“A merger. To our mutual benefit.”
Jack smiled, and Kit was very glad he didn’t smile at her like that. The thought brought a shiver, which she sternly repressed.
“What does that mean?” Nolan didn’t sound pleased.
“What it means, my friend, is that if you want to run a cargo into North Norfolk, you deal with me and me alone.” Jack’s deep voice was steady and completely devoid of emotion. In the hush, it held a menacing quality.
Nolan stared, then switched his gaze to Kit. “This true?”
“Yes.” Kit kept it at that.
Nolan snorted and turned to Jack. “Well, leastways that means I won’t have to deal with young upstarts who skim a man’s profit to the bone.” He turned to receive his tankard from a well-endowed serving wench, and so missed the inquiring glance Jack threw at Kit. She ignored it, letting her gaze slide from his, only to fall victim to the serving wench’s fervent stare. Abruptly, she transferred her attention to her tankard and kept it there.
Once Jack and Nolan were well launched on their dealings, Kit looked up. The serving girl had retreated to the bar but her gaze was still fixed, in a drooling fashion, on her. Under her breath, Kit swore.
“Twenty kegs of the best brandy and ten more of port, if you can handle it.” Nolan paused to swill from his tankard. Kit wondered how he could; the stuff tasted vile.
“We can handle it. The usual conditions?”
“Aye.” Nolan eyed Jack warily, as if unable to believe he wasn’t going to push the Gang’s cut higher. “When do you want it?”
Jack considered, then said: “Tomorrow. The moon’ll be new-not too much light but enough to see by. The delivery conditions the same?”
Nolan nodded. “Cash on delivery. The ship’s the Mollie Ann. She’ll stand off Brancaster Head after dark tomorrow.”
“Right.” Pushing his tankard aside, Jack stood. “It’s time we left.”
Nolan merely nodded and retreated into his beer.
Hurriedly standing, Kit found herself bundled in front of Jack. Matthew led the way and George brought up the rear. Their exit was so rapid that none of the other customers had time to blink. Outside, she, Jack, and George waited in the road while Matthew fetched their horses. Even in the gloom, Kit sensed the meaningful look Jack and George exchanged over her head. Then they were mounted and off, across the fields to the cottage.
There, they all sat around the table. Jack poured brandy, raising a brow in Kit’s direction. She shook her head. The few sips of ale she’d taken had been more than enough. Jack delivered his plans in crisp tones that left Kit wondering what he’d been before. A soldier, certainly, but his attitude of authority suggested he hadn’t been a trooper. The idea made her grin.
“How many boats can your men muster?”
Jack’s question shook her into life. “Manned by two?” she asked. When he nodded, she replied: “Four. Do you want them all?”
“Four would double our number,” put in George.
“And double the speed we could bring the barrels in.” Jack looked at Kit. “We’ll have all four. Get them to pull inshore just west of the Head-there’s a little bay they’ll likely know, perfect for the purpose.” Turning to Matthew and George, he discussed the deposition of the rest of the men. Kit listened with half an ear, glancing up only briefly when George left.
Matthew followed. “G’night, lad.”
Kit returned the words with a nod and a smile, hidden by her muffler. As soon as the door shut behind him, she tugged the folds free. “Phew! I hope the nights don’t get too warm.”
Replacing the brandy bottle on the sideboard, Jack turned to stare at her. In a month, long before the balmy nights of August, she wouldn’t have need of her muffler. In a month, she wouldn’t be masquerading as a smuggler. In a month, she’d be masquerading as his mistress. The thought brought a frown to his face. He’d still be masquerading, too, for he couldn’t tell her who he was until his mission was complete. With an inward sigh, Jack focused on the present. “I take it you were edified by the company at the Blackbird?”
Kit lounged in her chair. “The company I could do without,” she admitted. “But everything passed off smoothly. Next time, they’ll recognize me’, and I’ll be less of an attraction.”
Jack’s exasperated look spoke volumes. “Next time,” he repeated, drawing a chair to the other side of the table and straddling it. “I assume you’re aware that the only reason you came off safely was because George and Matthew and I were there, rather too large to overlook?”
Kit opened her eyes wide. “I hadn’t anticipated going there alone.”
“Christ, no!” Jack ran his fingers through his hair, the golden strands catching and reflecting the lamplight. “This idea of yours is madness. I should never have agreed to it. But let me educate you on one point at least. If you’d made the slightest slip back there, unwittingly led one of the men to believe…” Jack struggled to find the right words for his purpose. One glance at Kit’s open face, her eyes clearly visible now that she’d removed her hat and muffler, made it clear she wasn’t entirely au fait with the way things were in dens of iniquity. “Led them to believe it’d be worthwhile to make a push for you,” he continued, determined to bring her to a sense of her danger, “then we’d have had a riot on our hands. What would you have done then?”
Kit frowned. “Hid behind a table,” she eventually conceded. “I’m no good with my fists.”
The answer overturned Jack’s deliberate seriousness. The idea of her delicate hands bunched into fists was silly enough; the notion of them doing any damage was laughable. His lips twisted in a reluctant grin.
Kit smiled sweetly. Immediately, all traces of mirth fled Jack’s face, replaced by the scowl she was starting to believe was habitual. Dammit-he could smile, she knew he could. Charmingly.
Go on! Make him smile.
Shut up,Kit told her inner devil. I can’t afford a tussle with him-if he touches me, I can’t think and then where will I be?
Flat on your back, with any luck, came the unrepentant answer.
All I want is a smile, Kit told herself, repressing the inclination to scowl back. “You worry too much,” she said. “Things will work out; it’s only for a month.”
Jack watched as she wound her muffler loosely into place and jammed her hat Over her curls. He knew he should put his foot down and end her little charade, or at least restrict it to those areas he believed inevitable. He knew it, but couldn’t work out how to do it. He argued and she returned a glib answer, then smiled, scattering his wits completely, leaving only an urgent longing in their place. He’d never worked with a woman before; socially, they were a push-over but professionally-he obviously didn’t have the knack.
The scrape of her chair as she stood brought Jack’s gaze back to Kit’s face. “Until tomorrow, then.” She smiled and felt a distinct pang of irritation when Jack glared back. Deliberately, she sauntered to the door, allowing her hips full license in their sway. She paused at the last to raise a hand in salute; his scowl was now definitely black. Her teeth gleamed. “Good night, Jack.”
As she closed the door behind her, Kit wondered if the low growl she heard was from the distant surf or a somewhat closer source.
The run was her first taste of Jack’s planning in action. All went smoothly. She was the main lookout, stationed on the cliff above and to the east of the bay into which they ran the goods. In answer to her protest that surely any danger would come from the west, Jack had pulled rank and all but ordered her to the headland. She had a fine view of the beach. Her men were there. They dropped the cargo, then, together with the others in boats, pulled out into the Roads and headed straight home. The land-bound smugglers transferred the barrels to pack ponies, and the cavalcade headed inland. This time, Jack chose to hide the cargo in the ruins of an old church.