptible degrees, his caresses becoming increasingly intimate until she was warmed through. She was glad to slip her arms free of her jacket. Snuggling closer, she pressed her tingling breasts to his chest. His hands roamed her back, molding her to him until her thighs were wedged firmly against his. The evidence of his desire pressed strongly against her stomach. Kit felt a familiar ache grow inside.

What followed was a carefully orchestrated journey into delight. Throughout, Jack held tight to the reins of his desire, not relinquishing his grip even when Kit lay naked beneath him, gasping with desire, her thighs spread, her hips tilting in unmistakable invitation. He sank into her welcoming heat, his jaw clenched with the effort to remain in control, determined that, whatever the cost, she’d have a night of loving she’d never forget.

He filled her and Kit sighed deeply. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of being so thoroughly possessed. Her skin was alive, her swollen breasts ached, her body yearned for completion. When Jack moved within her, she bit her lip and held still, sensing his strength, his hardness, his unrelenting need. Then she moved with him, letting her own need flower, feeding and assuaging his. She wrapped her arms about him, wound her legs about his hips, and let the dance consume them. Their bodies strove, intimately locked, heated and slick. As the glory drew nearer, Kit gasped and surrendered-to passion’s flames, to mind-numbing delight, to incandescent sensation.

When, at last, they lay spent in each other’s arms, and Jack felt the last of Kit’s sweet spasms fade as her breathing slowed into blissfully sated slumber, triumphant possessiveness streaked through him.

She was his. He’d recaptured his wild woman. He’d never let go of her again.

With a sigh of contentment, deepened by the glow of achievement, of satisfaction in a job well-done, Jack turned on his side, taking Kit with him, carefully resettling her against him.

Halfway back from paradise, Kit felt his weight shift but was too deeply sated to protest. She’d forgotten what it was like-to lose her wits, to surrender her senses to the conflagration of their desire. Slow and steady she’d wanted; slow and steady she’d got. Jack’s loving was a potent brew; she was addicted beyond recall. There was no hope of denying it, so she might as well accept it as her lot.

Who knew what lay in store-for her, for him? After tonight, whatever happened, she’d have to face it acknowledging that, for her, only one man held the power to open the doors of paradise.

Her husband. Jack-Lord Hendon.