Her chillingly civil request to be carried aboard never made it past her lips.
As she turned, Jack ducked. The next instant, Kit found herself staring down at the choppy green waves as Jack swiftly climbed the gangplank. Fury cindered the reins of her temper. She closed her eyes and saw a red haze; her fingers curled into claws. She’d wanted to be carried, but carried in his arms, not over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes!
Luckily, the gangplank was short. The instant Jack gained the deck, he set her on her feet. Kit immediately swung his way, her eyes going to his. But Jack had already turned and was speaking.
“This is Captain Willard, my dear.”
With an almighty effort, Kit shackled her fury-aside from not wanting to scare anyone else, she wanted to save it all for Jack. Her face set, expressionless, her lips a thin line, she turned and beheld a large man, potbellied and jovial, dressed in a braided uniform.
He bowed deeply. “Might I say what a pleasure it is to welcome you aboard, Lady Hendon?”
“Thank you.” Stiffly, Kit inclined her head, her mind racing. The man’s manner was too deferential for a captain greeting a passenger.
“I’ll show Lady Hendon to our quarters, Willard. You may proceed on your own discretion.”
“Thank you, m’lord.”
The truth struck Kit. Jack owned the ship. Yet another not-so-minor detail her spouse had failed to mention.
Jack steered Kit aft, to where a stairway led down to the corridor to the stern apartments. With every step, he reminded himself to hold firm to his resolution. He had endured a full week of the most wretched worry-surely an hour of guilty misery was not unreasonable retribution? That Kit was shaken by his retreat, his withholding of the responses she would have expected from him, was obvious. The stunned, searching expression that had filled her eyes in Jenny’s garden had wrenched his heart; the quiver in her fingers when she’d laid them on his sleeve had nearly overset his careful plans. He hadn’t been game to meet her eyes after that.
Carrying her up the gangplank had nearly done him in. Even with her tossed over his shoulder, he hadn’t been sure he’d be able to let her go, which would have shocked Willard out of his braid.
He couldn’t take much more of his self-imposed reticence. He’d leave her in his cabin until her hour was up, then surrender as gracefully as possible.
As he followed Kit down the narrow stairs, Jack closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His resolution was fraying with every step. The sight of her hips, swaying to and fro before him, was more than he could stand.
His quarters lay at the end of the short corridor, spread across the vessel’s square stern. The door he held open for Kit led into the room he used as his study and dining room. A single door led into the bedroom, the two rooms spanning the stern. Both rooms had windows instead of portholes, set in under the overhanging poop deck.
The bright light reflected from the water hit Kit instantly as she entered the room. She blinked rapidly; it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Then, drawing a very deep breath, she swung to face her husband.
Only to see him disappear through another door.
“The bedroom’s through here.” Jack reappeared immediately. Kit realized he’d left her bag in the room. His demeanor hadn’t altered in the slightest. It was still politely blank, almost vacant, as if they were mere acquaintances embarking on a cruise. He still hadn’t met her eyes.
“I’ll leave you to refresh yourself. We’ll be departing with the tide.” With that, he turned to leave.
The rage that gripped Kit was so powerful that she swayed. She grabbed a chair back for support. Just like that? She was being deposited in the cabin like some piece of baggage, and he thought he could walk away?
She was beyond fury, even beyond rage. Kit’s temper was now in orbit. “Will you be back?”
The words, uttered in precise and icy tones, halted Jack.
Slowly, he turned. He was nearly at the door; Kit stood with her back to the windows. The light streaming in left her face in shadow; he couldn’t make out her expression.
Jack stared at his wife and felt a familar ache in his arms, in his loins. She was so damned beautiful. Despite her less-than-placatory tone, his righteous anger melted away, leaving a hollow ache. “Strange,” he said. “That’s a question I’ve been asking of you.”
The sincere doubt, the vulnerability revealed, pierced Kit’s rage; nothing else could have hauled her back to earth. She blinked-and suddenly felt cold. “You couldn’t have thought I intended to leave you permanently?”
When Jack’s face remained shuttered, Kit frowned. “I didn’t intend…that is, I…” Abruptly, she shook her wits into order. This was ridiculous! What misguided notion had he taken into his head? Drawing in an exasperated breath, she laced her fingers together, fixed her gaze on her husband’s grey eyes and clearly enunciated: “I only meant my absence to focus your attention on my wish to be informed as to what was going on. I never intended to be away from Castle Hendon for longer than a few days.”
Slowly, Jack raised his brows. “I see.” He paused, then, strolling forward, said: “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that I might be…concerned for your safety?” Kit turned as he neared; he could now see her face. “That; given your propensity for landing yourself in dangerous situations, I might, with justification, feel worried over your well-being?” The arrested look in Kit’s large eyes stated quite clearly that the idea had never occurred to her. Abruptly, Jack’s mock anger crystallized into the real thing. “Damn it, woman! I was worried sick!”
His bellow shook Kit. She grasped the chair back with both hands and blinked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” Her words trailed into fascinated silence as, wide-eyed, she watched her husband fight to shackle his temper, a temper she’d never seen unleashed. He vibrated with angry tension, muscles clenched as if to hold the violence in. His grey eyes burned with a dark flame.
Jack heard her words through a haze of conflicting emotions, the suppressed fears of the past week unexpectedly erupting. Anger overrode all else-the damned woman really didn’t understand. “In that case,” he said, his voice a steely growl, “I suggest you listen very carefully, my love. Because the next time you endanger yourself recklessly, without me by your side, I swear I’ll tan your pretty hide.”
Trapped in the grey fury of his gaze, Kit felt her eyes grow rounder, a species of delicious fright tickling her spine. He’d called her his love- that would do for a start. His confession sounded promising.
With an effort, Jack forced himself to remain where he was, a bare three feet from his wife. If he touched her now, they’d go up in flames. He fixed his eyes on hers and enunciated clearly: “I love you, as you damned well know. Every time you head into danger, I worry!” Her eyes searched his; he saw her lips soften. Abruptly, he swung away and started to pace. “Not a passive emotion, this worry of mine. When in its throes, I can’t think straight! I know you’ve never run in anyone’s harness before. But you married me-you vowed to obey. Henceforth, you’ll do precisely that.” Jack came to a halt and fixed Kit with an intimidating stare. “Henceforth, you’ll tell me before you embark on any escapade beyond what your dear friend Amy would countenance. And if I forbid it, so help me, you’ll forget it. If not, I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll lock you in your room!”
His voice had risen. His final threat struck Kit while she was still engrossed with his first revelation. He loved her. He’d said so, in words, out loud. In silence, she stared at him, her gaze softening, caressing the angry lines of his cheek and jaw. Her mind belatedly scrambled to catch up. Did worry over her truly affect him so? Is this what love did to him?