“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?”
For the life of her, Kit couldn’t decide if he was teasing or not.
“Try me, by all means, if you doubt it.”
The invitation was accompanied by a look which made Kit vow not to call his bluff. She became engrossed in smoothing his lapel. “But I need the exercise.”
Even as the plaintive words escaped her lips, Kit realized her error. Her eyes flew wide; there was no way she would risk looking up.
A nerve-stretching pause ensued. “Really?” came the mild reply.
Kit wasn’t about to answer.
“I’ll bear that in mind, my dear. I’m sure I can devise any number of novel ways to exercise you.”
Kit didn’t doubt it. The tremor in the deep voice suggested he didn’t either. A maxim of Lady Gresham’s recurred in her mind.When all else fails, try cajoling. She looked up. “Jack—”
But he shook his head. “Give over, Kit. I won’t change my mind.”
Kit stared into his perfectly serious eyes and knew it was beyond her powers to sway him. With a sigh of exasperation, of deep frustration, she grimaced at him.