Captain Jack's Woman (Bastion Club 0.50)

Resolutely, she shook her head. “I can’t risk it. He’s suspicious already. Men can’t be trusted—and men like Captain Jack are even less trustworthy than the rest.”

Who said anything about trust? If he realizes Young Kit’s not all he seems, well and good. You might even learn what you’re dying to know—what price a little experience against the years of lonely spinsterhood ahead? You know you’ll never marry, so what good is your closely guarded virtue? And who’s to know? You can always disappear, once your men have settled in with his.

“And what happens if I get caught, if things don’t go as planned?” Kit waited, but her wild self remained prudently silent. She sighed, then frowned as she saw a maid looking this way and that amongst the rosebushes. With a rustle of starched petticoats, Kit rose. “Dorcas? What’s amiss?”

“Oh! There you be, miss. Jenkins said as you might be out ’ere.”

“Yes. Here I am.” Kit stepped down from her retreat.

“Am I wanted?”

“Oh, yes, if you please, miss. The Lord Lieutenant and his lady be here. In the drawing room.”

Hiding a grimace, Kit headed indoors. She found Lady Marchmont ensconced on the chaise, listening with barely concealed boredom to the conversation between her husband and Spencer. At the sight of Kit, she perked up. “Kathryn, my dear!” Her ladyship surged up in a froth of soft lace.

After exchanging the usual pleasantries, Kit sat on the chaise. Lady Marchmont barely paused to draw breath. “We’ve just come from Castle Hendon, my dear.Such an impressive place but sadly in need of a woman’s touch these days. I do believe Jake hadn’t had the curtains shaken since Mary died.” Lady Marchmont patted Kit’s hand. “But I don’t suppose you remember the last Lady Hendon. She died when the new Lord Hendon was just a boy. Jake raised him.” Her ladyship paused; Kit waited politely.

“I thought I should pass the word on directly.” Lord Marchmont’s voice, lowered conspiratorially, came to Kit’s ears. She glanced to where Spencer and the Lord Lieutenant sat on chairs drawn together, the two grey heads close.

“Mind you, such being the case, it’s a wonder he’s not positively wild. Heaven knows, Jake was the devil himself in disguise, or so many of us thought.” Lady Marchmont made this startling revelation, a dreamy smile on her lips.

Kit nodded, her eyes on her ladyship’s face, her attention elsewhere.

“Hendon’s made it clear he’s not particularly interested in the commercial traffic, as he put it. He’s here after bigger game. Seems there’s word about that this area’s a target for those running cargo of a different sort.” Lord Marchmont paused meaningfully.

Spencer snorted. Kit caught the sharpness in his comment, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“But I dare say one shouldn’t judge a book by its binding.” Lady Marchmont raised her brows. “Perhaps, in this case, he really is a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”

Kit smiled, but she hadn’t heard a word. She was far too concerned with learning what sort of cargo interested the new High Commissioner.

“Human cargo,” Lord Marchmont pronounced with heavy relish.

“Mind you, I’m not sure but what it’s better the other way around.” Lady Marchmont brightened.

“Seems they’ve blocked the routes out of Sussex and Kent, but they didn’t catch all the spies.” Lord Marchmont leaned closer to Spencer. “They think those left will try this coast next.”

“But just fancy, my dear. He keeps city hours down here. Doesn’t rise until noon.” An unladylike humph escaped Lady Marchmont. “He’ll have to change, of course. Needs someone to help him adjust. Must be hard to pick up country ways after so many years.”

A frown nagged at Kit’s brows. As Lady Marchmont’s bemused stare penetrated her daze, she wiped her expression clean and nodded seriously. “I dare say you’re right, ma’am.”

Her ladyship blinked. Kit realized she’d slipped somewhere and tried to focus on her ladyship’s words, rather than her lord’s.

Lady Marchmont’s face cleared. “Oh—are you imagining he’s a fop? Not a bit of it!” She waved one plump hand, and Kit’s mind slid away.

“Hendon suggested I quietly let the message get about. Just to the right people, y’know.” Lord Marchmont set down his teacup.

“His dress is very precise—the military influence, I dare say. But you’d know more about that than I, being so newly returned from the capital.” Lady Marchmont chewed one fat finger. “Elegant,” she pronounced. “You’d have to call him elegant.”

Kit’s eyes glazed. Her head was spinning.

“Did he now?” Spencer eyed Lord Marchmont shrewdly.

Lady Marchmont

leaned forward and whispered: “Lucy Cartwright’s got her eye on him for her eldest, Jane. But nothing’ll come of that.”

“Seemed to think he might need a bit of support if it came to a dustup,” Lord Marchmont said. “The Revenue are stretched thin these days.”