In the Devil's Bed (Sins of the Duke Book 1) (6 page)

He crossed back over to her and held out the fuller glass. The amber liquid glowed in the light of the winking crystal snifter.

“No,” she said. “I do not wish to be muddled.”

He drew in a deep breath and the cream linen of his shirt stretched over his muscular chest. “That’s a good reason not to take a drink. But you’re going to be damned sorry for it when your cheek begins to throb like an exploded grape.”

Regan winced at his imagery. A light, pulsing ache already throbbed in her flesh. She had no doubts that in an hour it would be mind-numbing. “Hand it over then.”

Giving a sharp nod, he offered her the snifter again. She gently took it. The cool crystal rubbed against her palm. The brandy bobbed up and down in the bowl of the glass. She sipped at it and a stripe of heat from her mouth to her stomach warmed her body. “Thank you.”

A knock on the door at the back corner of the parlor echoed through the room. Captain Hazard leaned his shoulder against the fireplace. “Enter!”

The barking order of his command jarred Regan. One instant he was so gentle, so kind, and now? So businesslike. She didn’t know what to think of him.

The door swung open and Mr. O’Malley walked in, a tray balanced on his brawny arms. His eyes widened as he took in Regan. Her cheeks heated at being caught in Captain Hazard’s ill-fitting clothes. She raised her arms and folded them over her breasts.

Crossing over to a small table by the screen, Mr. O’Malley put the tray down.

Steam wafted out of the mouth of the tea pot and a bowl just to its right. Mr. O’Malley turned towards them. “It’s right sorry I be, my lady, that ye should be here for such a thing. I’ve found a few pasties and brewed tea. Rough and ready mind.”

“You’re most kind, sir,” said Regan. She liked O’Malley. Something in his optimistic and lyrical voice made the world seem a little brighter.

“And aren’t ye holding something better than tea?” He gestured to her snifter.

Regan looked down and laughed. “I suppose so.”

O’Malley smiled at her, then walked over to Captain Hazard by the fire. “I’ve brought yer ledger, sir. And Brent is being patched up right good and proper. As is Lady Regan’s driver.”

Captain Hazard nodded and took the ledger. Mr. O’Malley strode from the room and gently shut the door behind him.

With O’Malley’s absence, the room seemed to shrink again until nothing else existed inside of the room but Captain Hazard and herself.

He placed his snifter on the mantel and crossed to the small table. He set his ledger down on it then lifted the table as if it were less than a small sack of meal and brought it over to the settee.

She glanced up at him. “Captain Hazard, I do assure you I could have moved to the hot water with more ease.”

“That may be the case. But you are not to move from this fire until you are dried through.” Picking up the bowl and cloth, he came to the front of the settee and stared down at her. “I also want to make certain your cut is seen to.”

He lowered himself onto the settee.

His weight sank the cushion down and Regan rolled towards him. She grabbed hold of the arm. “I could easily—“

“I’m sure you could, but I have seen far too many wounds fester.” He smiled, a slow, heated grin. “Besides, I have a better view of your cheek than you do.”

“I accede to that.”

“I am so glad.” Twisting his torso towards the small table, he dipped the cloth in the hot water.

The muscles in his back moved and adjusted beneath his shirt. Regan’s eyes widened and her arms dropped from her chest. Slowly, she rubbed her free hand against her thigh, then fisted it. She’d never seen anything quite like him. The way his body could move with such perfect grace. The way his muscles worked when not hidden by a waist and frock coat. Regan took a deep swallow of brandy and forced herself to look at the fire.

The drip, drip, drip of water being wrung from the cloth pierced the air, mingling with the crack and pop of the fire.

“Turn this way,” he said, his deep voice rumbling dangerously close to her ear.

Regan turned her cheek. She caught a glimpse of tiny, white marks towards the back of Captain Hazard’s neck. The white marks stood up from his skin, a little more than an inch apart. She counted five before they trailed down into his shirt.

“This will sting,” he forewarned, his warm breath caressing the side of her face.

Regan nodded. He pressed the hot, wet cloth to her skin and she hissed as the heat stabbed at the cut with an angry flame.

“My apologies.”

Regan forced a shaky smile to her lips. “It is nothing. It will teach me to be more careful getting out of carriages,” she quipped.

“Pardon?” He lifted the fabric and dipped it again in the dish of hot water.

“Well. . . I tumbled backwards out of the coach, so to speak.”

He smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling and hard at the same time. “Bum over teakettle?” He pressed the hot material to her cheek again.

A vision of herself going
bum over teakettle
flashed in her head and she laughed. A short sound, but a laugh all the same. “Yes. They were most forward, in truth.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing. “How forward?”

The laugh died in her throat and wariness squeezed her chest. “Well. I. . . I suppose it is not unusual. They attempted to take certain liberties—“

“What liberties?” Captain Hazard’s face hardened and his black eyes turned to hard obsidian.

His reaction almost frightened her. “They were attempting to intimidate me. But I fended them off with my umbrella.”

He gave a cool, calm nod.

The fierce energy coming from him belied his coolness. It was something Regan didn’t quite understand. Was he truly furious that someone had hurt her? It certainly appeared so. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

He lifted his hand to her cheek and stroked a strand of hair from her face. “I will see to it that no one harms you again.” And he lowered his hand to his side. He kept his gaze locked with her eyes.

Regan fought the urge to lift her fingers to where his hand had just been. For the first time, she truly understood how dangerous Captain Hazard could be. But she was not afraid. No. Not afraid at all.

Chapter 8

Jack struggled to remain distant as his fingers trailed over her bruised skin. She was a noble. A blue blood.
One of them.
Her grandfather had destroyed his life and thrown Devlin to the cannon fodder like rubbish. She deserved nothing but his hate.

Fury bubbled in him as he stared at the angry mark on her perfect, white skin. Deep down, the desire to protect her was trying to war its way out. Something he couldn’t understand.

Oh, he’d seen far worse. Hell, he’d seen flesh opened to the bone. But this simple gash on
her
face infuriated him. Taking a deep breath, Jack lifted the cloth and placed it back in the bowl. He picked up the small, glass bottle filled with clear liquid and a fresh cloth.

Jack stared at the clear bottle of alcohol. He never should have entrusted her to a lesser guard. Not with her bloody determination. Christ, if it hadn’t been just another warning— He forced the sick feeling away in the pit of his stomach. Jack soaked the white cloth through. Setting the bottle down, he turned back towards her. She was sitting less than a foot from him in his clothes and he could
feel her
, without even touching her. As if just by being this close, he was already stroking her body.

“This is going to sting like the bleeding devil,” he said softly.

“What is it?” Her eyes left his face and fixed on the cloth.

Damn, but she was brave. No hysterics. Just calm, logical questions. And she had made jest of her plight. Something he understood all too well. How else could anyone survive hell, unless they pretended it wasn’t hellish? “It is witch hazel and alcohol.”

She clasped her hands in her lap and tilted her chin towards him, exposing the slender line of her throat. “Get on with it, then.”

He paused then pressed the soaked cloth to the cut. She jolted beneath his touch.

“Ruddy son of a poxed rat!” The curse burst from her lips through gritted teeth.

Jack couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. “Very well put, my lady.”

She’d clearly been in the East End longer than he’d thought. Satisfied that he’d cleaned the wound, Jack pulled the fabric away and tossed it onto the table. He sat in silence as she drew in several deep breaths.

He needed to have a long discussion with O’Malley about the Chances. Things were not going as planned and he could only damn himself. A Hazard’s guard had never been assaulted and successfully disabled. That fact was Jack’s pride and what made him the best. Now. . .

Jack sighed.

He would lose his advantage over the Duke of Chiles if he let this stand. “I suppose I need to arrange for a temporary guard to see you through the next few days while you close your affairs in Whitechapel.”

Lady Regan stared blankly at him then stood. She smoothed the folds of his trousers. “I shall actually require a more permanent guard as I have no intention of closing my affairs in Whitechapel.”

She paused and stared into the fire. Slowly, she raised her hand to her cheek, wincing as her fingers touched her raw skin. “Perhaps several guards would be in order.”

Jack’s hands tightened on the settee. “You are going to continue your work in Whitechapel despite what happened?”

She snapped her chin towards him. Jack’s breath froze in his throat. Her blue eyes glittered with determination as her jaw tightened with anger. “I made a promise. And I intend to keep it.”

Jack understood her determination all too well. “But the cost—“

“The cost matters not.”

Jack shoved himself up and towered over her. Though her staying in Whitechapel certainly helped his plans, the woman was out of her wits. He dug his fists into his hips and stared down at her. “Tonight, these foes of yours proved they mean business. They overtook one of my best guards. If you defy them, I do not doubt they will kill you.”

Her breasts rose and fell sharply. She returned his stare, unflinching. “If they had wanted to kill me, they would have already done so. I will not go back on my promise.”

That fact shone in her eyes. Damn, but she was going to get herself murdered. There was, of course, a better way. A very good way. A way to get closer
and
keep her safe. “Lady Regan. You need a more experienced guard. One who will be ruthless.”

She folded her arms, tightening the fabric over her breasts. “And who would that be, exactly?”

“Me.”

Her eyes widened. She leaned back and shook her head. “I—“

“You wish to keep your promise?” He’d been a damned gentleman this evening. Still, it was time he remembered what he was here for. And it wasn’t to let opportunities flit by.

Fisting her hands at her sides, the doubt vanished from her face. “Yes.”

“This is the only way. I will go everywhere with you. I will not leave your side. Clearly, you need such protection.”

She paused for a moment then answered firmly, “So be it.”

“Good.” He would keep Lady Regan safe and, at the same time, infiltrate her family. He would be by her side wherever she went and watch her every moment. He’d also find a way into the duke’s home and dig up the information he needed. Information he had yet to get his hands on.

Jack turned his eyes to Regan, standing in his oversized clothes, the fire silhouetting her body. The fabric caressed her body, teasing the curve of her hips and the swells of her breasts. Suddenly, Jack wondered if he’d made the best move in this game. Because a part of him was all too pleased at the prospect of being with her day
and night.

***

“W
hat the hell do you mean he has no vices?” Jack whispered, but instead his voice came out as a harsh growl.

“Watch it, Captain,” O’Malley hissed, glancing towards the closed door to Jack’s private room. “We don’t want our pretty young Chance to grow suspicious now do we?”

Jack nodded tightly. Hell, he was on edge. Lady Regan’s injuries had awoken a strong feeling in him. And it was affecting his judgment. “It’s the bloody Duke of Chiles we’re speaking of. The man is a sadist.”

O’Malley grimaced. “Impossible, so it would appear. But the old bugger seems as pure as the newly fallen snow.” O’Malley whipped out a small, leather notebook and flipped a few pages. “He owns a few houses of prostitution, but only in the sense that they’re part of his London holdings and his man rents out the land.”

“He doesn’t frequent them?”

“He does not.”

“No women? At all? No opiates?”

“Not that I can find.”

Jack folded his arms over his chest. There had to be something. Something he could use to hammer the man into place. “What about men?”

“Oh. Sodomy is it?” O’Malley pulled out a bit of charcoal, wetting the tip with his tongue. He paused for a moment, his brow creasing. “’Tis a consideration. The duke is surrounded by the dandies of the
ton
. And he meets one man quite regularly. A lad I think.”

“And if we could expose him. . .”

“It’d be a hanging offense. Though it does seem a tad cruel to take the bastard in for his inclinations.”

“I don’t care how we get him,” Jack returned. “As long as we get him.”

“Point taken.”

“I want to see the secretary,” Jack said firmly.

O’Malley winked. “I’ve already arranged a meeting.”

Jack hid his surprise. O’Malley had always been resourceful, but the man was acting quickly. “I’m going to be occupied with Lady Regan—”

“Indeed? Sheer torture, sir,” O’Malley drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“I shall go to see him soon,” Jack countered, ignoring O’Malley’s sparring.

“Done.” The Irishman reached inside his coat and pulled out a small file. “Ye’ll be interested to see who the bugger is. And I’ll schedule a meeting as soon as ye can tear yerself away from yer. . . business.”

Jack glared at his former sergeant. “Sod off.”

O’Malley’s amusement dimmed. “Ye fancy her.”

“She’s a woman.”