?t sure if she’d accepted their marriage as inescapable fact; he hadn’t yet told her how soon it would be. But it was high time someone took charge of Kit Cranmer; he was that someone.
Kit couldn’t clear her brow of the frown, born of puzzlement and uncertainty, that had settled there. She glanced up at Jack, towering over her. To her surprise, his long slow smile transformed his face. Swiftly, he bent to run his lips along her forehead, easing the tension. Then, his fingers tipped up her face and his lips touched hers in a kiss of warmth and promise.
With a flick of her curls, he was gone.
Kit sank back onto her pillows with a groan. She needed to think.
But the time to think was hard to find.
Elmina entered the room before Jack could have reached the top of the stairs. Intrigued by her maid’s apparent acceptance of a man in her life, Kit couldn’t resist a few leading questions. What she learned left her even more adrift than before. It seemed that during her illness, Jack had taken over—taken her over—with Spencer’s and everyone else’s blessing.
Before she could decide what she felt about that, Spencer himself appeared. That interview was more painful than she’d anticipated. It very quickly became clear that Spencer blamed himself for her wildness, a fact which irritated Kit immensely. Her wildness was her cross to bear—it didn’t owe its existence to anyone else; no one else was to blame. She’d always loved Spencer precisely because he’d never sought to draw rein on her. In her rush to reassure him, she found herself accepting her impending marriage with glib serenity. She convinced Spencer. When he left, much happier than when he’d entered, she was left wondering if she could convince herself.
Dr. Thrushborne was the next to cross her threshold. He was thrilled to find her awake and lucid. He examined her wound and declared it healing well. Pleased, he congratulated her on her forthcoming nuptials, teasing her on the anticipated date of her first confinement. As he was a favorite, Kit let him off with a glare.
In reply to her query, he agreed she could leave her bed, on condition she remained within the house and took care not to overtax herself.
Which was why, when Lady Gresham and Amy arrived that afternoon, she was lying on the chaise in the back parlor.
“Amy!” Kit sat up with a start, simultaneously remembering her wound and that she’d no idea how much Amy knew. Did George confide in Amy? Kit hesitated, just long enough for Lady Gresham to sweep in.
“Don’t get up, Kit, dear.” Her ladyship bent, offering a cheek for Kit to kiss. “The whole county knows how pressed you’ve been with Spencer so ill. I take it he’s improved?”
Kit nodded, fervently hoping Spencer was still keeping to his rooms. “Greatly improved, I’m pleased to say.” That, at least, was the truth.
While Lady Gresham settled her skirts in an armchair, Kit smiled at Amy, still wondering, but her friend only returned the smile gaily, apparently oblivious to any deeper currents. Perhaps George was as secretive as Jack.
“Well!” Lady Gresham smiled beatifically. “We called last week and again yesterday, as I hope they’ve told you. The first was simply to see how you were coping but, of course, we heard your news on Sunday and simply couldn’t wait to congratulate you.”
Kit tried to disguise her stare. What news? Sunday? The suspicion she’d just set foot in one of Jack’s webs grew.
“It was such a shock to hear the banns read out.” Amy put a hand on Kit’s arm. “Lord Hendon made your excuses quite beautifully, didn’t he, Mama?”
“So accomplished,” sighed Lady Gresham. “And so thrillingly handsome. Why—he’s his father all over again.”
Kit waited for the room to stop whirling. She could have told her ladyship just how accomplished Lord Hendon was—and how thrilling his handsomeness could be. “What was his father like?” She asked the question to gain time to gather her scattered wits and shackle her temper. If she screamed, she’d never be able to explain it.
But banns? Damn it, how had he managed that?
Her ladyship’s reminiscences on the previous Lord Hendon were tame compared to what Kit knew of the present incumbent. But by the time Lady Gresham had recalled to whom she was speaking and curtailed her ramblings, Kit was in command of herself once more.
The rest of their visit was spent in joyous discussion of her wedding, on which subject Kit invented freely. What else could she do? She could hardly tell Lady Gresham that the banns had been read without her consent. Even if she did, they’d probably put the outburst down to exhaustion consequent on nursing Spencer. And no matter how angry Jack made her, she wasn’t about to deny a betrothal. He’d made it perfectly plain how he saw that point. No—she was trapped. She might as well smile and enjoy it.
When she finally found solitude, in the peace of the gazebo with the red banners of sunset flying the sky, that attitude was close to the summation of her thoughts. She’d little choice but to marry Jack, Lord Hendon. Short of creating an almighty scandal, there was nothing she could do to avoid it. She’d made her decisions—her own mistakes; this was where they’d landed her.
Would marrying Jack be such a black fate? Settling on the seat, Kit couldn’t suppress a smile. The prospect of being Lady Hendon was not entirely grim. Her physical satisfaction was guaranteed. Jack was a magnificent lover. Moreover, he seemed very interested in teaching her all she would ever wish to know. But she was not a dim-witted miss, entranced by a handsome face. She knew Jack too well. His autocratic tendencies, his habit of command, his determination to have things his own way—all these she’d recognized from the first. They’d been bad enough in Captain Jack but in Lord Hendon, her husband, they could well prove overwhelming.
That was what worried her.
Kit crossed her arms on the sill, sinking her chin into her sleeve. Her stomach knotted every time she tried to imagine how Jack would behave once they were married. In recent years, her freedom had become precious. As her husband, Jack would have more right to control her than anyone had ever had. And he’d served notice on her freedom—if not directly, then indirectly. Marriage to him would leave her with only as much freedom as he deigned to allow her. Could she tolerate such a situation?
Thoughts of Amy surfaced, bringing their childhood vow to mind. She’d marry for love or not at all. Did she love Jack?
Kit’s brow creased. How to tell? She’d never been in love before—but she’d never felt for a man what she did for Jack. Was that love?
With a disgusted snort, she shrugged the question aside. It was irrelevant. She was marrying Jack.
Did he love her?