At the thought of her, his redheaded houri, a stern frown settled over his face. He hadn’t asked to feel about her as he did, but there was no point in denying it. She was more than the latest in a long line; he cared for her in ways he couldn’t remember caring for anyone else in his life. Once he had her safe, he’d drum into her red head just what the upshot of that was. She would have to mend her ways—no more dangerous escapades.
Would she be silly enough to try to turn some of the men against him? Jack shuddered. There was no value in torturing himself. Shutting out his imaginary horrors, he purposefully reshuffled the cards.
Ten minutes later, the peace of sunset was interrupted by the steady clop of hooves, approaching from the east. Jack raised his head to listen. Both the confident pace and the direction suggested George had come to their rendezvous early. A glimpse of sleek chestnut hide crossing the clearing brought a half smile to Jack’s face. He needed distraction.
George came through the door, his face set in disapproving lines.
Jack’s smile of welcome faded. His brows rose.
George halted before the table, his gaze steady on Jack’s grey eyes. Then he glanced at the keg on the sideboard. “Is there anything in that?”
With a grunt, Jack rose and fetched a glass. After a second’s hesitation, he took a glass for himself and half filled both. Was this the start of his storm?
George drew up a chair to the table and dropped into it.
Placing one glass before George, Jack eyed his serious face. He resumed his seat. “Well? You’d better tell me before Matthew gets here.”
George took a sip and glanced at the open door. He got up, shut it, then paced back to the table. He put his glass down, but remained standing. “I went to see Amy this afternoon.”
When George fell into a pensive daze and yielded nothing further, Jack couldn’t resist. “She wants to call off the wedding?”
George flushed and frowned. “Of course not! For God’s sake, be sensible. This is serious.”
Jack duly composed his features. George grimaced and continued: “When I was leaving, I got talking to Jeffries, Gresham’s head groom. The man’s a mine of information on horses.”
Jack’s stomach clenched, but his expression remained undisturbed.
George’s gaze leveled. “We were talking of bloodlines in the district. He mentioned a black Arab mare, finicky and highbred. According to Jeffries, she belongs to one of Amy’s friends.”
“Amy’s friend?” Jack blinked and the veils fell. He knew, then, what was coming. He should have guessed; there’d been enough inconsistencies in her performance. If he hadn’t been so besotted with her, doubtless he’d have unmasked her long ago. The idea that some part of him had known, but he hadn’t wanted to face the truth, he buried deep.
“Amy’s bosom-bow,” George confirmed, his voice heavy with disapproval. “Miss Kathryn Cranmer. Known as Kit to her intimates.” George slumped into his chair. “She’s Christopher Cranmer’s daughter, Spencer’s grandchild.” George studied Jack’s face. “His legitimate granddaughter.”
Spencer’s legitimate granddaughter. The thought reeled through Jack’s brain in dizzying splendor. Stunned shock vied with disbelief, before both gave way to an overwhelming urge to lay hold of Kit and shake the damned woman as she deserved. How dared she take such scandalous risks? Clearly, Spencer had no control over her. Jack made a mental note to be sure the full magnitude of her sins was made clear to his redheaded houri in breeches—not that she’d get a chance to wear breeches again. She’d have to learn to take very good care—of herself, of her reputation. As Lord Hendon, he’d every right to ensure the future Lady Hendon played safe.
For that, of course, was the crowning glory of George’s revelations. As Miss Kathryn Cranmer, Kit was more than eligible for the vacant post of Lady Hendon. And after their recent activities, there was no possibility he’d let her slip through his net. He had her right where he wanted her—in more ways than one. After tonight’s run, he’d call on Spencer. Between them, they’d settle the future of one redheaded houri.
A smile of pleasant anticipation suffused Jack’s face.
George saw it and sighed heavily. “From that besotted look, I take it affairs between you and Kit have gon
e a lot farther than I’d feel happy about?”
Jack grinned beatifically.
“Christ!” George ran one hand through his dark hair. “Stop grinning. What the hell do you plan to do about it?”
Jack blinked. His grin faded. “Don’t be a fool. I’ll marry the damned woman, of course.”
George just stared, too astounded to say anything.
Jack swallowed his irritation that George should have entertained any other option. That George had thought he’d entertain any other option. It was all Kit’s fault. Any woman running about in breeches was fair game. At least only George knew who she was. Then it hit him. “When did you guess she was a woman?”
George blinked, then shrugged. “A week or so ago.”
Puzzled, Jack asked: “What gave her away?” He’d thought Kit’s disguise particularly good.
“You, mostly,” George absentmindedly replied.