Kit stiffened. He couldn’t mean…?
Jack’s fingers drifted down the sensitive skin beneath her ear. His lips followed, leaving a tickling trail of nibbling kisses. Before she could gather her wits, he tipped her chin up, kissed her full on the lips, and was gone.
Stifling a most unladylike curse, Kit wriggled her shoulders to dispel the delicious shiver he’d sent rippling down her spine, drew a deep breath, and applied herself to her breakfast.
Her morning went in the inescapable task of being ceremonially inducted into the workings of Castle Hendon. The staff was pleasant, clearly pleased to find a local filling Lady Hendon’s shoes. The business of running a household was second nature to Kit-a legacy from her grandmother. She dealt with the staff with an innate confidence that had the inevitable result. By midday, the domestic reins were firmly in her hands.
Jack was not at the luncheon table; Lovis confirmed he’d not yet returned. Used to solitude, Kit walked the extensive gardens, then, tiring of such tame exercise, went upstairs to change into her new riding habit. The day was fine, the breeze beckoned-what better way to spend an afternoon than riding her husband’s lands?
The stables were large, set around two interconnecting yards. Kit wandered along the rows of stalls, searching for Delia’s black hide. The head groom came out of the second courtyard. Catching sight of her, he hurried over, doffing his cap as he came.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.”
Kit waited for him to ask if he could help her. When he simply stood, plainly nervous, twisting his hat in his hands, she took pity on him. “I’d like my horse, please. The black mare.”
To her surprise, the man subjected his hat to a further twist and looked even more uncomfortable. Kit frowned, a nasty suspicion displacing her good humor. “Where is Delia?”
“The master said to put her in the back paddock, my lady.”
Kit put her hands on her hips. “Where is this back paddock?”
The groom waved in a southerly direction. “Over the hills a-way.”
Too far to walk. Before Kit could ask her next question, the groom added: “The master said she was only to be brought up at his orders, ma’am.”
Inwardly, Kit seethed. There was no point haranguing the groom; he was only obeying orders. The person she wanted to harangue, needed to harangue, was the giver of those orders. Abruptly, she turned on her heel. “Send word to me the moment Lord Hendon returns.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am but he came in not ten minutes ago.”
Kit’s eyes glittered. “Thank you-Martins, isn’t it?”
The groom bowed.
Kit rewarded him with a stiff smile and marched back to the house.
She found Jack in the library. She sailed into the room and waited until she heard Lovis shut the door before advancing on her husband. He was standing behind his desk, a sheet of paper in his hand. Noting the arrested look in his eyes, she realized any attempt to hide her anger would be wasted. She drew breath, only to have him seize the initiative.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t back for lunch. How did your tour with Mrs. Miles go?” Jack dropped his list on the blotter and came around the desk.
Thrown by the mild question, Kit blinked, then realized Jack was advancing on her. He was going to kiss her. Nimble-footed, she stepped around a chair. “Er…fine. What have you done with my horse?”
His flanking attack defeated, Jack halted and faced her guns. He contemplated her belligerent stance, muted in effect by her retreat behind the chair. “I’ve had her put in a paddock large enough for her to stretch her legs.”
“She stretches her legs often enough. I ride her every day.”
“Past tense.”
Kit frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“You rode her every day.”
When no further explanation was forthcoming, Kit gritted her teeth and asked: “Just what are you trying to say?”
“As of now, you ride Delia only when I ride with you. Other than Champion, there’s no beast in Norfolk that can keep up with that black streak you call a horse. I won’t saddle my grooms with the responsibility of trying to keep you in sight. Hence, you ride with me, or accept a meeker mount and take a groom with you.”
Kit had never known exactly what flabbergasted felt like. Now, she knew. She was so angry, she couldn’t even decide which point to attack first.
The obvious riposte-that Delia was her horse-had an equally obvious answer. As his wife, all her property was his. But his dictates were outrageous. Kit’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Jonathon,” she said, using his given name for the first time since their wedding vows, “I’ve been riding since I could walk. In the country, I’ve ridden alone all my life. I will not-”
“Be continuing in such unacceptable style.”
Kit bit her tongue to keep from screaming. The unemotional statement sounded far more ominous than Spencer’s ranting ever had. She drew a deep breath and forced her tone to a reasonable pitch. “Everyone around about knows I ride alone. They think nothing of it. On Delia, I’m perfectly safe. As you’ve just pointed out, no one can catch me. None of our neighbors would feel the least bit scandalized to see me riding alone.”
“None of our neighbors would imagine I’d allow you to do so.”
It was an effort, but Kit swallowed the curse that rose to her lips. Her husband’s calm gaze hadn’t wavered. He was watching her, politely attentive but with the cool certainty that he’d be the victor in this little contretemps stamped all over his arrogant face. This was the side of Jack she didn’t know but had surmised must exist; this was Jonathon.
Kit tried a different tack. “Why?”
Explaining was not his style, but in this case, Jack knew the ground to be firm beneath his feet. She was new to his bridle; it wouldn’t hurt to give his reasons. “Firstly, as Lady Hendon, your behavior will be taken as a standard for others to follow, a status not accorded Miss Kathryn Cranmer but a point I’m sure Lady Marchmont and company would quickly make clear to you if I did not.” He paused to let the implication of that sink in. Strolling toward the chair behind which Kit had taken refuge, he continued: “There’s also the fact that your safety is of prime concern to me.” Another pause enabled him to trap her gaze in his. “And I don’t consider riding the countryside alone a suitably safe pastime for my wife.”
Was he really just concerned for her welfare? Kit opened her mouth, but Jack held up a hand to stop her.
“Spare me your arguments, Kit. I won’t change my mind. Spencer let you ride alone for far longer than was acceptable. He’d be the first to admit it.” Kit stiffened as Jack’s gaze slowly traveled the length of her slim frame. A subtle smile twisted his lips. “You’re not a child anymore, my dear. You are, in fact, a most delectable plum. One I’ve no intention of letting any other man taste.”
One arrogant brow lifted, inviting her comment. Kit bit her lip, then blurted out: “If I were in breeches, no man would look twice at me.”
She shifted uneasily as she watched Jack’s smile grow. It wasn’t entirely encouraging, for it didn’t reach his eyes.
“If I ever come upon Lady Hendon in breeches, do you know what I’ll do?”
The soft, velvety tones transfixed Kit. She felt her eyes grow round, trapped in her husband’s gaze. Little flames flickered deep. Slowly, all but mesmerized, Kit shook her head.
“Wherever we are, indoors or out, I’ll take great delight in removing said breeches from her.”
Kit swallowed.
“And then-”
“Jack!” Kit scowled. “Stop it! You’re just trying to scare me.”
Jack’s brows flew. He reached out and, to Kit’s surprise, pushed the chair from between them. She hadn’t realized he was so close. Before she could react, he caught her elbows and pulled her to him. Trapped within the circle of his arms, Kit looked into his face, her pulse accelerating. A peculiarly devilish look had settled over his features. “Am I?”