“Why can’t we just stop him here?”
“Because we need to know who he’s meeting in London.” Jack started down the beach. Reluctantly, Matthew followed.
Jack paid little attention to the spy, which gave the spy equally little chance of studying him. His disguise was good but not perfect; he’d no idea who the man was or what his station in life might be. A fellow officer, or the personal servant of a
fellow officer, might well recognize him, or at least realize there was something a little odd about the Hunstanton Gang’s leader. Jack busied himself with his material cargo and ignored the man.
The spy was put on a pony, and Shep and two of the older members of the gang set out to deliver him to the ruins of Creake Abbey. From there, he’d be spirited to London, the Admiralty’s tracker on his tail.
Satisfied that all had gone smoothly, Jack followed the kegs to the Old Barn. They’d be taken to the abbey the following night. After the men had dispersed, he and Matthew rode to the cottage. From the first, he’d made a point of changing his clothes and his identity at the old fishing cottage; tonight, he had another reason for calling in. He didn’t have much hope Kit would appear, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep, alone between his silk sheets, if he didn’t check.
The cottage was empty.
Lord Hendon rode home to his castle, cursing all redheaded houris.
There was no moon on Wednesday night. Astride Delia, Kit sat concealed in the deepest shadows under the trees in front of Jack’s cottage and waited for him to return from the Blackbird. She’d determined not to come near him. Nothing could have got her to the cottage again—nothing except the news that the Hunstanton Gang had run a “human cargo” last night.
The past five days seemed an eon in time. She’d been consumed by an odd restlessness that increased daily. Doubtless the effect of delayed guilt. It had even disturbed her sleep. She didn’t need to convince herself of the threat Jack represented. He was a smuggler—not of her class, hardly an acceptable suitor. The events of Friday night were burned into her brain; the effects were burned into her flesh. She’d wanted to know—now she knew. But that didn’t mean she could turn her back on Spencer and all he represented. She was a gentlewoman, no matter how much that sometimes irked. After the night of the storm, Jack was not just forbidden fruit—he was danger personified.
So she’d stayed away from the Monday night meeting but had dropped by the little fishing village this afternoon. Noah and the others had been there. Without hesitation, they’d filled her in on the previous night’s activities.
Their lack of loyalty to their country didn’t overly surprise her. She doubted that, living isolated as they did, they understood the implication of “human cargo.” Jack hadn’t spelled it out for them. But nothing could convince her Jack didn’t have a military background. There was no possibility he didn’t comprehend the significance of the men he was smuggling into the country.
Delia shifted. Kit sighed. She shouldn’t have come—she didn’t want to be here. But she couldn’t let “human cargoes” be run and not do something about it. If she could make Jack stop, she would. If not…She’d think about that later.
A jingle of harness came to her ears, carried clearly over the silent fields. It was five minutes before they came into view, coming up the track from the northern coast, Matthew, George, and Jack. Kit held her breath.
They were walking their horses toward the small stable when Jack realized Kit was close. Or rather, Champion sensed Delia’s presence and showed every sign of refusing to go into the stable without his lady love. Jack dismounted and took hold of the stallion’s bridle above the bit. “Matthew, I’ll be here for a while. You go on home.”
With a mumbled “Aye,” Matthew turned his horse and headed south for the Castle.
Jack turned to George, who was eyeing him suspiciously. Captain Jack’s devilish smile appeared. “I’d ask you in, but I suspect I’ve got company.”
George looked down on him, his expression resigned. Jack knew he’d never ask who the company was. George didn’t approve of his rakish ways.
“I take it you’re sure you can handle this company alone?”
Jack’s smile deepened. “Quite sure.”
“That’s what I thought.” George pulled his chesnut about, then paused to add: “One day, Jack, you’ll get bitten. I just hope I’m around when it happens, to say ’serves you right.’”
Jack laughed; George touched his heels to his horse and departed.
Jack noted the direction of Champion’s fixed stare but didn’t follow it. Instead, he spoke sternly to the horse. The stallion tossed his grey head at the rebuke but consented to be led to his stable. Jack unsaddled the great beast and rubbed him down in record time.
He’d expected Kit to appear as soon as the others left. When she didn’t, Jack went back to stand in front of the cottage, wondering if Champion could have been mistaken.
From the shadows of the trees, Kit watched him. Up to the time he’d arrived, her course had been clear. But the sight of him had awoken memories of that stormy night in the cottage, reducing her to vacillating nervousness. Perhaps she’d do better to meet him in daylight?
Convinced by the pricking of his own senses that Champion hadn’t been mistaken, Jack lost patience. He stood in the doorway of the cottage, hands on hips, and faced the trees across the clearing. “Come out, Kit. I’ve no intention of playing hide-and-seek in the dark.”
The subtle threat in his tone made up Kit’s mind for her. Reluctantly, she nudged Delia out of the trees. Suddenly remembering she’d no idea what Jack had made of her absence, she reined in. But she’d already gone too far. Jack stepped forward and caught Delia’s bridle. The next instant, Kit felt his hands at her waist. She bit back a protest which wouldn’t have been listened to anyway, too stunned by the force of her reaction to his touch to do anything more than summon up her defenses. Things were more serious than she’d thought; she’d have to ensure she didn’t give herself away.
To her relief, Jack released her immediately. Without a word, he led Delia to the stable. Uncertain of her welcome and a host of related matters, Kit followed.
Jack hadn’t noticed her reaction, for the simple reason he’d been too busy registering the violence of his own feelings. He’d never known a woman to affect him as Kit did. It was novel, unnerving and bloody annoying to boot. He hurt like hell in two entirely different places. He intended to see she eased at least one of the ills she’d inflicted on him—the more accessible one. The other he wasn’t sure even she could cure.
Delia went readily into the stall next to Champion. Jack unsaddled her and rubbed her down. He was aware of Kit hovering at the stable door but ignored her as best he could. If he acknowledged her presence, she’d be on her back in the hay inside of a minute.