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 Seven
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 si
deboard. 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.
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 Eight
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 survi
ve 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—”
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