Tucking her curled warmth into one arm, Jack told her of their projected trip, six days in Lisbon followed by the long haul to Bruges, keeping well away from the French coast. After four days in Bruges, they’d head home to Norfolk.
She lay quiet in his arms, and Jack marveled at the peace that held them. They were both wide-awake, but content in their closeness.
Gradually, the perfume of her warm body reached out to flick his senses. He felt his body react and smiled at the ceiling. She’d been well loved, and it was a long way to Lisbon. He closed his eyes. He’d give her another hour or two.
He was woken by Kit scrambling over the bed. “My dress,” she said, catching hold of the garment and kneeling on the bed to inspect it. “You’ve ripped it.” She turned to throw an accusing stare his way. Then she glanced at the large armoire against one wall. “I don’t suppose that contains any dresses?”
Jack grinned and shook his head. Then he frowned. “Haven’t you got another in that bag of yours?” Her black bag had been left near the door.
Kit shook her head. “I didn’t expect to be away from home for long, remember?”
“What’s in there?”
Warily, Kit eyed the long muscled length stretched, relaxed, on the bed. “My breeches. Both pairs.”
Jack’s head came up; his eyes found hers. Then, to her relief, he chuckled and dropped his head back on the pillow. “Actually, I’d hoped you’d be reduced to wearing them when I found you at Jenny’s. I spent the entire trip down from London fantasizing about your punishment.”
Kit stared at him. Fantasizing? She licked her lips. “You never did say what my punishment would be.”
“Didn’t I?” Jack raised his head. One brow rose; his eyes glinted wickedly. “But that’s half the delight. Your imagination running riot in anticipation.”
“Jack!” Kit frowned and shifted on the bed, drawing the counterpane about her. Her imagination was stimulated enough already.
He dropped his head back again, then she felt the bed rock with his deep laughter. “I just had a thought.”
She could see the smile on his face. It grew. He came up on one elbow, the look on his face growing more wicked with every passing second.
“If your breeches are all you’ve got to wear, then perhaps you’d better put them on now. Then we can get your punishment over and done with and you can wear them in Lisbon, until we can buy you some new clothes.”
Kit stared as one arrogant brow rose, sending delicious shivers skittering through her. His gaze held Hers steadily, as if what he was suggesting was the most straightforward proposition in the world. Dazed, Kit reflected that if she had a single proper bone in her body, she would tell him that married women did not indulge in realizing fantasies. Particularly not his fantasies. She concluded she didn’t have a proper bone to her name.
She ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. “What sort of punishment did you have in mind?”
Jack smiled. “Nothing too drastic. Nothing that would hurt. I’d intended it as a purely educational exercise.” He sat up in bed and leaned back to study her, his arms crossed behind his head. “I thought I should widen your experience by showing you what could happen should you be caught by a man while wearing breeches. But you’d have to promise not to squeal.”
Squeal? Kit blinked. This was madness. But she’d never be able to sleep without knowing what he’d planned. Now he’d told her that much, and no more, sometime, somewhere, she’d wear her breeches again just to learn the rest. Why not now?
Jack knew she’d never be able to refuse, to walk away without knowing. Curiosity was something his kitten possessed in abundance. He sat back, entirely confident, and waited for her agreement.
“Perhaps—”
A knock on the stateroom door interrupted Kit’s tentative acceptance.
“Lord Hendon?”
Jack got up and reached for his breeches, a smile still on his lips. “I’ll take care of whatever it is. Why don’t you get dressed?”
Buttoning his breeches, he went out.
Kit stared at the door through which he’d disappeared. She could hear talk in the next room, the voices muffled by the panels. Her gaze dropped to her small black bag, resting where Jack had dropped it, just inside the door.
She was buttoning up the flap of her riding breeches, her back to the door, when she heard Jack enter.
He saw her and, with a half-suppressed whoop, swooped down on her, one arm slipping around her waist to drag her up hard against him, her back to his chest. Without effort, he lifted her feet clear of the floor.
“Jack!” Kit struggled, keeping her voice down, remembering that she mustn’t squeal. She assumed his surprise attack was what he’d meant. He’d certainly startled her. Her hands fastened on the muscled arm about her waist. “Put me down.”
A rumbling chuckle ruffled her curls. Then his lips nuzzled her ear. “Remember, this is your punishment, love. Not something you have any say in. Just something you feel.”