Captain Jack's Woman (Bastion Club 0.50)

As he followed Kit down the narrow stairs, Jack closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His resolution was fraying with every step. The sight of her hips, swaying to and fro before him, was more than he could stand.

His quarters lay at the end of the short corridor, spread across the vessel’s square stern. The door he held open for Kit led into the room he used as his study and dining room. A single door led into the bedroom, the two rooms spanning the stern. Both rooms had windows instead of portholes, set in under the overhanging poop deck.

The bright light reflected from the water hit Kit instantly as she entered the room. She blinked rapidly; it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Then, drawing a very deep breath, she swung to face her husband.

Only to see him disappear through another door.

“The bedroom’s through here.” Jack reappeared immediately. Kit realized he’d left her bag in the room. His demeanor hadn’t altered in the slightest. It was still politely blank, almost vacant, as if they were mere acquaintances embarking on a cruise. He still hadn’t met her eyes.

“I’ll leave you to refresh yourself. We’ll be departing with the tide.” With that, he turned to leave.

The rage that gripped Kit was so powerful that she swayed. She grabbed a chair back for support. Just like that? She was being deposited in the cabin like some piece of baggage, and he thought he could walk away?

She was beyond fury, even beyond rage. Kit’s temper was now in orbit. “Will you be back?”

The words, uttered in precise and icy tones, halted Jack.

Slowly, he turned. He was nearly at the door; Kit stood with her back to the windows. The light streaming in left her face in shadow; he couldn’t make out her expression.

Jack stared at his wife and felt a familar ache in his arms, in his loins. She was so damned beautiful. Despite her less-than-placatory tone, his righteous anger melted away, leaving a hollow ache. “Strange,” he said. “That’s a question I’ve been asking of you.”

The sincere doubt, the vulnerability revealed, pierced Kit’s rage; nothing else could have hauled her back to earth. She blinked—and suddenly felt cold. “You couldn’t have thought I intended to leave you permanently?”

When Jack’s face remained shuttered, Kit frowned. “I didn’t intend…that is, I…” Abruptly, she shook her wits into order. This was ridiculous! What misguided notion had he taken into his head? Drawing in an exasperated breath, she laced her fingers together, fixed her gaze on her husband’s grey eyes and clearly enunciated: “I only meant my absence to focus your attention on my wish to be informed as to what was going on. I never intended to be away from Castle Hendon for longer than a few days.”

Slowly, Jack raised his brows. “I see.” He paused, then, strolling forward, said: “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that I might be…concerned for your safety?” Kit turned as he neared; he could now see her face. “That; given your propensity for landing yourself in dangerous situations, I might, with justification, feel worried over your well-being?” The arrested look in Kit’s large eyes stated quite clearly that the idea had never occurred to her. Abruptly, Jack’s mock anger crystallized into the real thing. “Damn it, woman! I was worried sick!”

His bellow shook Kit. She grasped the chair back with both hands and blinked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” Her words trailed into fascinated silence as, wide-eyed, she watched her husband fight to shackle his temper, a temper she’d never seen unleashed. He vibrated with angry tension, muscles clenched as if to hold the violence in. His grey eyes burned with a dark flame.

Jack heard her words through a haze of conflicting emotions, the suppressed fears of the past week unexpectedly erupting. Anger overrode all else—the damned woman really didn’t understand. “In that case,” he said, his voice a steely growl, “I suggest you listen very carefully, my love. Because the next time you endanger yourself recklessly, without me by your side, I swear I’ll tan your pretty hide.”

Trapped in the grey fury of his gaze, Kit felt her eyes grow rounder, a species of delicious fright tickling her spine. He’d called her his love— that would do for a start. His confession sounded promising.

With an effort, Jack forced himself to remain where he was, a bare three feet from his wife. If he touched her now, they’d go up in flames. He fixed his eyes on hers and enunciated clearly: “I love you, as you damned well know. Every time you head into danger, I worry!” Her eyes searched his; he saw her lips soften. Abruptly, he swung away and started to pace. “Not a passive emotion, this worry of mine. When in its throes, I can’t think straight! I know you’ve never run in anyone’s harness before. But you married me—you vowed to obey. Henceforth, you’ll do precisely that.” Jack came to a halt and fixed Kit with an intimidating stare. “Henceforth, you’ll tell me before you embark on any escapade beyond what your dear friend Amy would countenance. And if I forbid it, so help me, you’ll forget it. If not, I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll lock you in your room!”

His voice had risen. His final threat struck Kit while she was still engrossed with his first revelation. He loved her. He’d said so, in words, out loud. In silence, she stared at him, her gaze softening, caressing the angry lines of his cheek and jaw. Her mind belatedly scrambled to catch up. Did worry over her truly affect him so? Is this what love did to him?

With a frustrated groan, Jack turned and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. He swung up the short stairway and headed for the foredeck, his only aim to cool his heated brain before he returned to his cabin and made passionate love to his wife. He was so wracked with violent emotions he didn’t trust himself to lay hands on her delicate limbs. She bruised easily enough as it was.

Kit stared at the cabin door. Her face drained of emotion, then she stiffened. Her eyes flared, purple flames erupting from the violet depths.

How dare he? One moment, vowing love and demanding obedience, the next, walking out on her, as if he’d said the final word.

“Hah!’ Kit drew a deep breath and drew herself up, her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed. If he thought he was going to so easily escape the rest of their discussion, the clear statement of what she wanted henceforth from him, he was wrong! She’d wanted his attention—she’d got it. But he hadn’t left it with her long enough!

With a determined stride, Kit made for the door.

His arms on the foredeck railing, Jack watched the waves slide under the bow. They’d slipped their moorings and were heading for the mouth of the harbor. Soon, the heavy swell of the ocean would tilt the decks. He drew a deep breath and felt sanity return.

Looking back, he couldn’t recall a single instance throughout their association when Kit had allowed his plans to proceed without remodeling. He’d had their recent discussion carefully organized. He’d intended explaining to her what he felt when she went into danger, that she’d have to learn to cope with the ramifications of his love. He’d managed that but her patent surprise that he should feel so strongly for her had slipped under his guard and distracted him. His statements of intent had been far more aggressive than he’d planned.

He grimaced. That wasn’t the worst of it. He’d forgotten the rest of his orchestrated performance, arguably the most important part. He’d omitted to tell her that he understood her need to know what he was about and that, henceforth, he was prepared to share even that aspect of his life with her.

Jack was drawing a last deep breath of calming sea air when he sensed a disruption behind him. He swung about to see Kit making for the foredeck, oblivious of the sailors she swept from her path. One glance at the set of her chin told him she was about to upset the plans he’d just made.

For one instant, Jack paused to admire the magnificent figure she cut, her lithe body outlined by her elegant carriage dress, her halo of curls gleaming in the sunshine. But he couldn’t afford more time to stand transfixed by admiration. His Kit was no angel. In another minute, when she reached the foredeck, she was going to irretrievably damage his reputation—if not worse.

Kit had to concentrate to manage the ladder to the foredeck with her skirts held before her. She’d seen Jack’s tall figure at the rail and made straight for him. The foredeck looked a perfectly wonderful spot to tell him what she thought of his henceforths, limited, as they were, to her.