Page 84 of Captain Jack’s Woman

It was an effort, but Kit swallowed the curse that rose to her lips. Her husband’s calm gaze hadn’t wavered. He was watching her, politely attentive but with the cool certainty that he’d be the victor in this little contretemps stamped all over his arrogant face. This was the side of Jack she didn’t know but had surmised must exist; this was Jonathon.

Kit tried a different tack. “Why?”

Explaining was not his style, but in this case, Jack knew the ground to be firm beneath his feet. She was new to his bridle; it wouldn’t hurt to give his reasons. “Firstly, as Lady Hendon, your behavior will be taken as a standard for others to follow, a status not accorded Miss Kathryn Cranmer but a point I’m sure Lady Marchmont and company would quickly make clear to you if I did not.” He paused to let the implication of that sink in. Strolling toward the chair behind which Kit had taken refuge, he continued: “There’s also the fact that your safety is of prime concern to me.” Another pause enabled him to trap her gaze in his. “And I don’t consider riding the countryside alone a suitably safe pastime for my wife.”

Was he really just concerned for her welfare? Kit opened her mouth, but Jack held up a hand to stop her.

“Spare me your arguments, Kit. I won’t change my mind. Spencer let you ride alone for far longer than was acceptable. He’d be the first to admit it.” Kit stiffened as Jack’s gaze slowly traveled the length of her slim frame. A subtle smile twisted his lips. “You’re not a child anymore, my dear. You are, in fact, a most delectable plum. One I’ve no intention of letting any other man taste.”

One arrogant brow lifted, inviting her comment. Kit bit her lip, then blurted out: “If I were in breeches, no man would look twice at me.”

She shifted uneasily as she watched Jack’s smile grow. It wasn’t entirely encouraging, for it didn’t reach his eyes.

“If I ever come upon Lady Hendon in breeches, do you know what I’ll do?”

The soft, velvety tones transfixed Kit. She felt her eyes grow round, trapped in her husband’s gaze. Little flames flickered deep. Slowly, all but mesmerized, Kit shook her head.

“Wherever we are, indoors or out, I’ll take great delight in removing said breeches from her.”

Kit swallowed.

“And then—”

“Jack!” Kit scowled. “Stop it! You’re just trying to scare me.”

Jack’s brows flew. He reached out and, to Kit’s surprise, pushed the chair from between them. She hadn’t realized he was so close. Before she could react, he caught her elbows and pulled her to him. Trapped within the circle of his arms, Kit looked into his face, her pulse accelerating. A peculiarly devilish look had settled over his features. “Am I?”

For the life of her, Kit couldn’t decide if he was teasing or not.

“Try me, by all means, if you doubt it.”

The invitation was accompanied by a look which made Kit vow not to call his bluff. She became engrossed in smoothing his lapel. “But I need the exercise.”

Even as the plaintive words escaped her lips, Kit realized her error. Her eyes flew wide; there was no way she would risk looking up.

A nerve-stretching pause ensued. “Really?” came the mild reply.

Kit wasn’t about to answer.

“I’ll bear that in mind, my dear. I’m sure I can devise any number of novel ways to exercise you.”

Kit didn’t doubt it. The tremor in the deep voice suggested he didn’t either. A maxim of Lady Gresham’s recurred in her mind. When all else fails, try cajoling. She looked up. “Jack—”

But he shook his head. “Give over, Kit. I won’t change my mind.”

Kit stared into his perfectly serious eyes and knew it was beyond her powers to sway him. With a sigh of exasperation, of deep frustration, she grimaced at him.

He kissed her pouting lips. And kept kissing them until she yielded. Feeling her wits slip their moorings, Kit summoned enough will for one mental curse against masterful men, before settling down to enjoy one.

For the rest of that day, she maintained an attitude that was the very essence of wifely complaisance. Her halo positively glowed. Her husband had insisted—she’d desisted. If she couldn’t win the bout, she was determined to make the most of her defeat. Unfortunately, Jack showed every sign of being overly understanding. When he used her newfound meekness to trap her into agreeing to retire early, Kit rapidly reverted to her usual argumentative self. Only by then it was too late.

She had her revenge two days later, when the question of her visiting the shops in Lynn arose. It quickly became clear that Jack was not enamored of the idea of her being simultaneously out of his sight and off Hendon lands. She simply shrugged. “If you want to come with me, I’ve no objection.” She kept her eyes, wide and innocent, on the gloves she was buttoning up. “But I hadn’t imagined you sitting in on all the visits I’ll have to pay in a few weeks. Not but what the ladies would be only too pleased to see you.”

She won her carriage by default. But when she descended the front steps on her husband’s arm, it was to see, not one, but two footmen waiting in attendance. She hesitated only a moment, taken aback by the sight but, by now, too wise not to accept the better part of victory with good grace. The footmen dogged her steps throughout her expedition.

Despite such adjustments, the end of their first week of married life arrived without major drama. Settled in an armchair before the fire in the library, Kit yawned and gave in to one of her favorite fascinations, studying the way her husband’s brown hair glinted gold in lamplight. He was seated at the huge desk placed across one corner of the room, going through a ledger. Their interactions had fallen into a routine, a fact for which she was grateful. After so many years essentially alone, she found it reassuring to know when Jack would be with her and when her mind would be free to deal with the more mundane of Lady Hendon’s duties. To her surprise, she was fast coming to the conclusion that married life would suit her after all.

Her days tended to start at dawn, although she’d not yet managed to leave her bed before nine. Her previous habit of riding before breakfast had died a death, thanks to Jack’s amorous inclinations. He still rode early, though how he managed it was beyond her. After the shortest of recuperative naps, he’d be up and about while she lay sprawled under her green satin coverlet, her limbs weighted with delicious languor, utterly incapable of moving, let alone thinking. After bathing, dressing, and breakfasting, usually alone, she would check with Mrs. Miles and issue her orders for the day. The time before luncheon was easily filled with trips to the stillroom, the laundry, the kitchen or the gardens. Jack usually joined her for luncheon, after which, on all but one day, he made himself available to escort her on a ride. She’d accepted his offers with alacrity, thankful not to have to forgo her daily round with Delia.