In the Devil's Bed (Sins of the Duke Book 1) (13 page)

Swallowing, Jack stared at the pictures above the beds. Letters, knights, great bears, and horses filled the frames. And of all things, a small table with a lantern stood by each bed. As if the boys might be allowed to read or simply enjoy a bit of light when darkness came.

Jack’s throat tightened like a fist had grabbed hold of it. This was all so bloody different than his own life. Thirty boys crammed into a room half this size with blankets eaten by moths and worn thin by previous owners filled his head. The windowless room stank as the children cowered on the frigid stone floor.

He froze.

Pausing as she lit a candle, Regan frowned. “Jack?”

His name shook him and the nightmare retreated just to the edge of his thoughts, where he usually kept it locked. “Yes?”

She picked up the candle, the light flickering over her face. “You looked like you were very far away.”

Her concerned blue eyes stared up at him. Jack flinched. Concern was not something he was accustomed to. And not something he wanted from her. “Just running over serious matters. I apologize.”

Her eyes narrowed as if she did not believe him. “Of course.”

Something he was also not accustomed to. When he spoke, people listened and took his word as law, even when he was lying through his teeth. Regan Chance saw more than she should. Jack swung his gaze back to the room. The beds were all made and empty. Except one. A single boy sat in one of eight beds on each side of the room.

Regan hurried down the aisle, her shoes hitting the wooden floor in a fast beat. “Tommy?” she called.

The little boy at the far end of the room waved from his bed. “’ello Regan.”

“Hello dearest.” She sat on the edge of the bed, placing her candle down on the small table. Her black skirts fanned out about her feet.

Jack followed, forcing one foot in front of the other. He hated thinking of his childhood and the factory. The events that had led him to this point. As Jack neared the bed, his skin prickled.

The thin face of the sandy-haired boy looked up at him. Gray eyes, too old for his young face, stared back at him and the pinched look that starvation and abuse brought tightened his features. The boy grasped at his blankets with thin, skeletal fingers.

“Who’s this, then?” the boy demanded.

Regan turned towards Jack. The sun caught and shone in her auburn curls. “This is Jack. He was a captain in the Army.” Regan’s lips parted in a smile as she returned her attention to Tommy.

Suddenly, Jack wanted her to look at him like that. As if he was the most important person in the world. Jack shifted his gaze back to the boy as he held his hand out to the child. “It’s a pleasure, Tommy.”

The boy reached his hand out slowly, as if afraid Jack might slap it. The small fingers grasped Jack’s and squeezed. Tommy let go and his hand fell back to the blanket. “And you, gov.”

“Jack,” he said softly.

Tommy nodded. “Right. Jack.”

Regan tickled Tommy’s arm. “Jack was a soldier. Just like your papa.”

Cocking his head to the side, the boy’s eyes sparkled with hope. “Really? Did you know me da?” Tommy’s voice softened as he whispered, “He died at Talavera.”

Jack tensed, uncomfortable under the boy’s attention. “Perhaps. What was his name?”

“Tom Perkins.”

Jack swallowed, thinking back. He’d known hundreds if not thousands of soldiers.

“Tom Perkins,” Jack repeated.

Tommy stared back at him, his eyes wide, and Jack’s heart pounded in his chest. He could still remember asking his mother about his father. And she’d not said a thing. “You know, I did meet him once. He was a good man. Brave, too.”

Jack drew in a long breath. God, how he wished that his father had loved him enough to stay. But the bastard had left his mother on the docks to fend for herself. And she had. . . as a whore. Jack could never make it right for himself. Didn’t even deserve it. But Tommy? Tommy deserved a father who hadn’t run off without a backward glance.

Jack kept his gaze fixed on Tommy’s rapt face. “He talked about his son, always saying how much he loved you. He lived and fought for you, and even now, he’s waiting for you,” Jack said gently.

Tommy smiled, tears filling his eyes. “I knew it.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned his head back towards Regan. “I think I might be able to get out of me bed tomorrow.”

Regan smiled as she nodded and rubbed Tommy’s hand. “Perhaps you will. But in the meantime, wouldn’t you like sausages and mash?”

Jack took slow steady breaths, trying to focus on anything besides the boy in the bed. The whole damned scene was unlocking a door he’d slammed shut over twenty years ago.

“Will you read to me?” asked Tommy.

“I will.” Regan pulled open a slender drawer in Tommy’s stand and took out a thin book. She lifted it up. “We’re reading
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.”

“I likes Bottom.”

Despite his discomfort, Jack grinned. “So do I.”

Jack turned to his right, looking for a place to sit, where he might be able to turn his attention to something else.

“If you likes Bottom, maybe you could give a go at reading?” suggested Tommy.

Jack stopped, unsure what to say.

“Jack must think of other things while we read,” explained Regan.

Tommy stared at him, his large eyes confused in his thin face.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t pretend that he was a good man. Jack curled his fingers, digging his nails into his palms. “I‘m sorry, but I’m protecting Regan from bad men. I can’t do that if I read to you.”

Tommy’s white face drained of its remaining color, turning it a bluish purple. He took several deep breaths, then his small body shook and a harsh hacking cough ripped from his chest. He turned to Regan, his eyes wide, his chest rising up and down in rapid gasps.

Regan grabbed him with gentle hands. She stared down at his face. “Breath slowly. No one will hurt us.”

Jack’s throat tightened. He’d said the wrong thing. He stood still, his feet nailed to the floor. Frozen.

“You— Are they coming— for me?” Tommy gasped. The words rattled as fluid rolled around inside his lungs.

“No, darling. No.” Regan slid her hands up to his face, placing them on either side of his head. “Look in my eyes and take a breath. A small one.” Regan breathed with the boy. “Yes. That’s it.” She smiled. “Now, another.”

Tommy opened his mouth and inhaled. It whistled, the thin sound piercing the room. But it sounded far easier than before.

Jack’s eyes burned. He’d done that to this child. With a careless word. He couldn’t be here. He didn’t know how to be. He took a step back. “Regan, I’ll wait just outside the door. Call if you need me.”

She turned her head towards him, her hands still resting on Tommy’s face. Her blue eyes widened and, for a moment, understanding pooled in them.

Jack turned on his heel and marched from the room. He quickly shut the door and leaned his body up against it. The rough wood rubbed against his coat and Jack fought the urge to vomit.

He knew the fear Tommy felt. He’d walked hand in hand with it. Hell, he’d feared someone just as much all his life. The Duke of Chiles.

Chapter 18

The carriage bounced along the muddy road between London and Wellhurst. Moonlight spilled through the slender crack between the burgundy curtains covering the windows and Regan couldn’t stop wondering what in God’s name Sylvia had been thinking. The blasted woman had feigned horrendous carriage sickness and demanded to be left behind at the last posting inn.

Now, she was completely alone with Jack and every one of her nerves was completely alert to this fact.

Blast Sylvia and her lovers. For that had to be it. Her aunt was meeting with a handsome, young lord along the way. Regan sighed. She stared at the closed curtains, but every bit of her was desperate to look at Jack. She twisted her gloved hands together. Good Lord, she was being an absolute ninny. What was so wrong with looking at her guard? Besides, she’d gotten a devil of a crick in her neck staring askance. Regan allowed herself to turn back towards the opposite seat.

Shadows mixed with silver light danced over the hard planes of Jack’s face.

At last, she folded her hands together, unable to pull her attention from his strong face. Even in sleep, suspicion tugged at the corners of his mouth and faintly lined the creases of his eyes. Only the soft brush of his black lashes on his cheeks gave him an air of boyishness.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her. Regan pressed her lips together. Something was growing inside her, taking a stronger hold day by day.

Her fingers itched to push back a lock of hair tickling his cheek bone. Instead, Regan dug her fingers tightly into her palms, her soft kid gloves protecting her skin from her nails.

She liked him. Too much.
Far
too much.

Regan let out a breath of air. He was a fascinating combination of violence and kindness. And she wanted to understand him in a way she never thought to understand a man.

The folds of Jack’s dark blue cravat shifted as he breathed slow, steady breaths. He’d loosened it earlier, baring most of his sun-kissed throat.

“Am I breathing steam, Lady Regan?” Jack’s sensual lips moved around the words, caressing them. And his voice, deep and rumbling, filled the open space of the carriage.

Regan blinked. Breathing steam? No, but he might as well be with the warmth steeling through her body. Her breath tightened in her chest. “No, why should you ask?”

He opened his eyes, the black of his pupils dominating his dark irises. “You’ve been staring at me for the past several minutes.”

“Have I?”

“Yes.” His lips curled into a smile and a glow flickered in his eyes that did not originate from the moonlight.

They’d looked that way once, just before they had kissed. “I was—“ Regan snapped her mouth shut before she could say
not
. “You happen to be in my direct line of vision. Do you suggest I avoid looking straight ahead?”

He cocked his left brow, raising it in that irritating fashion. Challenging her.

Bloody man. Why did he have to notice? “Does it offend or discomfort you?”

She’d never been caught staring at a man before. Pointing to the window she said, “I shall look this way, then.”

Turning her head to the right, Regan fixed her vision on the swaying curtains, a far less appealing sight than Jack’s face.

His low laugh rumbled in the air. The muscles in her back and lower abdomen tightened as the sound surrounded her. Regan bit the inside of her lip, resisting the urge to look back at him. She would not seem like a silly miss who swooned over a handsome man. A
very
handsome man.

“Discomfort? Yes, you’re staring causes me discomfort.”

Regan squelched her heavy disappointment and tilted her chin up. “I apologize. It was not my—“

“Not that kind of discomfort, Regan.” His voice rumbled through the air, tickling her skin.

Her name, whispered from his lips, turned her towards him as if he’d grabbed her himself.

He leaned forward, the fabric of his charcoal coat moving over his broad arms. “When you stare at me, I am uncomfortable because I wish to touch you, to put my lips on yours. To slip my tongue in your mouth. Like I did before. And I shouldn’t wish it.”

Regan sat fixed. Her brain jerked to a stop at the prospect of his tongue in her mouth.

Regan stared into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, as he raised his gloved hand towards her cheek.

Her heart pulsed at the tenderness of his gesture and she tilted her head into his palm. The roughness of his fingertips grazed her skin as they slid towards the back of her neck. Gently, he pulled her forward. Instead of resisting, her body swayed towards his.

Lord, she knew this was folly, but she longed to kiss him. She wanted to taste him and feel his muscles beneath her hands. She needed this. Needed him to be the man who awakened her body as well as her mind. Regan exhaled a slow breath, giving in.
Allowing
herself to want and take.

He tilted her head to the right then lowered his mouth. The heat of his lips brushed hers. The male spice of him invaded her senses, filling her with hunger. He touched his tongue to the line of her lips. She shivered at the delicious feel and she opened her mouth.

A moan of pleasure slipped from her as he entwined his tongue with hers. Regan lifted her gloved hands to his shoulders, unsure where to put them, but desperately needing to grasp him.

Jack growled and grabbed her waist with both his hands. Her eyes widened as she landed in his lap. Regan gasped at his firm thighs pressing into her backside, and something else. The heat of a hard ridge in his trousers pressed through the folds of her skirts. And suddenly Regan was seized by the urge to rub herself against it.

As he brushed the small of her back, the touch of his fingers burned through her gown.

Taking her right hand into his, he brought it towards his mouth. Glancing into her eyes, he took the tip of her gloved forefinger between his teeth and tugged. Slowly, he repeated the motion on each of her fingers, then he slid the glove from her hand. Regan’s body tightened at the desire in his eyes. They promised something and she wanted to know what.

Warmth pooled in her belly, like a heavy weight pulling her into him. He stared at her fingers.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. He turned her palm up, then gently grazed the softest part with his teeth.

Her hand jumped beneath his mouth and heat traveled up her arms. For goodness sake, it was just her palm! But everything about him felt so perfect. As if he knew exactly what she needed and that thought warmed her with more than need. He kissed the soft pad of her finger then drew it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

Regan gasped at the teasing onslaught.

He nipped her skin, then lifted his mouth back to hers and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Sliding his hands to her hips, he guided her thighs so that each rested on either side of his waist. Her skirts rucked up her legs caressing her skin. That large bulge in his trousers rubbed against her. Its heat warmed the juncture of her thighs. Regan’s breath caught in her throat and the muscles of her thighs abruptly tightened.