In the Devil's Bed (Sins of the Duke Book 1) (16 page)

His mother had been condemned as a woman. Physically scarred by a customer. Women needed to forge out their own paths without a man as their only protector. For sadly, all too often women needed protection, even from their so-called protectors. “I second that, Lady Regan. Though I must admit, I did see a fair number of rajas that enjoyed their life without care when I was in India.”

Lord Brookhurst narrowed his eyes. “Precisely.”

“India!” exclaimed the dark-haired woman next to him.

Jack hid a wince. Damn.

“What a fascinating life you soldiers lead.” She leaned forward, her breasts again pushing against the thin fabric of her dress. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to spill out right onto the table.

“What was it like being a foot soldier?” she asked, her voice conspiratorial, yet loud enough for half the table to hear.

“Foot soldier?” interjected Lord Wells. “Foot soldier?”

The old man focused on Jack, his fat, red cheeks shining in the candlelight. “Damned annoying creatures are what foot soldiers are.”

Jack lifted a brow. “How so milord?”

Lord Wells gripped his crystal goblet with his sausage fingers and lifted it to his lips. He took a swallow then lowered the glass. “The ne’er-do-wells had the nerve to ask a raise in their wages. Can you imagine?”

Actually, he could. But Jack refrained from saying so. “Well, there is the fact that the soldiers make less than two pounds per month and are frequently forced to wait excessive weeks for their pay.”

“What of that?” Lord Wells leaned back as a servant took away his soup dish and replaced it with Dover sole.

Jack picked up his fish forks. He wanted to jab the man in the eye with the sharp utensils. And would have. If he could buy a judge off for assaulting a peer in public. Jack turned the fork in his fingers. “What I think, my lord, is that two pounds would not even pay your week’s breakfast bill.”

“And?”

A deep breath just didn’t seem enough to expel the disgust he felt for a man like Wells, but he took one anyway. “Two pounds is not enough for a man who has risked his life for king and country. Especially if he has a family at home.”

Lord Wells shook his head as he forked a large piece of sole. “You have been reeducated, Captain Hazard. Friendship with men the likes of Lord Ashecroft has changed you and made you forget what men of your birth are like. Their needs are little above animals. And as you put it, the women can fend for themselves.” He chortled. “I daresay they know how to make a bit of extra coin.”

A titter of laughter ran the length of the table. Jack gripped the fork handle, letting the hard edges dig into his skin. He doubted his mother would agree with Wells. Jack eyed the tines of his fork. This fool was not worth the hangman’s noose. He looked up. Regan’s face had drained of color. Her fingers tightened on her forks. As if she was considering skewering the old man herself.

Shrugging, Brookhurst added, “A good glass of gin is all they want. Hogarth certainly made that clear years ago.”

Anger pumped up and down Jack’s veins, but a small bit of satisfaction pulsed through him as Regan narrowed her gaze at Lord Brookhurst.

“That is hardly what Mr. Hogarth was trying to say with his etchings.” Regan’s voice, usually warm and deep, cut through the air.

Lord Brookhurst nodded his head, an overly apologetic expression drawing his brows together. “Of course, my lady. And having such a beautiful teacher, I would listen to your ladylike sympathies forever.”

Regan snorted.

Silence suddenly descended as several pairs of eyes turned in her direction.

Her chin shot up and her eyes flared as she took in the stares around the table. Her gaze met Jack’s. And then she smiled. It heated him like the warmest turf fire. She disliked these people as much as he did and she wanted him to know it.

Lord Brookhurst stared at Regan, his mouth slightly open. He obviously couldn’t believe she had snorted at his comment.

A hand slipped over Jack’s thigh. He shot the dark-haired woman to his right a sharp glance. He was used to it. Most women wanted a chance to bed a man who was not a gentleman. But right now, he had far higher concerns than a lust-driven noble woman. “Pardon, madam. I do believe you have misplaced your hand.”

She giggled, squeezed his thigh then turned to speak to the man on her other side. Thankfully, she took her hand with her.

But bloody hell. He’d give anything if it had been Regan’s hand on his thigh.

Chapter 21

Regan rushed down the main staircase, spotting Jack by a wide French window and overly large palm frond. The morning sun glinted off his shining black hair and played over the dark folds of his great coat.

A horrible, little thrill warmed her at the sight of him. And she forced herself to slow, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor.

He turned towards her, the folds of his great coat swinging about his long legs. A smile lit his eyes in recognition. “A maid tackled me in the hall near your room and said you wished to take a constitutional. She seemed most insistent that I meet you immediately.”

Regan smiled. “If I have to spend another moment in this house, I’ll choke.” And the last thing she needed was to get cornered by Brookhurst or Lumley. “Who better to take me for a walk? You are my guard, are you not?”

His lips curled in a slow smile. “Only your guard?”

“Jack—“ the warning note in her voice surprised her. As tempting as the carriage ride had been, she had far more important things to do. Somehow, she was going to have to make him understand that. “We must speak.”

He nodded, the lines around his eyes creasing as his expression warmed. “Perhaps the house is not the best place to discuss such things.”

Regan nodded, her heart tightening. She didn’t want to lay down the line and tell him that they could only, at best, be friends. But it had to be done. He was far too dangerous and the temptation was becoming too great.

“Ah! Lady Regan!”

Regan winced. Lord Brookhurst. Forcing a pleasant smile to her lips, Regan turned in the direction of his deep voice. “Good morning.”

He strode across the wide entrance hall. Striking a pose, he propped his hand on his hip, lifting the folds of his fawn-colored coat from his cream breeches and green day coat. “Your presence was greatly missed at breakfast.”

“Oh, well, how kind.” What could she tell him? That she found pigs to be better company? “Now, I must be off.”

“Indeed?” Brookhurst said softly, his gaze darting to Jack. “Where to?”

Regan tensed at the clear suspicion in Brookhurst’s attention. “I was about to take my morning constitutional.”

“Splendid. Lord Wells’ grounds are exemplary and I am a lover of nature.” He smiled, his teeth white in his cat and cream grin. “And I’m sure you could use the additional company.” He turned his blue, calculating gaze back to Jack. “No offense intended.”

Jack inclined his head, a show of respect that didn’t quite hide the tensing of his jaw. “None taken, Brookhurst. I’m sure you can speak on things I never would even think of.”

Regan’s eyes widened at Jack’s veiled insult, but she kept silent. Frustration rattled inside her. She could not tell Brookhurst that she did not wish his company.

Bloody everlasting hell!

Suppressing a sigh, Regan gestured towards the tall double doors at the front of the entry. “Shall we then?”

“Oh, Regan!” Sylvia’s voice chimed through the hall as she swept in, her raspberry day costume a striking contrast to her blond hair and pale bosom. She halted, her skirts swishing about her legs as she spotted Brookhurst.

“We were about to take a walk about the park, Sylvia.” Regan fixed a pointed stare at her aunt, praying that Sylvia would come. At least then, she might be able to speak with Jack while Brookhurst was distracted by Sylvia’s charms.

Tilting her blond-haired head to the side, Sylvia glanced from Brookhurst to Jack, then back to Brookhurst. “A walk sounds just the thing.”

“Shall we then?” asked Jack.

Sylvia beamed a smile at Jack as she strode towards him. “Of course. Would you be so kind as to lend your arm?”

Jack’s mouth opened. “Of. . . course,” he said, his eyes trained on Regan.

No! No, no, no. How had her morning turned to such an utter disaster? She’d arranged this meeting to get away from Brookhurst and have a word with Jack. Pulling at her cuffs, Regan stared at Sylvia as her aunt placed her hand on Jack’s forearm.

“Lady Regan, may I?” asked Brookhurst as he extended his fawn-gloved hand.

She had no choice. And now she actually had to walk with the man. Jack and Sylvia strode out through the front door. Watching them descend the front steps, Regan set off after them, wondering how rude it would be if she didn’t even bother to comment on the weather to Lord Brookhurst.

Brent was waiting just outside on the pebbled path and followed at a distance as they made their way from the house.

As they crossed the wide lawn into the thick, oak forest, Brookhurst began a commentary on Italian Opera. Sunlight spilled though the wide, lime green leaves and danced over the rough forest floor.

Regan tilted her head in his direction and murmured her assent every now and then, amazed that he seemed to need no reply to continue his onslaught.

Now, if Brookhurst could just fall into a deep pit.

She stared at Jack’s broad shoulders and the way his body moved under his coat as he strode up ahead. Regan sighed as she lifted the hem of her skirt from trailing over the leafy ground. He strode in slow, contained strides as he kept pace with Sylvia. Her aunt readjusted her hand on Jack’s forearm. Her lips parted in a smile as Jack said something.

Still, Jack’s attention seemed focused above Sylvia’s head, on the terrain about them as if intruders might suddenly burst from the trees.

Regan fisted her free hand. Even as Jack surveyed the land, he and Sylvia seemed to be having a splendid time. And she— She was talking to a man that her grandfather would unquestionably think suitable for a husband.

The deep hum of Jack’s voice traveled from before her, vibrating through the still forest. He was her guard. A man who invoked the most powerful yearnings deep in her body. With each day, those yearnings grew stronger, urging her from the path of propriety.

Regan yanked her attention from Jack and glanced up at the intertwining fingers of the old oaks several feet above her head.

“It is such a great deal of nonsense,” Brookhurst continued, oblivious to Regan’s lack of attention. “Surely, you must agree?”

Regan looked over at Lord Brookhurst. He wasn’t a bad looking man. Actually, he was quite handsome, with his dark blue eyes, high cheek bones and dark brown hair. But the thinness of his mouth gave him a mean, pinched look.

His beliefs, on the other hand, were abominable. They matched his mouth.

Worse, with charming cruelty, he’d treated Jack like he’d been a stable hand allowed to sit at the table. A stable hand that still smelled of horse dung. Regan remained silent and so did Brookhurst, who looked at her expectantly. Oh! At last, he expected her to respond. “And why is that milord?”

His high arched brows lifted. “You are such a beautiful woman. Clearly intelligent. What a fine wife you would make and yet you remain unmarried.

Not this again.

Regan frowned. Did Brookhurst truly think she would consider him? “My lord, I have enjoyed my independence and will continue to do so. I could not be so devoted to my work if I were married.”

Brookhurst laughed. “But that is just it. You should not have such cares. If you truly wished to help people, you should take your rightful place in society. I’m sure you could charm the staunchest of politicians.”

“I do not care for political maneuvering.” She hated the lies that passed nobles’ lips as if they were truth from heaven above.

The gurgle of a water rippled through the air and Regan squinted. Not more than a hundred feet ahead, a stream cut into the soft earth. It flickered with light under the morning sun.

“Are you not aware that I am already trying to change the plight of the common man?” she asked. “By practical means?”

Brookhurst shrugged as he smiled down at her. His lips curled in a knowing grin. “Of course, but you are a young woman without the proper guidance of a husband. A wiser man would show you that calculation is a far better tool in this world. And certainly it is not your place to go so boldly amongst such filth.”

She could not credit the words coming from his mouth. Was he so foolish as to think she would respond favorably to such comments? She’d worked hard to guide her own life. Her father had been determined that she be able to look after herself.

Men like Brookhurst were particularly disturbing. He was a ruler of the world and he meant to keep his boot firmly planted on everyone he considered beneath him. A man exactly like her grandfather.

She’d had enough. Regan tilted her lips up in a smile.

They stopped just before the stream. The tree branches stretched out their thin fingers on each side of the bank, entwining and grasping each other, as if their lives depended upon it. Earth-darkened water rushed and swirled around large stones that crossed like a path over the wide stream.

She held out her hand to Brookhurst. “Would you be so kind?”

He tilted his head. Taking her gloved hand, he lifted it to his lips. Their warmth pressed through the glove. Regan inwardly cringed. They stepped to the edge of the stream bank. Earth crumbled like a tiny waterfall into the stream.

“Lady Regan!” Jack strode up beside them, leaving Sylvia a few feet away. He looked from Brookhurst to her. “Perhaps, I should help you. I have more experience in these things.”

Brookhurst snorted. “I think not. We all know the only purpose you have for the ladies, Hazard. This is not it.”

A muscle jumped in Jack’s cheek and his sooty eyes narrowed.

Regan glanced from Brookhurst to Jack. Brookhurst was either extremely brave or extremely stupid. Jack looked like he was about to pound Brookhurst into the dirt.

A smile tugged at her lips.
Her
scheme would be more suitable and less violent.