Page 51 of Captain Jack’s Woman

The observation did nothing for Kit’s confidence. “If I slip off?”

Jack straightened before she could think of any other route of escape. “Hold tight to the pommel. I’ll swim alongside once we’re in the water.” With that, he set his heels to Champion’s sides.

Both horses took to the water as if swimming across bays in the dead of night was a part of their daily routine. Kit envied them their dull brains. Hers was frantic. She clung to the pommel, both hands frozen and fused to the smooth outcrop. As the first wave lapped her legs, she felt Jack’s comforting bulk, warm and solid behind her, evaporate. Swallowing her protest, she turned her head and found him bobbing in the water alongside her.

“Lean forward as if you were riding hard.”

Kit obeyed, relieved to feel the weight of his hand in the small of her back.

A moment later, a wave crashed over her, drenching her with icy water. She shrieked and came up sputtering. Instantly, Jack was beside her, his face alongside hers, his arm over her back, one large hand spread over her ribs, and her breast. “Sssh. It’s all right. I won’t let you go.”

The reassurance in his tone washed through her. Kit relaxed enough to register the position of his hand but was in no mood to protest. If she could have got any closer to him she would have, regardless of any retribution later.

The tide rushed through the narrow neck and into the bay. It carried them forward like flotsam and, in a short time, disgorged them on the sands of the mainland. As soon as Champion’s hooves scraped the bottom, Jack swung up behind Kit. She heaved a sigh of relief and decided not to take exception to the muscular arm that wound about her waist, pulling her back tightly, tucking her into safety against him.

Jack countered the stallion’s surge up the beach, holding him back until the mare’s shorter legs reached the sand. As soon as they left the surf, he pushed Champion into a canter, heading for the closest path off the sand and the relative safety of the trees.

Kit held her peace and waited for Jack to come to a halt and set her down. But he didn’t. Instead he steered Champion straight through the trees bordering the cliff and struck south through the teeming rain. Disoriented, Kit took a few minutes to work out where he was headed. Then her eyes flew wide. He was taking her straight to the cottage!

“Jack! Stop! Er…” Kit struggled to think of a pressing reason for a sudden departure, but her mind froze.

Champion’s stride didn’t falter. “You’ve got to get out of those clothes as soon as possible,” Jack said.

Paralysis set in. Why as soon as possible? Wouldn’t some other time do? For the life of her, Kit couldn’t think of any words to counter his firm assertion. She decided to ignore it. “I can ride perfectly well. Just stop and let me get on Delia.”

The only answer he gave was to turn Champion onto the road to Holme. A few minutes later, they reached the path that led south to the cottage. Fear loosened Kit’s tongue. “Jack—”

“Dammit, woman! You’re soaked. You can’t ride all the way to Cranmer like that. And in case you hadn’t noticed, the storm’s about to break.”

Kit hadn’t noticed. A quick glance around his shoulder showed thunderheads lowering through the gloom. Even as she watched, a bolt of lightning streaked earthward. Kit stopped arguing and snuggled back into the warmth of Jack’s chest. She hated thunderstorms; more importantly, so did Delia. Yet the mare seemed unperturbed, pacing steadily beside Champion. Perhaps she should ask Jack to ride home with her. No—they might have to stop under a tree.

There was no denying she could not afford a chill she couldn’t explain. But what on earth was she to do when she got to the cottage? The thought focused her mind on what had hitherto proved the most reliable reflection of Jack’s state of mind. To her surprise, she couldn’t feel anything—there was none of the firm pressure she’d come to recognize, despite the fact that she was wedged more tightly against him than ever before. What was wrong?

Then the import of his words registered. He’d only meant she had to get out of her wet clothes, not that…Kit blushed. To her shame, she realized she felt no relief at her discovery, only the most intense disappointment. The truth hit her, impossible to deny. Her blush deepened.

Why not admit you wouldn’t mind trying it with him? What have you got to lose? Only your virginity—and who are you saving that for? You know Jack would never hurt you—a bruise or two maybe, but nothing intentional. You’ll be safe with him. Why not take the plunge? And what more perfect night for it—you know you hate trying to sleep during storms.

Kit remained silent, battling her demons.

Despite her beliefs, Jack’s mind was well and truly occupied with her forthcoming seduction. But he was freezing, too. They both needed to get out of the rain-soaked wind whipping across the land. The double meaning in his first statement had been entirely intentional—he couldn’t have planned this night better. He was looking forward to peeling Kit’s wet clothes from her and, after that, he knew just how to warm them both. What he was planning would eradicate any residual chill.

There was no better way to while away a storm.

Chapter 17

The cottage loomed out of the dark, squat and solid, tucked into the protection of the bank behind it. Jack rode straight to the stable. He dismounted, then lifted Kit down. “Go in. The fire should be lit; there’s wood beside it and towels in the wardrobe. I’ll take care of Delia.”

Kit stared through the darkness but couldn’t make out his expression. Dully, she nodded and headed for the cottage door. His last comment was obviously intended to let her know she’d have time to get undressed and dried before he came in. Doubtless there’d be a robe or something in the wardrobe for her to wrap herself in. Presumably, getting into her breeches the other night had slaked Jack’s lust, at least for the present. Either that, or the drenching had doused his ardor. Kit grimaced and reached for the latch.

The main room was lit by the red glow of a smoldering log. With a sigh, Kit fell to her knees on the mat in front of the fireplace. The wood was in a basket to one side. She laid logs on the flames, then sat back and watched them catch. The warmth slowly thawed her chilled muscles. With another sigh, she struggled to her feet.

There were towels on the top shelf of the wardrobe. Kit drew down an armful of blessedly dry linen and went to the fire. Leaving the pile on the end of the bed, she spread one towel on the mat, then pulled up a chair and proceeded to struggle out of her wet clothes. Hat, muffler, and coat she draped on the chair. She sat and pulled off her boots, then knelt on one end of the towel and, after one wary glance at the door, pulled her shirt over her head.

It was a battle to free her shoulders and arms, but eventually she managed it. Her bands were even more trouble, with the knot pulled tight and the sodden material clinging to her skin. She ran through her repertoire of curses before the knot finally gave way. It was a relief to unwind the yards of material and free her breasts.

Kit dropped the long band on the towel and sat back on her heels, letting the fire chase away her chills. Reaching back, she tugged a towel from the pile. Bending forward, she draped the towel over her neck, running the ends over her curls, scattering droplets into the fire. Once her hair had stopped dripping, she dried her arms and back, then started on her breasts.

The door opened.