Jack’s growl was every bit as intimidating as the pressure in her back. Kit froze, but within seconds she was uncomfortable again. She had to get her mind off the physical plane. “Where are we going?” They were skirting Marchmont Hall in a northwesterly direction; they could be headed anywhere.
“Cranmer.”
“Oh.”
Jack frowned. Was that disappointment he heard in her husky voice? Perhaps he should change his plans and take her to the cottage instead. Was she ready to give over her games and take him on? The last question dampened his ardor. Despite her relative calm, he didn’t think she was particularly pleased at being removed from the ball. A few more nights would dim the memory sufficiently. Two nights, to be precise.
Kit tried to stay still, but her mind wouldn’t let go of the fascinating subject of Jack’s anatomy. She wondered if Lord Hendon was better equipped and wished the woman in the shrubbery had been more explicit. Her own experience in the matter was all but nonexistent. But the insistent pressure in the small of her back provoked the most intense speculation.
Luckily for her peace of mind, recollection of Lord Hendon, that unattained object of her daringly scandalous escapade, rekindled her ire. Her brilliantly conceived and faultlessly executed plan to gain firsthand knowledge of his elusive lordship was ending in ignominious retreat, before her quarry had even been sighted. The thought lowered Kit’s spirits dramatically. For a full mile, she sat engulfed in a mood perilously close to a petulant sulk.
Jack was taking her home. Gratitude was not the predominant emotion coursing through her veins. What right had he to interfere?
Abruptly, Kit sat bolt upright. No matter what rationale he gave, Jack had no right to meddle in her affairs. Yet here she was, being taken home like a wayward child who’d been caught watching the adults at play. And she’d let him! What was the matter with her? She’d never let anyone, even Spencer, treat her with such high-handedness.
“You really are an arrogant swine!” she exclaimed.
Jerked from salacious dreams, Jack didn’t trust his ears. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. If you had any real concern for my welfare, you’d turn Delia around this instant and take me back to the ball. Only now it’s too late,” Kit ended lamely. “There won’t be enough time before the unmasking.”
“Time for what?” Jack was puzzled. If she hadn’t gone to the ball for a lark, what possible reason could she have?
“I wanted to meet someone—to see what he’s like—but you kidnapped me before I got the chance!”
The aggrieved note in Kit’s voice was genuine enough to touch a chord of sympathy. And awaken Jack’s curiosity.
“You were waiting for a man? Who?”
Beneath her breath, Kit swore. Damn! How had that slipped out?
Despite her surge of temper-assisted courage, Kit hadn’t lost her wits. “Never mind—no one you’d know.”
“Try me.”
Kit’s senses pricked. Jack’s deep voice was rapidly developing that tone of command she found particularly difficult to resist. “I assure you he’s someone with whom you’re definitely not on a first-name basis.”
Jack’s attention had focused dramatically. What man had Kit been waiting for and, more importantly, why? What reason could a woman of her ilk have for looking over a man incognito? The answer was so glaringly obvious that Jack wondered why he hadn’t thought of it the instant he’d laid eyes on her in the ballroom. Kit, more than twenty if experience was any guide, had recently returned from London, where doubtless her life had been rather fuller. Particularly with respect to male company. She had no lover at present—a fact he’d bet his entire estate on—and was on the lookout for a local candidate. Obviously, she had someone in mind. Someone other than himself.
Then her preoccupation in the shrubbery flooded his mind with a radiant light. “You were waiting for Lord Hendon.”
At the bald statement, Kit pulled a horrendous face. “What if I was? It’s no concern of yours.”
Hysterical laughter bubbled behind Jack’s lips; manfully, he swallowed it. Christ—this mission was descending into farce! Should he tell her? What if she didn’t believe him? A strong possibility, he had to admit, and one he couldn’t readily overcome.Convincing her might jeopardize his mission. Telling her might jeopardize his mission. Hell! He was going to have to convince her he was a better lover than his reputation made him out to be.
A sudden vision of what his fate might have been, if he hadn’t been previously acquainted with Kit and had remained at the ball, threatened his composure. Reappearing in North Norfolk as himself looked set to be even more dangerous than assuming the guise of a smugglers’ leader. The local ladies were stalking him with a venegance—on both sides of the blanket. He could have ended with Kit as his mistress and Lady Marchmont’s drab protégé as a wife!
Jack’s eyes narrowed. There was every possibility that scenario would still come to pass, but it would be on his terms, not theirs.
A disgusted snort brought his attention back to the slight figure before him. He felt the warmth radiating from her body, separated from his by a handbreadth. Only by exercising the most severe discipline had he resisted the temptation to pull her back against him, curving her body into his.
“Thanks to you, I’ll probably never get another chance!” Disgruntled, Kit shifted and immediately remembered what was pressing against her back. Her temper overcame her maidenly reticence. “Damn it! Can’t you stop that? Make it go away or something?”
She twisted about to try and get a look at the offending article. Jack’s hands clamped about her shoulders and forcibly restrained her.
There was a distinct edge to his words. “There is a way to make it go away. If you don’t sit still, you’ll be providing it.”
The raw desire in his voice petrified Kit into abject obedience. Inwardly, she railed. What was it about Jack that gave him this strange power over her? Not even the most ardent of London’s rakes had made her feel like mesmerized prey about to be devoured, inch by slow inch. Her skin was alive, nerve endings flickering in fevered anticipation. He was her predator; every time he threatened, she froze. As if immobility could protect her from his strike! Her in