In the Devil's Bed (Sins of the Duke Book 1) (18 page)

The tautness of his body flexed against her and the hard ridge of him radiated heat against her stomach. He hadn’t had release.

Coldness spilled down Regan’s back, settling in her stomach. What had she done? She’d taken what he’d given. What she’d told him they could not do. She’d allowed him, had wanted it. Had given him no reason to stop.

Dear God, they could have been discovered. Anyone could have seen. Someone
could
have seen. And then what? What would happen to her father’s dreams? What would happen to all the people who needed her in the East End when the gossips had torn her reputations to ribbons and she was nothing more than a ruined woman?

Where had her reason gone?

Tears stung Regan’s eyelids. She pressed her face against Jack’s strong chest. She breathed in once more, her body, despite herself, loving the feel of him against her. Then she pushed herself away.

The muscles in his neck stood taut. But he smiled down at her, a soft smile. He brushed her temple with the back of his fingers. “Yer so bloody beautiful.”

Her stomach clenched as if someone had just punched her. “Jack—“ Regan pushed herself back, pulling her hands free.

Question flickered in his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have. It was wrong.” The words sliced Regan’s throat, leaving pain in their wake.

His smile dimmed. “It wasn’t wrong. It’s the natural thing between a man and a woman. And I—“

“No. It may be natural, but some things should be denied.” Regan licked her lips. Fear and determination raged in her chest. “I told you before that I could not have an affair with you. That still stands.”

Thoughts tumbled around Regan’s mind like rocks in an avalanche. She’d made a mistake. Had been making too many around him and it had to stop. She sat up, pushing her gown back down around her legs. The reality of their situation slammed down on her. She’d nearly made love to him. And whether she’d meant to or not, she’d led him to believe something that could never be.

“I see.” His words cut the air between them like an axe blade. Jack grabbed his shirt. Roughly, he yanked it over his head then brushed it down, brushing it as if ridding himself of her.

“You do not care to lose control of yourself, do you?” he gritted as he shoved himself to his feet.

The crispness of his accent was such a contradiction to the soft rumbling of his other accent. An ache, like a swallowed stone sat in the pit of her stomach. She stared up at him as he towered above her like a furious god. “Nor do you.”

His lip curled in a mocking smile. “Oh, I do enjoy
losing control,
but in this case, I keep forgetting who I am trying to lose it with.”

Regan flinched. “Jack, you make me do things despite myself. I cannot allow that.”

He folded his arms across his chest, his fingers digging into his upper arms. Strands of his black hair fell carelessly into his glinting eyes. But they weren’t hard right now. Oh, no, they flickered with fury and pain. “Then what is your solution?”

Solution? She didn’t’ have a solution. She didn’t know what to do. For the first time in her life, she was truly confused. Confused by the longing in her soul, the ache in her body and the turmoil in her mind. The words tumbled out in a quick rush, “I think. . .” The words tasted foul in in her mouth, but they rushed out, “. . . that you can no longer be my guard.”

The mocking smile froze on his face, then dissolved into disbelief. He dropped his arms to his side. “You have decided, then, to give up your work, to avoid me?”

Regan forced herself to keep looking at him, knowing that what she was about to say was cruel. “No. I will continue. With your best guards, of course.”

His cheeks darkened. Every muscle in his body tensed as if he was about to unravel with fury. “You can’t be serious.”

For the first time, Regan realized how she had never seen him lose his temper. She did not want to see it now. But she’d bear the storm. For she had brought this upon herself. And it was time she remembered who she was and what she was fighting for. Even if a traitorous part of her demanded that it was he and he alone that she should fight for.

Chapter 22

Anger pulsed through his veins, desperate to break free. She was a fool. A complete fool. Christ. And so was he. She was just supposed to be a means to an end. A way to get at her grandfather. But somewhere along his twisted, little path she’d become something more.

Jack ground his teeth together as he stared at her.

Vivid red stained her pale cheeks, and her shoulders were back, tense. Defiant. Wariness flickered in her eyes. As damned well it should. A sick laugh wrenched itself out of his throat.

“You’d rather risk being murdered than being discovered in an indiscretion with me.” The words were flat. Hell, he’d known he was low. So low, he had no right to even touch her boots. But she’d seemed different.

The thought wrenched his guts. The truth that she was just like all the other nobles shouldn’t surprise him. She was a lady of quality. A lady with a mission. And ironically,
he
was her means to end. A means that could be tossed into the rubbish if he crossed her plans. It was the way the upper class had always treated him.

Those beautiful eyes which could fill with so much emotion stared at him now. Hard. Determined. “Jack—”

“Captain Hazard if you please since we are to be business partners.” He lifted his chin. “Now,
Lady Regan,
I cannot allow what you ask.”

She shifted, her eyes narrowing. “Pardon?”

“I, too, have a reputation to maintain and my other guards cannot protect you as I can.”

Regan clenched her fists, her skin whitening. She pushed herself to her feet and glared up at him. “Understand! You are not protecting me. When you give rise to scandal, it does not protect me!”

The ferocity and the truth of her words rang like a loud gong in his brain. But that’s what he’d contemplated, wasn’t it? To ruin her. To use her as one of many attacks on her grandfather.

Not once in their acquaintance had Regan allowed her voice to rise. Bloody hell, the woman controlled herself like her own personal jailor. But not now. And despite the fact that she was saying things that made him sick, he loved the fire finally bursting from her.

He wanted to see her cheeks flame with color, hear her voice rise, to hear her snort with disdain at a stupid comment.

But now he wanted more. He wanted her body and, perhaps, a piece of her soul. And she was telling him no. Despite the fact she wanted him, too.

“Jack?”

Jack blinked. There was simply too much to think about. Regan’s cause, her pledge to her father, Jack’s need for her, his wish to destroy her grandfather. And her determination to fly in the face of danger. And now, Regan was ordering him away. Like a servant who’d overstepped his bounds.

He needed time. Taking in a deep breath, Jack forced his anger out of his body. He’d regroup and convince her later. “Perhaps you are right. But let us not be hasty.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know you better than you suppose. I shall not allow you to change my mind. When we return to London, you shall cease to be my guard.”

Jack inclined his head, unwilling to add anything to this damned conversation. “Do you wish to continue your walk?”

Regan turned towards the stream. The water tossed up reflections which danced over her black gown. “No, Captain Hazard. I wish to return to the house.”

And her old way of life, he wagered. But he wouldn’t allow it. Not now.

***

“S
ylvia, I should like to borrow a gown.”

Sylvia, in the middle of brushing her hair, stopped in mid-stroke. The brush bounced playfully in her thick, curling hair. Bracing a hand on her vanity table, she turned to face Regan. “Did I hear you rightly?”

Regan clasped her hands behind her back before she could twist them in the folds of her black frock. “If you heard me ask for a gown, then yes.”

The brush flew into the air and Sylvia let out a cry of joy. The silver-backed brush landed on the rug with a thud. “Happiness has descended at last!”

Sylvia clapped her hands together and, in one fluid motion, moved to the crackling fire and tugged the bell pull.

Regan collapsed onto the ivory silk divan, not feeling Sylvia’s excitement. She’d grown so used to her black. A grimace tugged at her mouth and she slapped the pillow in the crook of the arm rest.

Too used to black.

In a swirl of purple silk, Sylvia sat next to Regan. Sylvia tucked the folds of her dressing gown about her. A knowing light danced in her eyes. “Whatever has brought about this change? A certain broad, tall man that so many women adore?”

Regan suddenly felt as though she had sucked on a lemon and that her entire body had puckered. “Not so many adore him.”

A full laugh rippled from Sylvia’s throat. “Well at least you know of who I speak. And you’re mistaken.”

Regan didn’t wish to know, but a nagging voice demanded she ask, “How so?”

Sylvia tapped Regan’s forearm with her fingers. “Over half the ladies here would like to bed Hazard. He’s a rough, raw, powered man. Something these women almost never see. As good looking and tall as their footmen may be, they will always be servants. Hazard is something different.”

Regan squirmed on the seat. “I do wish you wouldn’t speak of him as if he were a new flavor of wine.”

“A very robust flavor—“

Regan closed her eyes. She knew where Sylvia was heading. “He is not the cause for the gown.”

Sylvia’s face fell. “You must be jesting.”

“No.”

“No? Oh, but Regan, I had such hope for you. I do think he would be just the man to—“

“No, Sylvia. As a matter of fact, we are parting ways in London.” And if it wasn’t for the fact she was trapped here by her promise to Sylvia, she’d be racing back towards the capital at this very moment.

Sylvia folded her slender arms over her full breasts. “What happened in the woods? I thought I was leaving you to a good bit of fun—“ Sylvia paled. “He didn’t hurt—“

“No!” Impatience flashed through Regan and her chest rose up and down in swift breaths. She’d never felt so exasperated. And the idea that Jack would hurt her was preposterous. Lead her from the path of goodness? Certainly.

“Well, what on earth happened?”

Should she tell Sylvia? She wished to. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She had never had any mother or sisters that might instruct her. “I cannot become involved with Jack.”

Sylvia’s slender blond brow rose. “Why ever not? He is handsome, seems very intelligent, and dear,” she stretched out her hand, resting it on Regan’s knee. ”You could use a bit of fun.”

Regan curled her fingers into fists. “But that is just it. I cannot have a bit of fun. If I did and anyone suspected,” her throat tightened. “I would be ruined. My father’s cause would be ruined. No man in his right mind would support what I am fighting for, not if I had lost my character.”

Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Silence stretched between them.

Sylvia looked away, little lines wrinkling her brow. She sighed. “You are right, of course.” She turned back to Regan, her eyes hard with anger. “They are all hypocrites. All of them. Most
ton
women have only the eldest child by their husbands. . . And the men—“ A sharp laugh grated from Sylvia’s throat.

Regan covered Sylvia’s hand with one of her own and squeezed. “Yes, I know.”

“Regan, I know you’ve spent your life trying to help the people that Geoffrey and his father have destroyed as if they were ants to be stomped on. But I wish you could know happiness.”

Regan slipped her hands away from Sylvia’s. She did not wish to talk of her own happiness. There was little point. “My work brings me happiness.”

“No, it does not.”

What did she mean? Of course it did. “Sylvia, you are—“

The door swung open and a short, slender girl dressed in a blue frock with a white apron and cap stepped inside. Sylvia’s lady’s maid. “Are you ready to be dressed, Lady Sylvia?”

Regan’s eyes turned to the gold French clock above the mantel. The hands pointed to eight o’clock. They should have been readying themselves this last half hour.

Sylvia rose from the divan, her skirts spilling to the floor in a waterfall of silk. “Indeed, Harris. You must help Lady Regan, as well. She will be borrowing one of my gowns this eve.”

Harris nodded and strode towards the carved cherry wood armoire.

Sylvia turned to Regan and smiled, tightly. She offered her hand. Regan took it and stood. They would not finish this conversation. She knew it. Sylvia rarely ever discussed Geoffrey and Regan never discussed herself. It was too painful. She would stand by her decision. In London, Captain Hazard would leave her and she would devote herself entirely to her work. It was the only thing to do. And she would be happy. Truly.

***

W
hat the hell was she doing?

Jack stared above the curled heads of the women buzzing about the ballroom, his eyes trained on Regan. He’d left Brent to watch her upstairs and he’d been waiting downstairs like some lovesick youth just for a sight of her. He should have escorted her downstairs, but she’d needed time to cool.

He’d been utterly unprepared for this new line of attack.

Emerald green silk bathed her body in its folds. The soft fabric slid over her curves like a caress and the low neckline that pressed her breasts up and together emphasized the creaminess of her skin. Her beauty was almost painful in its loveliness. White flowers adorned her swept up, fiery hair and curly tendrils brushed her cheeks and neck.

There wasn’t a hint of black about her.

And the sight sent lust straight to his cock and confusion to his brain. She had virtually sent him packing off to hell this morning, and now. . . Now she dressed like this? Like a woman dressing to drive a man mad?

At last, she was stepping out of her cage. He’d reached out to her and, for a moment, he could have sworn that she reached back to him. In any other woman, the gown would be proof. But Regan was ever complicated and he was not sure what this portent meant.