In the Devil's Bed (Sins of the Duke Book 1) (2 page)

She blinked at the plush, Oriental rug of deep burgundy and blue which ran down the center of the stairs. What on earth did he mean people didn’t go upstairs? What was the rest of the building used for? “Pardon?”

“Captain Hazard isn’t the most social of men, don’t ye know?”

Mr. O’Malley started up the steps and Regan followed, lifting the hem of her skirts. “I did not know.”

Mr. O’Malley climbed the first flight of stairs in silence. Then he stopped at the landing and turned.

“It’s a bit of a walk. The captain’s office is on the top floor.” He smiled and his blue eyes shone with amusement. “Very few customers actually ever meet with the captain.”

And he turned and started up the next flight.

Regan lifted the hem of her dress a little higher and followed, undeterred by the threatened climb. “Being on the top floor must deter many unwelcome visitors.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he replied, “There is that. But Captain Hazard. . . Well, he likes to be like God.” Mr. O’Malley looked heavenward. “Keeps his eye on everything from above, he does.”

As they ascended the last flight of steps, Regan couldn’t help thinking of the fellow downstairs who manned the door. “Pardon, but the man at the entry? If it is not rude of me, what happened to his leg?”

Mr. O’Malley stopped at the deep, wide landing of the fifth floor that stretched into long hallways heading off in either direction. His lips curled in a slight frown. “Ah, that. Poor Ned. He took a load of grape shot to the leg. It’s useless. No one else would hire the lad.”

Regan blanched at the thought of metal tearing into human flesh, breaking the bones. Captain Hazard had hired him. Strange for a man reputed to be utterly ruthless.

“Thank you,” she replied.

He nodded his head, and turned towards the hallway to the left. “Down that hall. It’s the only door at the end. He’ll be there in a moment.”

“Thank you again, Mr. O’Malley.”

“Good luck to ye, my lady.” Mr. O’Malley turned on his heel, sharp, military like, and hurried down the steps. The sounds of his booted feet echoed in the air.

Good luck
? Regan stood in the middle of the landing and stared down the hall. Down that long corridor was the office of one of the most powerful, most ruthless, men in London. Bodyguard to the Royal family, guard to aristocrats and their wealth. A hero of the battlefield.

Regan strode down the cream-colored corridor. The paneled wood door at the end of the corridor grew closer, adding to her slight anxiety.

For the love of the Lord, someone wished her dead. She didn’t have much of a choice in meeting Hazard. Regan grabbed the brass door handle and gave it a solid twist. The door swung open and she entered the room. She blinked. She did not know what she had expected, but certainly not this. Not such elegance. Male elegance. Regan lifted her veil and glanced about the room.

Light from three tall windows spilled over mahogany wood panels that stretched from the floor to the high ceilings all about the rectangular room.

A simple, yet large, chandelier, capable of holding twenty candles perhaps, dangled from the ceiling. It glittered in the morning light.

A mammoth desk, just in front of the huge, green marble fireplace, dominated the big room. A single hurricane lamp stood on the desk.

Nothing more.

The gleaming wood shone with nothing to interrupt its polished surface. As if everything important was being hidden from prying eyes. Two elegant chairs of inlaid wood stood before the desk.

Large chairs of brown leather, studded with brass tacks at the feet and arm rests, were positioned about a gleaming table by the windows near the door.

Regan turned about, clutching her umbrella. The fireplace crackled and danced, warming the room. More paintings hung from the walls in artful places. Expensive paintings. A Michelangelo and a sketch of a da Vinci flying machine.

She had expected pistols, sabers, and rifles to decorate the walls. A fortress of weapons. Instead, she’d found beauty.

The grating of wood on wood jerked her attention away. A hidden panel swung open at the back corner of the room and she quickly yanked down her veil, desiring its protection. And she had a strong feeling that she was going to need it.

Chapter 2

Captain Hazard’s broad chest stretched the sapphire fabric of his coat despite the perfect tailoring. Even through her thin, lace veil his ebony hair shone in the morning light like black fire.

Energy rolled off him. It pulsed in the air shrinking the room. Or perhaps, it was his height that made the room seem smaller. Regan felt certain that if she were to stand close to him, her head would just reach his shoulder.

Captain Hazard left the panel slightly ajar and crossed to his desk in two strides, each step containing a vitality that no man she knew possessed.

Gesturing to one of the intricate chairs in front of his desk, he said, “Please, tell me how I may assist you.”

Clipped, perfect English rolled from his tongue. Regan shook away her surprise. He certainly could not have become this powerful if he hadn’t rid himself of his East End dialect.

She rested her umbrella against the side of the chair and her veil swayed before her as she sat.

After a few moments, he pulled back his leather chair and lowered himself into it. A fascinating process of long limbs folding into a small space. And yet, he didn’t appear cramped. He still dominated the room. His eyes fixing. Magnetic.

Regan clasped her black-gloved hands in her lap to prevent any fidgeting. She cleared her throat. “Captain Hazard, I wish to obtain your services. It has become clear that someone wishes me dead.”

Captain Hazard, ensconced behind three feet of solid mahogany, leaned back in his leather chair. His hands rested on the arm rests, his calloused fingers lightly gripping the edges.

Good Lord the man was large. And solid. And powerful.

Regan tried to keep herself from staring. He didn’t look like an English man. The white of his linen shirt beneath his blue coat and white cravat was a shocking contrast to his deep coloring.

His bronzed skin could have been achieved from months at sea, but Regan knew for a fact he was a former Army man, having achieved much recognition on the continent. And his. . . largeness. No Englishman she’d met possessed such an intimidating stature. Instead of the whipcord strength of the officers of noble rank, Captain Hazard possessed a raw dangerousness in his muscular physique alone.

His sooty, black eyes stared at her, devoid of emotion. Probing her. Regan fought the urge to shift in the hardwood chair.

“I see.” He tilted his head to the side and a lock of black hair brushed his high, strong cheekbone. “First, would you mind lifting your veil, Lady Regan? I prefer to look at whom I’m speaking with.”

His voice rumbled through the room, low and hard... yet warm like heated honey. Tension coiled in Regan’s stomach. Of course she should lift her veil. It was terribly rude to keep it down, but a part of her wanted to stay hidden from him. As if he might see the pain she kept hidden from everyone else. Regan pulled the veil up and back.

He paused, then his lips curled in a slow smile that seemed to heat the room.

“Thank you.” The smile vanished as he leaned forward. “Now, what has led you to believe you are in danger?”

Regan tightened her grip on her hands. “Captain Hazard, though it may seem frivolous of a noble woman to make such claims—“

He raised his hand, his fingers coarse and scarred. “Pardon my interruption, but I care not if your claims are frivolous. You shall have my services if you require them.” He lowered his hand onto the shining mahogany desk.

A ragged scar, larger than the other smaller nicks on his fingers and darker than the bronze of his skin, marred the top of his hand.

Regan snapped her gaze away from it.

“Lady Regan, what leads you to believe someone wishes you dead?”

Dear Lord, he was to the point. “I have received a letter requesting my absence from Whitechapel.”

His full, masculine lips curled in a tight smile. “Requesting your absence?”

Regan met his dark, knowing eyes and admitted, “Those were not the exact words.”

He nodded, drumming his fingers on his desk. “Well, I will not discount an educated and wealthy man wishing you dead, but your family name should grant you protection from anyone in the upper circles. What else?”

Clearing her throat, Regan tore her gaze from Captain Hazard’s formidable eyes. Her attention lifted to the large painting by Rubens above the fireplace. Many men would sell their souls for such a piece. How could a man who took life in vast scores appreciate such beauty? Hazard was proving to be an unexpected puzzle.

“Lady Regan?” His deep voice pierced the room and Regan’s thoughts.

She wet her lips, wishing for a sip of tea. “Before I received this last communication... I had been warned through other means. Another letter... And my carriage suffered an accident. A wheel slipped off. Although not unheard of, it was rather coincidental.”

“I see, and what finally brought you here?”

“This morn, someone managed to leave a knife in my bedroom. A note was attached. It was an aggressive maneuver. I don’t believe one of my servants is in collusion with this person,” a wry smile forced her lips to tilt, “but I am not an entire fool to continue on without some security.”

Captain Hazard’s black brows drew together, narrowing his dark eyes at her attempt at humor. He pulled open a desk drawer and brought out a narrow ledger. Pressing it open, he took a quill from the same drawer and an ink bottle made of shimmering crystal, admiring the dancing rainbows of the intricately cut crystal. How odd that this big man could handle such a delicate object without shattering it.

“Someone left a knife in your bedroom? How large? Do you still have it?”

Regan fisted her hand and lifted it from her lap. “About twice this size and it is at my residence.” Slowly, Regan dropped her hand to her lap. “It would seem they are quite determined. I do not think I shall be walking home any longer nor sleeping with great ease.”

His quill paused and he glanced up from his notes. “You walk? Alone?”

Regan nodded, guessing his next words. “Yes, with a footman, now.”

Dipping the nib of his quill in the black ink, he flipped the pages of the ledger. He scratched a few words on the parchment, his fingers gripping the wooden quill with gentle firmness. He dug the tip of the nib into the parchment, his attention still on the words in his book.

“And do you walk home from Whitechapel?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

Captain Hazard’s broad shoulders shifted under his sapphire coat as he straightened. Bridging his long, strong fingers, he stated, “It is no surprise that you are in danger. Such activities make you a perfect target, lady that you are.”

The flatness of his tone unnerved Regan, but she refused to let his words anger her. He was born in the hells of London, yet he disapproved of her and her work. She could feel it. “You think me foolish.”

“There is no other name for a woman of your standing who walks through Whitechapel at any hour of the day. And certainly not when one is being threatened,” he stated, his voice matter of fact.

“My life has never been truly threatened until recently. And as to walking through Whitechapel, I do not take my carriage because I do not particularly care to parade my wealth around those impoverished.”

Surprise sparked in his eyes, along with a hint of admiration, but it soon vanished. “Nice sentiments, I’m sure. However, with or without a guard, Whitechapel is not safe.”

“Of course it is not entirely safe, Captain Hazard,” she snapped. “But I prefer to trust in humanity. Besides, life would be rather boring if one limited oneself to what was simply safe.”

He tilted his head to the side, a single black brow arching. “Indeed. I shall remember that. It is not my place to judge you. It is only my place to protect you. However, what exactly are you doing in Whitechapel?”

Strangely, the idea of Captain Hazard protecting her seemed right. At the very least, he would be one less person telling her she was wrong. “I am building a hospital. It will serve all who come to its doors. It was my father’s wish and now I am carrying it on.”

Captain Hazard picked up his quill. He moved it in a flurried dance across the page of his ledger. “Good luck to you.”

His focus on the work before him belied his wish. Though Regan didn’t give a fig for his opinion, it nonetheless fascinated her. Why should a man who grew up in Whitechapel not wish for it to be bettered?

“You do not approve?”

“My opinion does not pertain to our business, Lady Regan. You may do with your free time whatever you wish.”

Regan flinched. Captain Hazard was a hard, cynical man. He likely believed her work to be nothing more than the entertainment of a bored society girl. Like everyone else. But who was he to draw conclusions? He sat in a monstrously expensive building profiting from violence and his skill at doling out death.

“Captain Hazard—“

“I must ask your forgiveness, but I have no more time for you today.” He sanded the page of his ledger then slammed it shut. “Please see Mr. O’Malley on your way out. He will assign a temporary outrider, one of our best, until we have further information on your circumstances. Please return tomorrow to sign papers. And bring that letter sent by knife post with you. Good day.”

Dismissed. Like a foot soldier by a commanding officer. Regan rose and brushed the folds of her dress. “Thank you. I shall.”

He stood and gave a curt nod.

Regan tugged her veil down, savoring its protection.

“Oh, and Lady Regan. . . Please, despite your trust in humanity, be careful.”

“Of course.” Regan hurried out of the office, more confused about Captain Hazard than when she had entered. He seemed genuinely concerned for her safety in that last moment and she didn’t understand why. But she would not be seeing him again, nor be troubled by the traitorous thought that there could be no guard more powerful than he was.

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C
hapter 3