Jack’s brows rose but he was smiling—that devilish smile again. Then he sighed dramatically and stopped stroking her palms. Kit relaxed, relief surging through her. Only to be overridden by panic when he raised her hand to his lips and kissed one fingertip. Her lips formed an O of sheer shock.
Watching her, Jack nearly laughed. No reaction to him? If she was any more responsive she’d be climbing the walls. “If you won’t join me in abusiness venture, we’ll just have to consider what other type of…partnership we can enjoy.”
Kit stared at him in undisguised horror.
Jack turned her hand over to press a kiss to her palm. He felt her entire body tense. “The first thing we’ll have to investigate is whether this aversion of yours is any more than skin deep.” Involuntarily, his gaze dropped to her shirt and his mind shifted to a contemplation of the delights it concealed. Just a single thickness of material was all that protected her breasts from his hungry gaze. And his ardent attentions. Almost, he wished she’d hold firm to her resolve not to be Young Kit. At least long enough to make a little persuasion necessary.
Kit’s mind was sluggish. Aversion? Her aversion? Here she was, in a flat panic lest he realize just how very attracted she was, and he thought she held him in aversion? She almost laughed hysterically. If she hadn’t been so frightened by her response to him, she would have. Having him so close drained her willpower; every little attention he bestowed only made matters worse. Another few moves and he’d have her egging him on. The idea of what would happen if he kissed her brought her to a rapid decision. “All right.”
Jack hauled his gaze back to her face and his mind back to her words. “All right?”
Kit heard the disappointment in his voice. He’d have carried out his threat with enthusiasm. “Yes, all right, damn you!” She pushed hard at his hands. “If the others agree, I’ll be Young Kit, but only for a month. Until my men settle in with your gang.”
Jack’s sigh was heartfelt. Reluctantly, he released her. Before moving off her, he smiled winningly, directly into the large eyes lit by violet sparks. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”
The look he got set him chuckling. He rolled to her side and lay back on the pillows, content for the moment. Her capitulation wasn’t exactly complimentary, but he’d a month to work on that.
Beside him, Kit lay still, struck by the revelation that, although he was still close, now that he wasn’t touching her, her mind was functioning again. Recalling her uncertainties about the Hunstanton Gang’s cargoes, she remembered what had led her to such questions. “
I take it you’ve heard about Lord Hendon, the new High Commissioner, and his interest in the trade?”
Jack managed to suppress the start her words gave him. What had she heard? He settled his hands behind his head and spoke to the ceiling. “It’s well known the Revenue are working out an excess of zeal about Sheringham.”
Kit frowned. “That’s not what I meant. I heard that Lord Hendon has been appointed specifically to take a greater interest in the traffic.”
From under his lashes, Jack watched her profile. “Who told you that?”
“I overheard someone tell my grandfather about it.”
“Who?”
“The Lord Lieutenant.”
Jack pursed his lips. It wasn’t exactly the message Lord Marchmont had been sent to deliver, but it was close enough. He was sure the Lord Lieutenant would have communicated his message accurately but if Kit had been flapping her ears at a distance, she might not have caught the whole of it. He couldn’t imagine the two peers openly discussing such business in front of Spencer’s housekeeper. “If that’s the case, we’ll have to keep a close eye on his lordship’s activities.”
Kit snorted derisively and sat up. “If he ever actually stirs himself to anything that can be so described. I’m beginning to think he’s gone to ground in that castle of his and just issues orders to the Revenue from his daybed.”
Jack looked at her in amazement. “What makes you think that?”
“He’s never seen about, that’s why. He’s been here for a few months, yet most people haven’t sighted him. I know because Spencer gave a dinner party. Lord Hendon was invited but had a prior engagement.”
The disgust in her voice made Jack blink. “What’s wrong with that?”
Kit’s lip curled. “A prior engagement with whom—when all the surrounding families were at Cranmer that night?”
Jack looked much struck, a fact Kit missed. She found the glass of brandy, now empty, amid the covers and, with the trailing ends of her muffler, ineffectually dabbed at the small stain where the dregs had spilt in their tumble. Suddenly, she giggled.
“What’s funny?”
“I was just wondering if I should pity the poor man, when he finally condescends to make a public appearance. The ladies of the neighborhood are all so anxious to meet him. Mrs. Cartwright has designs on him as a husband for her Jane, and Lady Marchmont—” Kit broke off, horrified by what she’d nearly said.
“Who’s Lady Marchmont got in mind for the poor devil?” The laughter bubbling beneath the smooth surface of Jack’s voice was encouraging.
“Someone else,” Kit replied repressively. “And I don’t envy the chit one bit.”
“Oh?” Jack turned a fascinated eye on her. “Why’s that?”
Kit was enjoying the unexpected sensation of sitting beside Jack, feeling oddly at ease and totally unthreatened, despite the panic of only minutes ago. For some inexplicable reason, she was quite sure he intended her no harm. His conviction that he could make her welcome his advances was frightening purely because she knew it was the truth. But when he wasn’t engaging in that sort of play, she felt completely at one with him, perfectly ready to share her opinion of the new High Commissioner. She pulled an expressive face. “From all I’ve heard, Hendon sounds a dry old stick, positively fusty.” She studied the glass in her hand. “He must be fifty and he limps. Lady Marchmont said he was ‘Hendonish’ but I’ve no idea what that means—probably stuffy.”