In the Devil's Bed (Sins of the Duke Book 1) (5 page)

The carriage lumbered off into the night-blackened street. Deep within her heart, a place Regan wanted to shut away, she doubted that she would ever be truly safe again.

Chapter 6

Jack jabbed at the burning coals in the hearth with the poker. The fire crackled and he stepped closer to the grate, letting the heat seep into his legs. The flickering red flames reminded him of Lady Regan’s hair. Yet, her flames were tame and caged in pins and ribbons.

Had any man ever slid his fingers through her hair? Not likely. Lady Regan was a woman to be looked at, not touched. She valued being in control far too much to allow a single strand of hair to be out of place.

Jack hung the poker on its hook and turned back to his desk. Piles of parchment called him, needing to be seen to. Little more than five years ago, he never would have believed his plans for revenge would make him one of the richest men in London.

Placing a hand on the leather arm, Jack forced himself to sit in his chair. He placed his hands on the desk, and stared at the stacks of parchment.

Where to begin?

Every noble that had ever been guarded by Hazard’s was catalogued in such files, along with every detail about them and their case. Hell, he knew what dressmaker Lady Markby bestowed her gold upon. What wine Lord Dandridge drank. What whorehouse young Lord Tatteridge frequented.

He knew every despicable thing about them, and every single one of them disgusted him. Once he’d believed in honor and pride, but to survive in the real world, there was little room for such ideals.

Jack lifted the silver tea pot and poured into a delicate red and gold tea cup. The dark liquid pooled in the cup, wafting steam and a spicy scent of India.

He poured in two dollops of milk and stirred in three teaspoons of sugar. Bloody hell, how he’d missed good tea. On the continent, there’d been a few tea leaves and dirt stirred together in stream water.

He cradled the cup in his hand, damning decorum in private. The heat seeped into his skin. Taking a deep sip, he savored the exotic taste in his mouth, letting the spicy warmth slide over his tongue and down his throat.

Once, he’d never even imagined he’d be surrounded by such creature comforts.

As the sound of footsteps, fast and heavy, thundered outside his door, Jack lifted his gaze. The door burst open and O’Malley came through, his chest pumping up and down beneath his dark blue coat.

“Ye’re needed straight away, Captain!”

Ice ran through Jack’s blood. O’Malley never overreacted to situations. Never.

“What is it?” Jack demanded.

“Lady Regan, sir. She’s had a bit of a barney with some London toughs and Mr. Brent was knocked straight out into next week.”

Jack slammed his cup to his desk. The china cracked under his hand as he shoved his chair back and rose. Damnation. He strode around the side of his desk. “Where is she? Is she here?”

O’Malley gulped for air. “Down in the side parlor. Yer private parlor.”

“Good.” Jack strode back towards his desk and the wood panel that led into his private filing room. “And Lady Regan? Is she harmed?”

“I’ve already sent for some hot water and alcohol for her wound.”

Jack froze. His heart thudded sharply in his chest. “Wound?”

“Yes. She’s a bit damaged.”

Christ
.

Jack yanked open the wood door and charged into the dark room. He pulled on the catch just above his tall, mahogany file cabinet and it swung open. Grabbing a candle, he lit it, then held it high, as he ran down the stairs.

He should have listened to his gut. It was never wrong. Lady Regan was not safe and, despite the irregularity, he should have seen to her himself.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he straightened his shoulders then stepped into the space behind the green china screen that blocked off the rest of the room. He forced himself to take in a slow breath then stepped into the room.

Firelight flickered over her black dress and tangled, red hair. She sat on the burgundy settee, her face forward, staring towards the crackling fire.

“Lady Regan?” he asked, softening his voice.

She turned toward him.

Jack hid a wince at seeing her swollen cheek which glowed purple and cushioned an angry, red cut down its center.

A flash of a deeper, though similar, scar running down a woman’s face invaded Jack’s mind. The woman screamed as blood poured from down her neck and over the folds of her green gown. Wounded by one of her
customers
, Jack forced the image of his mother back into its customary cage.

He strode to Lady Regan and crouched before her. She quietly stared back at him, her blue eyes wide and wary. Yet, surprisingly, she was calm. Her hands were clasped and her dress rustled as she sat up straighter. The black folds clung to her legs like wet rags.

“Good God, you’re not only hurt, you’re soaked.” Jack stood and crossed to the chest of drawers near the secret door. He yanked open the top drawer and pulled out a pair of his trousers and a linen shirt. Fisting the soft linen and wool material, he turned towards her. “Put these on.”

She refolded her gloved hands and shook her wet head, the long strands of red sticking to her neck. “I assure you, Captain Hazard, that is not necessary.”

“Assure me all you like. I won’t have you dead of a fever.” Jack advanced towards the settee, the heat of the fire dancing on his legs. She shimmied into the corner of the settee, her eyes wide, the blue irises, though wary, sparkled with determination.

He dropped the bundle of clothes into her lap, then grabbed her small hands and yanked off her gloves. As he rubbed their icy, pale smoothness, he was startled by how delicate her fingers were. His hands swallowed up their whiteness.

Jack looked up and met her eyes. “Lady Regan, I know it is unorthodox, but I really think ‘twould be best for you if you changed. The screen will suffice. For propriety sake.” He tilted his lips into a smile, hoping to reassure her. “Even I am known to be a gentleman on occasion.”

As hoped, a shaky smile accompanied the warm blush tinging her pale cheeks. “Thank you.”

Gently, she pulled her hands from his and rubbed them along her arms. “I am rather cold.”

Jack offered her his hand and she placed her fingers into his. The softness of her skin slipped over his roughened palm. Pulling her up, the wet fabric of her gown hit his legs, sticking to the wool of his pants.

Jack stepped back, trying to ignore how her gown clung to the curves of her full breasts and gentle hips. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her, but the closeness of her body was too damned tempting. She was an intriguing woman. “I’ll wait here by the fire.”

She nodded, her blue eyes dark in the firelight. “Thank you.”

Jack held on to her a moment longer then slid his fingers from her palm.

Lingering for a moment by the screen, Jack inhaled the ever so slight scent of lavender. He blew out a breath and shoved his hand through his hair.

“I’ll be over by the fire,” he repeated striding back to the crackling flames.

“Captain Hazard, I fear your shirt is too large.” She laughed softly. “Far too large. Do you have a sash or a belt?”

Jack blinked as her laugh washed over him. The warmth of it heated him and drew an image of her pale body swimming in his linen shirt. Which wasn’t good.

“I could always remove my own belt, but that would leave us in a bit of a quandary, wouldn’t it?” he drawled.

Silence stretched between them and, for a moment, Jack wondered if she was considering it. He dropped his hands from the mantel and folded his arms across his chest, digging his fingers into his biceps.

“That will not be necessary,” she finally answered. “I think you have more to keep up than I do.”

A gruff sound escaped his lips. “I think I have something else for you .“

He paused then lifted his hand to his throat. He yanked off the cravat and strode towards the screen. He dangled it over the edge, thanking God that she was already in his shirt, not standing naked. “Will this do?”

Her fingers brushed against his, as she pulled the long, narrow fabric from his grasp. “Anything will do, I assure you.”

Jack backed away from the screen, needing a good several feet of distance. For he suddenly realized something. The desire humming through his body could be used to his advantage. Pleasure and revenge could easily be blended. But tonight, she’d already had enough. Unlike the women he’d involved himself with, she was naught but an innocent. He could see it in her eyes. How they caressed him without calculation.

She emerged from behind the screen. Her slender arms were purposely folded about her midsection, a hand grasping at the neck of the shirt. Glancing down at the shirt swathing her, she smiled wryly. “It appears I am much smaller than you.”

Jack looked down at her and his body hardened. She virtually swam in his clothes. The wide “v” of his shirt hung over her shoulders, exposing the flesh of her neck and the pale fabric draped over the thin sheath of her chemise. His cravat bound the material about her waist and the tails of the shirt hung over his pants. But he couldn’t mistake that the pants hung on her hips, looking as if they were about to fall at any moment. “That is an understatement, my lady.”

Lady Regan lifted her eyes to his. They glowed with warmth; a warmth that didn’t match the family she’d been born to or the trauma that had occurred this night.

Her lips parted, revealing her perfect white teeth and, in that moment, Jack knew he was the one who had to be wary. Because even though he had every intention of controlling everything that passed between them, right now, with those beckoning eyes and enigmatic smile, she was leading this dance.

Chapter 7

Regan’s heart pounded against her ribs. She stood in his clothes, his spiced male scent teasing her senses. The soft folds of Captain Hazard’s own cream-colored shirt hung open on his broad chest. The subtle indentation of his throat meeting his chest startled Regan. Power and grace rippled in that single spot. A spot forbidden to the eyes of women.

Clearing her throat, Regan murmured, “I am so sorry to disturb you after hours.”

“A visit from you could never disturb me. I only wish we could meet under. . . more pleasant circumstances.” His voice spilled over her like taunting silk. Seductive. Offering. Strong.

Focusing on the “v” of his unlaced shirt, Regan noticed a hint of smooth skin and hard muscles. She felt a shocking desire to touch him and feel that hardness under her fingertips. Instead, she looked away.

He lifted a hand to hers and gently pulled her back towards the settee.

Regan shuffled forward in his clothes, half afraid the rolled up pants would plummet to the floor and expose whatever decency she had left. Captain Hazard walked slowly, as if aware of her discomfort. He waited for her to sit. Regan lowered herself, relishing the heat of the fire and the distance between them for the moment.

And then he sat beside her.

Every nerve in her body took in the strange new experience. His thigh, muscular and almost as broad as her corseted waist, rested a few inches from her own leg. The heat of him warmed her body more than the fire before them.

Regan drew her hands from his and placed them back in her lap. “Thank you. I am better now.”

“No.” He shook his dark head. “You are not better.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve just had a ruddy scare that would put most prissy gents in a fainting fit. And yet, here you sit starch still in your feathers.” 

“Exactly so.” Regan stared at him. If she did not have to talk about it, she didn’t have to think about it. “
I am better
.”

“No.” His full sensual lips curled in a knowing smile. “You want me to think you are.”

Regan clenched her hands into tight fists ready to tell him off for his impertinence. No one had the right to tell her what she thought or felt. Especially this man. But one glance into his sooty, black eyes and the words died on her lips. He knew. Somehow, the damned man knew exactly how she felt. As if he could look into her soul and understand. Tears stung her eyes. She looked away.

Raising a hand to her upper arm, he whispered low, “I can see it in you.”

He paused, his touch stroking kindly over her arm. “It’s bloody hard to be strong, isn’t it?”

Regan burned under his touch, but she didn’t move away. His words, though gently put, hurt. The trueness of them drove straight to her heart. But how was that possible? He was violent, rough, ambitious, and full of power.

Regan turned to him and looked up into his strong face. The lines at his eyes and mouth had been carved by pain and hardship. It made her want to tell him everything.

“I see it in you, too,” she murmured.

He lifted his hand to her chin. His lips parted into a smile. A strange, sympathetic smile. It calmed her and she remained still as he tilted her face so that the firelight flickered over it. The warm tips of his fingers caressed her cheek.

Regan’s breath caught in her throat. “What are you doing?”

A soft, gravelly laugh rumbled from his chest. “I wager you would question St. Peter at the Holy Gate.”

“I should hardly put you and St. Peter in the same category.”

“Smart lass.” His fingers trailed over her skin as he stared at her cheek.

If they could focus on her bruise, perhaps this unwanted intimacy between them would disappear. “Is it horrid?” she asked.

“It’s one to be proud of.” Sensing her change of mood, he dropped his hand to the settee. “We’ll clean it up. I also need to ask you a few questions. Do you feel you are able to speak of it?”

“Of course.”
Not true.
She didn’t even wish to think about it. But she didn’t wish those bastards to get away with it either.

Captain Hazard stood, taking the heat of his body with him. Regan suddenly felt its loss. Shaking the feeling away, she kept her eyes on him as he walked over to a small sideboard. A glittering crystal decanter stood on it. He pulled out the stopper and grabbed two glasses. The crystal clinked as he poured three fingers of brandy into one glass and two into the other.