Captain Jack's Woman (Bastion Club 0.50)

The lad stood perfectly still, shrouded in shadow, his face invisible. “We’re listening.”

Moving slowly, deliberately, Jack sheathed his sword. The tension eased, but he noted that the stripling kept his rapier in his hand. His lips quirked. The lad had his wits about him—if their situations had been reversed, he’d have done the same.

Kit felt much safer when the long sword settled back into its scabbard and felt no compulsion whatever to sheathe hers. The man was more than dangerous, particularly when his features eased, as they’d just done. The slight smile, if it was even that, drew her eyes to his lips. What would they feel like against hers? Would they make her feel…Kit dragged her errant thoughts from the brink of certain confusion. Then another thought struck, out of the blue. What would she feel if he smiled?

But he was talking. Kit struggled to concentrate on his words, rather than letting her mind slide aimlessly into the rich, velvety-deep tones.

“We’d like you to consider a merger.” Jack waited for some response; none came. His cohorts shifted, but the lad made no sign. “Equal footing, equal share in the proceeds.” Still nothing. “With our gangs working together, we’d tie up the coast from Lynn to Wells and farther. We could set our conditions, so we get a decent share of the profits, given the risks we take.”

That idea caused a stir. Jack was pleased with the result, given that only half his mind was concentrating on his arguments. The better half was centered on the lad. Now, with his mates looking pointedly to him, the boy shifted slightly. “What exactly’s in this for us?”

It was a sensible question, but Jack could have sworn the lad paid scant attention to his answer.

While ostensibly listening to Captain Jack extoll the obvious virtues of operating as part of a larger whole, Kit wondered what on earth she was to do. The merger would be in the best interests of her small band. Captain Jack had already demonstrated an uncommon degree of ability. And good sense. And he didn’t seem overly bloodthirsty. Noah and company would be as safe as they could be under his guidance. But for herself, every sense was screaming the fact that remaining anywhere near Captain Jack was tantamount to lunancy. He’d eat her for breakfast, or worse. Even in bad light, she wasn’t sure of her ability to fool him—he seemed suspicious already.

He’d come to the end of his straightforward explanation and was waiting for her reply. “What’s in a merger for you?” she asked.

Jack’s feelings for the stripling became even more confused as grudging respect and exasperation were added to the list. He hadn’t entered the clearing with any real plan; the idea of a merger had leapt ready-formed to his mind, more in response to a need to accommodate the lad than anything else. His explanation of the benefits to them had been easy enough, but what possible benefits were there to him? Other than the truth?

Jack looked directly at the slim figure, still wreathed in shadows before him. “While you’re operating independently, the agents can use you as competition to force us to accept whatever price they offer. Without competition, we’d be better off.” He stopped there, leaving the other way of reducing competition unvoiced. He was sure the lad would get the message.

Kit did, but she was not convinced she understood the full ramifications of a merger, nor that she ever would, not while Captain Jack stood before her. “I’ll need time to consider your offer.”

Jack smiled at the formal phrasing. He nodded. “Naturally. Shall we say twenty-four hours?”

His smile was every bit as unnerving as his frown. In fact, Kit decided, she preferred his frown. She only just managed to stop her bewildered nod. “Three days,” she countered. “I’ll need three days.” Kit glanced around at the faces of her men. “If the rest of you want to join them now…”

Noah shook his head. “No, lad. You rescued us, you took us on. Decision’s yours, I’m thinking.” A murmur of agreement came from the rest of the group.

Jack’s look of surprise was fleeting, wiped from his face by the lad’s next words.

Kit spoke to Noah. “I’ll be in touch.” Inside, she was feeling most peculiar. Decidedly fluttery and weak at the knees. She had to get out of this, and soon, before she did something too feminine to overlook. Steeling herself, she faced Captain Jack and inclined her head regally. “I’ll meet you here, seventy-two hours from now, and give you our answer.”

With that, Kit walked off toward Delia, praying their unexpected and unnerving guests would accept their dismissal.

Her unconscious arrogance left Jack reeling again. He recovered his equilibrium in time to see the slim figure swing up to the saddle of the black. The horse was pure Arab, not a doubt about it, and a mare as he’d supposed. Jack’s eyes narrowed. Surely there’d been too much swing in the lad’s swagger? When on a horse, it was difficult to judge, yet the boy’s legs seemed uncommonly long for his height and more tapered than they ought to be.

With no more than a nod for his men, the lad headed the mare out of the clearing. Jack stared at the black-garbed figure until it merged into the night, leaving him with a headache and, infinitely worse, no proof of the conviction of his senses.

Chapter 7

By the time they reached the cottage that night, Jack didn’t know what he thought of Young Kit. They’d learned the lad’s name from the smugglers, but it was clear the men knew little else of their leader. They were sensible, solid fishermen, forced into the trade. It seemed unlikely such men, many fathers themselves, rigidly conservative as only the ignorant could be, would give loyalty and unquestioning obedience to Young Kit if he was other than he pretended to be.

Leaving Matthew to see to the horses, Jack strode into the cottage. George followed. Halting by the table, Jack unbuckled his sword belt and scabbard. Turning, he went to the wardrobe, opened it, and thrust the scabbard to the very back, then shut the door firmly. “That’s the end of that little conceit.” Hinging himself into a chair, Jack rested both elbows on the table and ran his hands over his face. “God! I might have killed the whelp.”

“Or he might have killed you.” George slumped into another chair. “He seemed to know what he was about.”

Jack waved dismissively. “He’s been taught well enough, but he’d no strength to him.”

George chuckled. “We can’t all be six-foot-two and strong enough to run up cathedral belltowers with a wench under each arm.”

Jack snorted at the reminder of one of his more outrageous exploits.

When he remained silent, George ventured, “What made you think of a merger? I thought we were just there to spy out the opposition.”

“The opposition proved devilishly well organized. If it hadn’t been for Champion, we wouldn’t have found them. There didn’t seem much point in walking away again. And I’ve no taste for killing wet-behind-the-ear whelps.”

A short silence descended. Jack’s gaze remained fixed in space. “Who do you think he is?”