When Kit fell into a reverie and said nothing further, Amy glared. “Kit! You can’t just stop there. I told you all I know—now it’s your turn. I’m marrying George next month. It’s your duty to tell me so I’ll know what to expect.”
Kit considered; she decided her vocabulary wasn’t up to it. “Do you mean to tell me your George hasn’t gone beyond a kiss and a fondle?”
“Of course not.” Amy’s expression held more disgruntled disgust than shock. “Jonathon didn’t go any farther with you before your marriage, did he?”
Kit’s eyes glazed. “Our relationship didn’t develop along quite the same lines as yours and George’s.” Her voice sounded strangled. Memories of how far Jack had gone threatened to overcome her. Even if she gave Amy an edited version, it would shock her to the core. “I’m sorry, Amy, but I can’t explain. Why don’t you press George for further details? Here he comes now.”
Through the morning room windows she could see George striding up from the stables. He reached the windows and checked at the sight of her. Then, smoothly, he entered and greeted Amy, bowing over her hand before raising it to his lips.
Watching closely, Kit noted the glow that infused Amy’s face and the brightness in her eyes. When his eyes met Amy’s, George’s face softened; as his lips brushed Amy’s fingers, his eyes remained on hers. The warm affection in his gaze was fully returned by Amy. Kit felt uncomfortably de trop.
Releasing Amy with understated reluctance, George turned to Kit and took her hand in greeting. “Kit.”
She returned his nod graciously. They’d met only twice since she’d dropped the guise of Young Kit—once at the wedding, once at their belated betrothal dinner. She’d always had the distinct impression that George disapproved of her wild ways far more strongly than Jack did. “Amy and I were discussing the merits of a husband being open with his wife.” Kit kept her gaze innocent and unthreatening. “Perhaps, in the interests of a well-rounded argument, you could give us your views on the matter.”
George raised his brows, his expression growing wary. “I suspect it depends very much on the nature of the relationship, don’t you think?” With a smile for Amy, George sat on the chaise beside her.
“True,” Kit acknowledged. “But given the relationship was right, the husband’s willingness to confide is the next hurdle, don’t you think? What reasons could a man have for keeping secrets from his wife?”
Their next half hour was spent in a peculiar three-way conversation. George and Kit traded oblique references to Jack’s reticence, none of which Amy understood. Amy, for her part, urged Kit to unburden herself and explain her problem more fully—an undertaking George endeavored to discourage. In between, all three traded local gossip, and George managed to discuss the details of their wedding, which he’d come to the Manor to clarify.
Sensing the currents between Amy and George, suppressed in her presence, Kit rose and picked up her gloves. “I must be going. I feel sure my husband won’t approve of my being out after dark.”
With that acerbic comment, she embraced Amy fondly, nodded to George, and sailed from the room.
Amy watched her go, sighed—then went straight into George’s arms. They closed about her; she and George exchanged a warm and unrestrained kiss. Then Amy pulled back with a sigh. “I’m worried about Kit. She’s troubled by something—something serious.” She met George’s gaze. “I don’t like to think of her riding alone in such a mood.”
George grimaced. “Kit’s a big girl.”
Amy pressed closer. “Yes, but…” The eyes that met George’s twinkled. “And Mama will be home any minute.”
George sighed. “Very well.” He kissed Amy again, then set her from him. “But
I’ll expect a reward next time I call.”
“You may claim it with my blessing,” Amy declared. “Just as long as Mama is out.”
George grinned, more than a touch wickedly. “I’ll be back.” With a wave, he headed for the stables.
He caught up with Kit as she left the stables, mounted on a chestnut mare. George stared. “Where’s Delia?”
For one fractured moment, Kit thought she’d erupt in flames. Her glance seared George. “Don’t ask!” She swung the chestnut toward the drive.
“Wait!” George called. “I’ll ride part of the way with you.”
When he rode out a minute later, Kit was schooling the mare in prancing circles, her groom watching from a distance. She fell in beside George; together they headed north and west.
George glanced at Kit. “I take it Jack hasn’t explained about the smuggling?”
Kit narrowed her eyes. “Explanations do not seem to be his strong point.”
George chuckled. When Kit glared, he explained: “You don’t know how true that is. Neither explanations nor excuses are part of Jack’s makeup. They weren’t characteristics of his father’s either.”
Kit frowned. “Someone once said he was ‘Hendonish.’ Is that what that means?”
George grinned. “If it was a woman who said it, not entirely, but it’s not unrelated to what I’m trying to say. Jack’s a born leader—all Hendons have been for generations. He’s used to being the one who makes the decisions. He knows what he wants, what needs to be done, and he gives orders to make it happen. He doesn’t expect to have to explain his actions and doesn’t relish being asked to do so.”
“That much, I’d gathered.”