Captain Jack's Woman (Bastion Club 0.50)

What was left of Kit’s mind reeled. She told him, as quickly as she could, as completely as she could, her mind centered on his fingers, sliding easily in and out of her body, delving deep one minute, twirling about the next. She got to the end an instant before her vocal cords seized. “Jack!” His name was all she could manage in her need, her voice low and weak.

He heard her. His fingers left her. To her surprise, Kit felt her hips being lifted and a pillow stuffed under her stomach. Jack’s weight pressed against her, then she felt the pressure build between her thighs.

He came into her with a rush. Her mind disintegrated. She gasped, with shock. He held still for a few moments, allowing her to grow accustomed to this latest variation, to get used to the sensation of fullness and the deep penetration he’d achieved. Then he started to move.

Kit soon caught the rhythm, riding his downward thrusts before twisting her hips upward to capture and hold him, before he drew back again. He rode her long, he rode her hard, each deep, controlled stroke sending her closer to ecstasy; she writhed beneath him, wordlessly begging for more. When the final all-consuming wave of passion caught them and flung them clear, exhausted, wrung out, and deliriously sated, Jack collapsed on top of her. His lips caressed her earlobe, before, chuckling, he lifted away and dropped to the bed beside her once more.

“Kitten, if you were any wilder, I’d have to tie you up.”

Moonlight patterned the floor of Kit’s bedroom when Jack woke from his sated slumber. He lay still, savoring the deep contentment of the moment, the warmth of the silken limbs entwined with his. Kit’s breath was a butterfly’s kiss on his collarbone. He resisted the temptation to tighten his arms about her.

The long-case clock in the corridor struck eleven.

Jack stifled a sigh and carefully disengaged from Kit’s embrace. He slipped from her warm bed and found his robe on the floor. Shrugging into it, he paused, looking down on his sleeping wife. Then, a smile on his lips, he turned toward his room.

The instant the doohr to Jack’s room shut behind him, Kit opened her eyes. She blinked rapidly, then sat up, shivering when the cold found her naked shoulders. She dragged the coverlet to her chin and listened.

The heavy tock of the clock was the only sound to reach her straining ears.

Quickly, she slipped from the bed and made for her wardrobe. She’d need to hurry if she was to have any hope of following her husband to his rendezvous.

Chapter 27

The soft shush of the waves on Brancaster beach filled Jack’s ears. Leaning against a rock, he looked across the moonlit sands. In the lee of the cliff, Champion snorted, unhappy at being tied next to Matthew’s gelding. The rest of the Gang had yet to arrive; the boats weren’t due for another hour.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jack settled down to wait. The memory of the silken limbs he’d left so reluctantly warmed him. She was a passionate woman, his kitten. She’d succeeded in dramatically altering his view of marriage. Before she’d burst into his life, the urge to settle down and manage his inheritance had been driven more by duty than desire. Now, there was nothing he wanted more than to devote his energies to being the lord of Castle Hendon, to watching his children grow, and to taking delight in his wife. He’d no doubt she’d keep him amused—in the bedroom and out of it. Once this mission was finished, he’d be free to follow his own road. Now, thanks to his wild woman, he knew where that road was headed.

His thoughts of Kit reminded him of Lord Belville. He wasn’t sure why she’d mentioned him. He’d never met the man; the only piece of her information that had interested him had been Belville’s connection with Whitehall. As for the rest, Kit was his now, and that was that.

A cloud of salt spray, whipped by the freshening wind, drifted past. Jack frowned. Could Belville be part of the network that he, George, and countless other careful hands had been slowly unraveling? It was possible.

After months of careful, cautious work, they were nearing the end of their trail. Originally, his mission had been merely to block the routes by which spies were smuggled out of Norfolk. But his success in becoming the leader of the Hunstanton Gang, and then monopolizing the trade in “human cargo,” had made Whitehall more ambitious.

Despite having closed the spy-smuggling routes operating out of Sussex and Kent, the government had failed to identify at least one of the principal sources. Whic

h meant there were still traitors sending information out of London. But the plans for Wellington’s summer maneuvers were too vital to risk their falling into French hands. So Jack, George, and a select group of others had been summoned from their military postings and asked to sell out of the services to take up civilian appointments under the control of Lord Whitley, the Home Office Undersecretary responsible for internal security.

When the first of the incoming spies the Hunstanton Gang had passed on had reached London and led them to the next connection, the government had moved cautiously. While one group of officers tracked the London courier back to his source, presumably buried somewhere in the British military establishment, the government had decided to turn the route Jack now controlled to their own ends. Sir Anthony Blake, alias Antoine Balzac, had been the spy they’d “smuggled” to France the night Kit had been shot. Instead of the real plans for Wellington’s coming campaign, he’d carried information put together by a conglomerate of officers who’d seen active service only a short time before. The information had been accurate enough to pass the scrutiny of the French receivers. The government had already seen evidence that the false trails were being followed, translated into field movements that would help rather than hinder the duke’s forces.

That sort of return was worth a great deal of risk. The number of lives saved would be enormous. So they’d decided to chance a final hand, a last throw of the dice.

Anthony was to carry another packet of information into France, but this time, he would bargain for information in return—information on who the London traitor was. On his last visit, he’d made contact with a French liaison officer who had a great liking for cognac. The man knew the details of the entire English operation. Anthony was sure he could extract at least a clue.

The government now needed that clue. The courier they’d been following in London had been killed in a tavern brawl. The unexpected setback had been disheartening, but all concerned were now even more determined to identify the traitors still remaining. Even if he learned no names, if Anthony could discover how many traitors were left within the military establishment, tonight’s mission would be worth the risk.

Hoofbeats, muffled by the sand, approached. Jack recognized George’s chestnut. At sight of the figure on the second horse, Jack grinned and straightened. When the horses pulled up beside him, he caught the newcomer’s bridle. “Ho, Tony! Ready for another bout of la vie fran-çaise?”

Sir Anthony Blake grinned and dismounted. Another of Lord Whitley’s select crew, he was the scion of an ancient English house, but half-French. He’d learned French at his mother’s knee and had absorbed the full range of French mannerisms and characteristic Gallic gestures. In addition, he was slim and elegant with black hair and black eyes. He looked French. His ability to pass as French had yielded considerable benefits to His Majesty’s government over the many years of war with France. Anthony’s black eyes gleamed. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Any developments?”

Jack waited until George and Anthony tethered their mounts and rejoined him before answering Anthony’s question. “Nothing’s happened to change your direction. But I’ve just learned that a gentleman connected with Whitehall has been seen in these parts. Do you know anything of a Lord Belville?”

Anthony frowned. His estates were in Devon; London was no more his cup of tea than Jack’s or George’s. “If I’m thinking of the right man, he’s a nasty bit of work. Got a position somewhere in the long corridors on the strength of his pater’s influence. Unsavory reputation socially, but nothing in it that would interest us.”

Jack grimaced. “That’s much as I’d imagined. Still, if he’s poking his nose about without good reason, I’ll follow it up.”

The three of them fell to discussing the details of Antoine’s trip.

“I’ll play it safe and take the usual route back unless there’s good reason to do otherwise.”