In the Devil's Bed (Sins of the Duke Book 1) (19 page)

Jack ground his teeth together. Men in dark blues and black evening jackets swarmed about her. Worker bees desperate to mate with the queen.

One of the men, tall, blond, and smiling like a man who was envisioning Regan stripped naked of her gown, offered her his hand.

Jack tensed. Waiting. She took his hand and Jack’s fingers curled into fists. The tall, blond man led Regan onto the dance floor, his hand at her back, guiding her. The young fop was ridiculously good looking, like some blond Adonis skipping down from Olympus to wreak havoc amongst mortal women.

The urge to stride across the room and strike the man’s hand from Regan’s skin was damned tempting. No one should be able to touch Regan in that manner. Except him.

She intended to never see him in London. To cut him off from her presence. Jack clasped his hands behind his back, attempting to cage his frustration. Why should she do it? Fear. She was angered by his request and afraid. And he understood. He’d come from being reviled to respected. But somehow they’d find a way to overcome the possibility of ruination. And even if Hazard’s went to the devil, he would protect her with every last part of his soul if she wished to keep up her work.

As long as she would be with him. It didn’t matter if this went against his every plan. He would create a new strategy.

Regan’s body had been made for him. Made for him to touch. For him to run his hands over and lick each warm, female section of skin. She was designed to arouse him like no other woman.

And then there were these damned Lords. Jack circled to the left of the ballroom floor, keeping Regan and the blond man within sight. Her lips tilted in a smile and she nodded her head. Her red curls caressed the nape of her neck. Whatever the damned blue blood had said, she’d liked it.

Resentment throbbed in his veins. The blue bloods wanted to marry her for her fortune, for her bloodlines. They wanted to own her.

Jack wanted to free her and see the splendor of that release. He stopped and planted his feet into the polished wood floor. Blast. He wanted to ruin her grandfather. Destroying Regan in the process had been a distinct possibility. And now?

The odor of gunpowder filled his nostril. The burning fog of the chemicals soaking into his skin. And Dev, small, his body bent with each bone in his back clear under his paper-thin skin, standing next to him. In the duke’s munitions factory.

If he did not succeed, everything he had worked for would be for nothing. Dev’s death would go unavenged. And the never-ending nightmares would haunt him forever.

Damn. He needed a drink. His mood had gone from bad to foul, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to be unleashing it upon some unwitting idiot.

The music stopped and Regan dipped a curtsy, the folds of her gown pooling at her feet. The tall, blond man led her off the floor in his direction.

Jack folded his arms and fixed the young lord with a stare as they approached. The bloke was too good looking for his own damned good. The perfect sort for Regan to marry.

Regan stopped beside him, the folds of her skirts gently brushing his leg. Jack turned to Regan and his chest squeezed tightly. Candlelight caught the red glow and fire of her hair. Her cheeks flushed pink in the heat of the ballroom and her lips were slightly parted as if asking for his kiss.

She gestured to the blond man. “Lord Harcourt, may I present Captain Hazard.”

“What a pleasure it is to meet you, sir.” Lord Harcourt smiled, his face alight with youthful zeal. “I have heard so much of your exploits on the continent.”

Jack blinked. It seemed the young Adonis was full of surprises. Nobles did not usually greet him with such enthusiasm. Especially titled lordlings. He inclined his head. “I am honored, my lord.”

“Oh, no. It is I.” Harcourt turned his body towards Regan and his smile broadened. “You see, I worked at Horse Guards at the end of the war and I was privileged to learn a great deal about Captain Hazard. Most of which the public does not know.” Harcourt returned his attention to Jack and his brown eyes were sparking with enjoyment.

Hell, had he ever been this enthusiastic? This young? No. He’d done with that sort of thing before he’d turned ten.

Regan lifted a single brow. “Truly?”

Harcourt nodded his head. “Oh, yes. That spot of trouble in Cadiz.” He winked at Jack. “Pure genius. Why, if Captain Hazard hadn’t acted, valuable information would have been lost to the French and we may have lost a large part of Spain.”

“If you call being ordered by a superior officer into an undefendable position and managing to escape with barely half my men genius.” The muscles in Jack’s neck tightened. “’Twas a slaughter, sir.” He dug his fingers into his biceps. “I bloody considered it to be a disgusting waste of life.”

Regan stared at Jack, her smile fading and confusion wrinkled her brow. She remained silent.

Harcourt hesitated, the enthusiasm dimming from his eyes. “Yes,” he said solemnly, a slightly hard edge darkening his youthful exuberance. “Yes, of course. Loss of life is always regrettable.”

Jack smiled tightly. “I’m sure my men are grateful to you for your condescension.”

The light faded from Harcourt’s face and the seriousness aged the man several years, giving him a strangely hollow look. “I believe I have given you offense, sir. It was not my intention.”

Every ounce of his body ordered Jack to tell Harcourt to go to hell. He was a lord, had sat in an office during the war watching tin soldiers move on a paper map. But it wasn’t his fault and he wasn’t an ass who believed that infantry was meant to feed the cannon. Not like the other lords at Horse Guards. “No. It is I who should apologize for my rudeness. I sometimes find speaking about the war. . . difficult, and I forget myself.”

Harcourt nodded, the boyish charm returning to his smile. “Of course.” He gestured with his hand towards the dancers. “And this is hardly the setting for such a conversation.” He hesitated. “Would it be too bold to ask to speak with you again? I have question that I should like to ask you.”

The last thing Jack wanted to do was educate some young noble in the art of war, but if he could convince one man in power that men who came from the East End of London and from the country were better than animals, it would be a triumph. “It would be my pleasure.”

“I must leave you now. I have promised this dance.” Harcourt bowed, his body bending in the slight angle of a man of upper class. “Lady Regan. Captain Hazard.”

He turned on his heel and strode off, a spring in his step.

“Bloody hell,” Jack sighed.

“Yes?”

Jack shoved his hand through his hair. “Hasn’t anything difficult ever happened to that young man?”

Regan smiled sympathetically. “I don’t suppose it has. I knew his father. A friend of my father’s. He was a good man.” Regan frowned. “I was surprised that Harcourt is at this party. It hardly seems his type of thing.”

So, perhaps that was why Regan had been so bloody friendly to the young lord. Jack caught himself smiling and forced a serious expression to his face. “It does seem odd that a man with such sympathies should come here.”

Jack glanced over at Lord Wells. The old man stood pressed against the side of a young girl with large breasts, half his age.

“Why did you become so brusque?”

Jack looked down at Regan, his glance moving to her rounded breasts. “Pardon?”

She looked up, exposing the line of her throat. “Usually you are so controlled in public. I’ve never seen you be so rough. I don’t understand.” She stared up at him, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Why should talk of war bother you so?” she asked softly.

Jack paused. Did she really think war didn’t
bother
him? The thought burned in the back of his throat like poison. He steadied his voice before answering. “Just because I was a solider and was good at killing does not mean that I took any pleasure in death.”

She frowned. “Why did you stay, Jack?” she whispered.

“Stay?” he repeated, unsure if he cared for where this conversation was heading. Especially since she seemed to have no idea that she was revealing what she had truly thought of him all along.

“In the Army?”

A bark of laughter burst from Jack’s throat. “Do you really think one can just leave? Say to his commanding officer, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but Oi think Oi should like to go home?” He shook his head. “Really, Regan.”

“But if you really hated killing then—“

Anger flashed in him like fire in the pan of a rifle. “Then what? Then I should allow myself to be killed by the men who instruct me to kill?”

She paled, her lips standing out a dark pink in her white face. “I— I am sorry. I assumed you chose that life.”

Jack gave her a mocking smile. She truly believed that he had come to love the Army, as if he had any other choice but to survive it any way he could. He fought back a bitter laugh. Did she think he had given a bloody damn for the cause he’d fought for? It had been fighting on the battlefield or execution for desertion. “It would seem you’ve assumed a great many things about me.”

Regan looked down, her red lashes brushing her white skin. “I think we have both assumed things about each other that are not true. Nor do we understand each other as we thought we did.”

His fingers relaxed and he dropped his arms to the side. What did she mean?

Tilting her head up in a fluid motion, she pinned him with her gaze. Jack’s breath froze in his chest. Clarity filled her eyes, like a tunnel of light and pain. “You see me as a noble, one of the race that has oppressed you. A product of an evil way of life. You see force as the way to change things. I see that force will only destroy what we long to have.” A tremulous smile warred with the pain in her eyes. Regan shrugged. “You and I shall always be at odds.”

She was distancing herself from him. Stepping away. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally. Coldness crept into Jack’s heart. A cold emptiness which could never be warmed. “Regan, I do not wish us to be at odds.”

A sheen lit her eyes, but she smiled. A smile that did not touch her eyes. “You do. I can see it. I have not understood until now. I believe we are fighting for the same cause Jack, but we will never approve of each other’s methods.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek. She reached up and brushed it away with her gloved hand. “I don’t think there is any more to say.”

Jack’s stomach tightened into a hard knot. Why did it sound as if she were saying goodbye? Permanently. She turned from him. No. It would not end like this. He would not allow it to. Jack grabbed her hand, the material of her gloves slipping beneath his fingers.

Regan stood paralyzed.

The golden hair of Lady Sylvia Chance flickered in the corner of his eye. She tapped him on the shoulder, her eyes full of warning. “Why, Captain Hazard, you have promised this dance to me.”

Every part of him demanded that he take Regan in his arms and take her upstairs. Upstairs to understand each other. And it hit him. Like a cannon charge. Despite what she had said, she understood him in a way that no one in his life ever had or ever would. She looked into him and saw
him
. She saw the destruction and the need for peace warring inside him.

Sylvia tapped his shoulder again and leaned into him.

“Let go of her hand,” she whispered. “You are giving rise to scandal.”

He needed to keep holding on to her and make Regan understand that, though his feet were set on a course he could not strike from, that she was the only person who had ever touched him. But under Sylvia’s unrelenting gaze, and the knowledge that if he held tight Regan would be ruined, he let her fingers slip away from his.

Nothing would stop Regan from finishing her own goal, especially not him.

Turning to Sylvia, he forced a smile to his lips. He offered his hand, still warm from Regan’s touch. “How kind of you to remind me of our dance.”

And Jack led Sylvia onto the floor. Regan would leave his life. He could not stay with her. If he did, he would destroy her in every way.

Jack’s life had been pain but, at that moment, pain rocked him to his very core, and he knew it would never go away. Not without Regan.

Chapter 23

The dinging of her room’s delicate French clock rang sharply in Regan’s ears. Bracing her hands on the smooth wood of the mantel, she squeezed until her knuckles stood white. Blessed heat from the fire seeped through her thin, silk dressing robe and warmed her front.

Yet, she was cold. Colder than she’d ever been.

She glanced over her shoulder. Candlelight glowed from the wall sconces beating back the dark night. Steam drifted up from the hot water waiting her in the copper tub. The surface bobbed in little waves, distorting the reflection of her room.

She’d chosen to be alone. Needed it. But a fear grated at her. She folded her arms across her chest and dug her fingers into her skin.

At last, Regan pushed herself away from the fireplace, then slipped the dressing gown from her shoulders. The hot water would make the pain and fear go away, if only for a few moments.

The water rippled as Regan stepped into its heat. Her muscles tensed for a moment then relaxed in a shiver. As she dropped her head back, she closed her eyes, shutting the room out to darkness.

Jack.

He was still hiding something from her. It shone in his pain-filled eyes.

Regan sighed as she pressed her fingers against her closed lids. Droplets of water slid down the side of her face, soft and warm. Like his touch. She dropped her hand back into the hot water and Regan fisted it. Why couldn’t he tell her the truth?

The swishing of fabric against fabric filled the room. Regan’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes snapped open. Every muscle in her body tensed.

She hadn’t imagined it, had she? The urge to spring from the bath tore at her insides, but she remained still. Doubting herself.

Lifting her head, Regan looked to the right. Nothing.

But the sensation crawling down the back of her spine refused to go away. Someone or something was in the room. And she was naked and defenseless.