Kit closed her eyes. She wished she hadn’t heard that. Her nerves were in turmoil. What fiendishly arousing act had he planned? She hadn’t a single doubt as to its nature. His shaft was already hard and throbbing, pressed between the firm hemispheres of her bottom.
She didn’t have to wait long to learn her punishment.
“I really don’t think,” her husband continued conversationally, his fingers rapidly undoing the buttons she’d just done up, “that you appreciate just how fast a man can have at you when you’re dressed in breeches.”
With that, he pulled the offending garment down, letting it slip from her thighs to hang from the closures above her calves.
“And given that you’re so easily aroused,” he went on, moving closer to a chair which was facing away from them. He let Kit slide down until her toes touched the ground. With a gasp, she grabbed the back of the chair with both hands as she felt Jack’s fingers slide effortlessly into her. They withdrew and returned, delving deep, then left her.
“It takes but a second before you’ve…”
She felt him, hard and hot, behind her.
“Been…”
He lifted her hips slightly, the head of his swollen shaft nudging into her.
&
nbsp; “Had.” Then he drove home.
The young cabin boy was leaving the Master’s cabin when he heard a very feminine “Oo-oh!” emanate from behind the oak door at the end of the corridor. His eyes widened. He cast a glance at the stairs but there was no one about. Quickly, he put down his tray and hurried to press his ear against the door to the bedroom.
At first, he heard nothing. Then his sharp ears caught a low moan, followed by another. One particularly long-drawn moan made his toes curl. Then he heard, quite distinctly, a definitely feminine voice sigh, “Oh, Jack!”
Epilogue
November 1811
The Old Barn near Brancaster
The wind whistled in the eaves of the Old Barn. It sent cold fingers sneaking through the crevices between the boards to set the lamp hung from the rafters wobbling. Shadows dipped and swayed eerily, ignored by the men gathered under the derelict roof. They were waiting. Waiting for their leader to return.
Captain Jack had led them to success after success. Under him, they’d enjoyed stability and strong leadership; he’d welded them into an efficient force, one they all felt proud to be a part of. They’d steered clear of the Revenue and of any more heinous crimes. They’d suffered no losses, other than poor Joe. And, thanks to Captain Jack, his family had been well taken care of.
All in all, Captain Jack’s reign had been one of prosperity. The news that he’d been forced to retire had hit them hard. George, Jack’s friend, had brought the news, more than a month ago. Since then, they’d done little, too demoralized to reorganize.
Then, last week, the message had gone around. Captain Jack was back. They’d gathered this foggy Monday night in the expectation of seeing their leader return.
George and Matthew had arrived. As ever, they’d taken up positions on either side of the door. The men chatted quietly, anticipation riding high.
A sudden gust howled about the roof; fingers of fog wreathed about the rickety door. Then the doors opened and a man strode in, fog clinging like a cloak to his broad shoulders. He walked in as Jack had always walked, to stand directly under the lamp, swinging high above.
The smugglers stared.
It was Jack, yet a Jack they’d never seen. His clothes marked him clearly as one born to rule. From the high gloss of his Hessians, to the faultless crease of his cravat, he was Quality. The grey eyes they all remembered scanned their faces, impressing power just as they recalled, only this time the personal strength was backed by social standing.
“Jack?” The puzzled question was asked by Shep, his grizzled brows knitted in consternation.
The slow smile they all remembered twisted the man’s lips. “Lord Hendon.”
The name should have sent shivers down every spine, but they all knew this man, knew he’d smuggled alongside them, that he’d saved their hides a good few times. So they sat and waited to have the mystery explained.
Jack’s grin grew. He took up his usual stance, feet apart, under the light. “It’s like this.”
He told them the story, simply, without detail or embellishment. The essential points were enough for them to grasp. He made no mention of Young Kit, a fact some noted but none made comment upon. When they grasped the fact they’d been helping His Majesty’s government to apprehend spies, the atmosphere lightened considerably. When Jack showed them the pardon he’d brought for them all, and read the official decree, they simply stared.
“This will be posted in all the Revenue Offices in Norfolk. It means that as of today, you’re absolved of any crime under the Customs Act committed up until last night.” Jack rolled the parchment up and tucked it into his pocket. “What you do with your lives from now on is up to you. But you’ll be starting with a clean slate, so I’d urge you all to think carefully before you re-form the Hunstanton Gang.” He smiled, wryly, convinced that no matter what he said, after a spell, the Hunstanton Gang would live again. “You’ll doubtless be pleased to know that I’m retiring as High Commissioner. In fact, it’s doubtful there will be another appointment made to the post.”