In the Devil's Bed (Sins of the Duke Book 1) (11 page)

“Back to the rock ye slid out from,” O’Malley said brightly.

Jack clapped his hand on Garret’s back. “Don’t look so bleak, man. It’s not death at dawn. Yet.”

They left Garret sitting alone at the table and headed back into the night. As he and O’Malley stepped out into the narrow, filth strewn alley, Jack’s breath blew out white in front of him. “So, he doesn’t bugger people.”

“Too bad,” O’Malley tsked. “That would have been the easiest way.”

“When the hell has this ever been easy?”

O’Malley wrapped his coat tighter about him as they tramped into the dark fog. “I don’t suppose it’s ever easy until yer dead.”

They parted ways in the darkness and Jack sucked in the rotting air. It was strange. As he drank in the foul taste of the night, he couldn’t help feeling that he was rotting, too. Slowly, steadily, from the inside out.

Chapter 14

“She can be controlled.”

“Indeed.” Chiles stared at his youngest son, barely able to keep his disappointment in check. He leaned back in his high backed leather chair and folded his aging hands. “You have done such an admirable job so far.”

Geoffrey stood on the green and blue woven carpet, shifting from polished boot to polished boot. Even now, the man, in his thirties, was a child. He damned well was never supposed to be the next duke. No, that had been James. The eldest. Strong, determined, and charming, he would have completely won over the House of Lords. But he’d had to go and oppose everything the Chiles name stood for.

Petulant, selfish, and a liar, Geoffrey had no idea what real power meant. He’d use it for personal gain and not impartial imperatives. Good God, Chiles could hardly credit he was this sniveling man’s father. Geoffrey’s one saving grace was his avid royalist principles. Which in the end was the only thing that truly mattered.

Geoffrey’s pale blue eyes shifted left as if looking for a hasty excuse for his own shortcomings. “Your Grace, she is willful. The way she was raised—“

Chiles shoved himself to his feet, towering slightly above his own son. “Yes, she is James’ child.”

He smoothed down his green waistcoat, wishing Regan had been a man and slightly more moldable. But she was what she was and, like her father, she was digging a very early grave for herself and her political and social reputation. “She’s a Chance and she must conform to our beliefs. Now that James is gone, we have the opportunity to be seen as a united front against those who would question our God-given authority.”

No, he could brook no opposition from his own family. Not in these politically dangerous times.

“Father?”

“We shall make her see the error of her ways and perhaps, unlike James, she can be redeemed. If she is placed into the right man’s hands. . .”

Geoffrey frowned, his forehead creasing as if strained. “Marriage?”

Chiles inclined his head. The narrow scope of his own son’s resourcefulness tired him and he sighed. “That, amongst other things. As you say, she is willful. We will force her hand.”

Geoffrey snorted. “You’ll have to shove the groom down the aisle. For God’s sake, who’d want to wed such a disobedient and self-centered woman? She thinks of nothing but her own interests. Look how she ignores you.” Geoffrey smoothed his cravat. ”And, of course, myself.”

Chiles smiled tightly. He should never have entrusted Geoffrey with Regan. He should have immediately brought the girl into his house and begun her reeducation. But the wheel was already spinning now. “Just take her to the country, Geoffrey, or have Sylvia do it.”

“And if she refuses to be brought to heel, like James?”

Chiles narrowed his eyes slightly, letting several moments of silence hang between them. “Leave that to me.”

Geoffrey swallowed then nodded. “Yes, Father.”

Chiles waved at his son. “Now go.”

Bowing slightly, Geoffrey hurried out of the room.

Chiles stared at the empty doorway. Though Geoffrey desperately wanted it, Chiles couldn’t give him his trust. The boy was too selfish, too impulsive. No, there were things that were too secret even for his only remaining son.

Chapter 15

“You’ve made a mistake.”

Jack darted around the boxing ring, his fists raised, and his body slightly angled to the side. He kept his eyes trained on Adam’s, waiting for movement. “No. You did, ya bleedin’ blue blood.”

Adam Ashecroft, the Earl of Easton, let fly, sending a punch towards Jack’s jaw. The earl’s huge fist sailed past Jack’s chin as he twisted to the side.

“You couldn’t hit a man if he were standin’ still,” Jack taunted.

Adam’s smiled. The kind of smile a tiger would give before he took a chunk out of a man’s arse. “Your accent is showing.”

Tucking his right fist just below his chin, Jack aimed a left hook at Adam’s face. His fingers grazed skin, but didn’t land, and the momentum carried him forward. Damn, but he couldn’t stop the image of Regan, her hair falling over her shoulders, and the softness of her nightgown, clinging to her body, from flashing in his mind. Jack balanced on the balls of his toes and shook his head. His damp hair lifted off his forehead as drops of water flew into the air.

Adam stepped to the right and Jack mirrored him. Boxing was a game he was good at. It was a game he played like some men played chess. And he could work Regan out of his thoughts as if she, too, was simply a game to be won. . . or lost. He rolled his head to the right. A sharp pop echoed about him as the bones in his neck adjusted.

Adam dodged in and threw his right fist at Jack’s face with the tight and controlled movement of a swordsman. Jack turned to the right and ran straight into Adam’s left fist. Air whooshed out of his lungs. He stepped back and whacked Adam in the cheek with his elbow.

Adam hissed as his head snapped back. They jumped back away from each other. Adam lowered his green eyes.

Jack smiled. They could go on like this for hours and neither would win. “We done yet?”

“Only if you’re finished working your tension out.” Adam lowered his fists and strode over to the side of the ring.

Jack followed. He picked up a towel and wiped it over his hair. “I am not tense,” he said over the sound of other fights and warm-ups taking place in the boxing club.

One of Adam’s black brows tilted up, mocking him. “I have seen Lady Regan. Like I told you before, you’ve made a mistake.”

Rubbing the towel over his chest, Jack looked away. He didn’t mistake Adam’s meaning, but he was in control. “I am her guard. No more.”

Adam laughed as he yanked on his shirt. “See to it that it stays that way or the Duke of Chiles will cut off your balls and feed them to his dogs.”

“The bastard would cut a man’s balls off
without
reason.”

Adam nodded, running a hand through his black hair. “He’s one of the most powerful men in London—“

“I happen to have influ-“

Adam picked up his green cravat and fingered the folds. “Chiles
also
has a five hundred-year-old name to go along with that power and kinship to the king. Do
not
get involved with her.”

Feigning indifference Jack folded his arms over his chest. “Why are you warning me off a bit of sport?”

Jack had known Adam for a good four years. And Adam and O’Malley were the only people he’d trusted since Devlin died.

“Because I don’t want to see you destroyed by a man who would hang a man just to watch him dance.” A muscle in Adam’s jaw twitched. “Jack. He is cousin to the king and has more money and connections than God.”

“I know,” Jack growled.

Slowly, he drew in a deep breath. Adam could never know his real intentions. It didn’t matter if the man had been a spy for Wellington. In his heart, Adam would always be a man of honor. A man who would never use an innocent young woman to defeat an enemy.

“Never fear,” Jack assured. “Lady Regan is too straight-laced for my tastes.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “Somehow, I thought you might enjoy that challenge.”

To see the passionate woman who lived beneath her calm exterior break free and live as wantonly as she kissed? Hell yes. That challenge appealed to him very much. Too much. “She’s safe from my corruption if that is your worry.”

Adam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Adam’s smiles hadn’t for some time. “Good. Aren’t you supposed to be with her now? Being you are her personal guard and all.”

“I give myself a little over an hour a day out of her presence.” Or else he would go bloody mad. He needed time away from the soft smell of lavender that surrounded her. The glint of her red hair. The way her body moved. And the way her damned mouth had felt under his. Jack pulled on his shirt and laced up the ties.

“When I leave,” Jack said, “I ensure she is heavily guarded, and she does not leave her townhouse without me. She’s as closely guarded as the king.”

Adam rolled his eyes and groaned as he slipped his arms into his deep green coat. “I suppose all this work means no raising hell for a while?”

“No. Not until I can find out who is behind the attacks.”

“You do realize that it could take some time?”

Jack smiled tightly. “I’m not too worried about that. Everything will run its course and I’ve arranged with O’Malley to set feelers out in the East End for information.”

Adam nodded. “You’re certain it’s an East Ender?”

“All evidence suggests it. Why?”

Hesitating, Adam looked about, then focused on Jack. “Consider. Her father was not popular with the Tories. The man’s own father openly opposed him. I think the duke would have disinherited the earl had primogeniture not stood firmly in his way. Some even believed James Chance, heir to a dukedom, supported a Republic.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, taking in this information. “And he was murdered.”

“Indeed,” Adam drawled. “Conveniently leaving his cause in the hands of a powerless young woman.”

Jack nodded. “If you hear anything about Chiles or her father, the earl—“

“I’ll keep you informed.”

“Things still active at Horse Guards?” Jack eyed the man who had taught him how to survive in the officer’s mess. They’d been a pair of outcasts. Jack had been a tough amongst blue bloods and Adam, a spy. Still, the Earl of Easton looked worse for wear these days, as if something beyond the puffed up bureaucrats of Whitehall were pressing him.

“Men are always trying to betray their king.” Adam smiled dryly. “Especially this king.”

Adam slung his cloak about his shoulders and inclined his head to Jack. “Mind yourself and stay out of the chit’s skirts.”

“Good thing I’ve got such admirable self-control,” Jack drawled.

“Indeed, or the housemaids would be falling about in raptures.”

Jack scowled. “The damned maid
did
take a long time to light the fire this morning.”

Laughing, Adam shook his head. “Having to fight them off already, are you?”

“Go back to Whitehall, ya toff.”

Adam headed out of the boxing club and Jack leaned up against the wall. Bloody hell, last night had taken an unexpected turn. Lady Regan had virtually taken the seduction into her own beautiful hands. But Jack had never counted on responding so intensely. The wench had somehow managed to coax information about his past that only Dev had known.

He swung the folds of his coat about his shoulders and the rustle of paper rubbed against fabric. They were this weeks’ reports to the duke, ready to be mailed out. He resisted the urge to yank them out and tear them up. But they were a necessary evil and he’d keep writing them and he’d keep as much of Regan’s personal life out as possible. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like some sick bastard. . . And he was passing the information to a man he despised. Whereas Regan— She was like nothing he’d ever known. No one could be that good.

Letting out a breath, Jack shoved away from the wall. He’d come here to work last night’s frustration out of his system.

That was a ruddy laugh. The woman was slipping into his blood like wine and if he didn’t watch himself, she wouldn’t be leaving. Jack strode to the door and out into the rare, late winter sunshine. He’d mail the reports. He’d watch himself. And he’d stay distant.

Lady Regan wasn’t going to get any closer than she’d gotten. Not unless it was the simple pleasure of her skin sliding against his.

Chapter 16

Regan needed to finish this draft. And she refused to let herself be distracted. Heat rushed to her cheeks and to her belly. Dear Lord, what had she been thinking last night? The soft, strong touch of his mouth on hers was the most glorious thing she had ever felt. It was also absolutely forbidden.

The creamy parchment stared up at her, naked. Her mind refused to focus and she threw the quill down. Black ink spattered over the parchment and onto the desk in long, wet fingers.

“Blast.”

Regan blew out a frustrated breath. It would be unkind to leave such a mess to the servants. Pulling her handkerchief from her sleeve, Regan stared at the jetty ink, the same color as Captain Hazard’s hair. Her fingers tightened on her handkerchief, the feel of his silken, thick hair on her hands taunting her. “Idiot,” she hissed.

She shook the handkerchief then rubbed it over the desk, wiping the ink stains away, hoping Hazard would disappear right along with them.

No. Not Hazard.

Jack.

Not John, the name of a gentleman.

But Jack.

Regan balled her handkerchief in her fist and plunked her elbows down on her desk. He was out somewhere. He hadn’t said where, only placed two extra guards in the house and ordered her to stay inside. This morning, he’d acted as if nothing had transpired. As if he had not brought his lips down on hers and kissed her till she could not breathe or think. Nor be anything but a. . .
woman
.

Oh, Lord. What would her father say? What would society say if they found out? Granted, her views made her an unpalatable marriage partner. The
ton
, however, was not forgiving of transgressions made public, and the only thing that allowed her to continue her work so independently was her pristine reputation.

The door to her parlor swung open, drawing her from her reverie.