“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.
*
“What 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.”
“Aye and a bonnie lass.” O’Malley stuffed his small ledger back into his coat. “Ye watch yerself. Ye’ve come too far to let a skirt trip ye up.”
“I don’t think I need to be reminded what’s at stake.”
“No,” O’Malley said softly. “No, ye don’t.”
Still, O’Malley was right. Jack shoved a hand through his hair. He was standing out in the open, enemies all around, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d be eliminated before he could even get to the duke. And there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let that happen. Not for anything. And certainly not for Lady Regan Chance.
Chapter Nine
As Regan led Captain Hazard up the grand staircase of her Uncle Geoffrey’s London townhouse, a glowing candelabra in her outstretched hand, she severely doubted her sanity. She was going to let this man who stood for everything she opposed live in the same house as her and her family, though the idea of Captain Hazard and Geoffrey coming head to head was certainly amusing. At best, they might kill each other.
The candlelight bathed them in yellow pools of light, beating back the blackness of the hall. The light stretched up onto the walls disappearing before it could reach the high ceiling. Regan pulled the folds of her borrowed cloak tighter about herself and tried to ignore his heady presence. Yet it surrounded her. Caressed her.
Tightening her grip on the silver candelabra, she forced herself to take steady strides as she turned down the third floor corridor.
His footsteps echoed just behind hers. Regan’s stomach tightened into a knot as she stopped in front of a tall wood paneled door. Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder.
He stopped beside her, silent. His dark eyes danced with twin lights in the candle’s glow. They held her gaze. A wealth of pain lay hidden just behind a thin barrier. Regan tore her own gaze away and grasped at the brass door handle. “You may sleep here.”
“Thank you.” His deep voice rumbled down the hall.
Regan strode into the dark room and crossed to the small table by the four-poster bed. She touched one of her flames to the candle on the wooden surface.
Regan turned. Her breath and her body froze. Captain Hazard’s gaze was fixed on her. That gaze stroked her face and her curves as if he wished it were his hands. She swallowed then gestured at the bed, unable to do much more. “Yours.”
She’d never once been in a bedchamber alone with a man. She’d certainly never thought she’d ever find herself in one with him.
The silence stretched between them. Her skin prickled with goose bumps, turning hot and icy under his eyes. Slowly, he lifted his hands to the lapels of his charcoal cloak. He slipped it from his shoulders and walked toward the bed.
Regan scrambled back, her calves hitting the side of the mattress. “Be warned. Geoffrey won’t like you here.”
She continued. “Expect wrath come morning,” she whispered, almost afraid to raise her voice.
Captain Hazard set his cloak down onto the heavy down blanket, his fingers trailing over the lush folds. “I’m certain I can handle an out of sorts dukeling.”
Stepping forward, he closed the gap between them. His leg brushed the folds of Regan’s skirt. He paused then reached down beside her, his muscled arm an inch from her waist and picked up the single candlestick. “And this is perfect… Although temporary, I hope.”
Regan gave a sharp nod, her eyes even with the hollow of his sun-kissed thro
at. She started past him. His fingers caught her wrist in a gentle tug.
“Lady Regan,” he breathed.
Half turning, Regan straightened. The light flickered over his strong jaw and high cheekbones. It shone in his black hair, touching it with a sheen of gold. His calloused thumb caressed her knuckles and her breath tightened in her chest. “Yes?”
He lifted her fingers to his mouth and turned her hand over. He brushed his lips over her exposed palm. A single, soft touch branding her with heat and the gentle caress of his mouth.
Lifting his head, he gripped her fingers tightly in his grasp. “I vow you will keep your promise.”
Regan’s breath came in a tight rush and her mouth opened. She tasted the cold air and smelled his faint spicy scent. In that moment, she wanted to believe his utter conviction. But in the end, she and she alone was the only person who could keep her promise.
Pulling her fingers from his, they met the frigid air. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.” She turned from him and quickly crossed the room. She paused at the door and glanced over her shoulder.
“Good night, Captain Hazard,” she whispered as she shut the door behind her with a soft click.
Stopping in the center of the dark hallway, Regan placed her hand to her chest. Her heart thundered, filling her head. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Allowing him to stay was madness. But given she was continuing on with her father’s plan, had she ever been sane to begin with?
Regan shook her head then strode down the hallway. Captain Hazard was a displaced warrior. A man who would help her. A man in her service. And nothing more.
*
“You cannot have him here!” Geoffrey hissed as he stepped behind his desk. His face glowed red at his cheeks. “I will not allow it!”
Regan gripped the fireplace mantel and stared at the russet hair, dark attire, and strong face of her uncle. It did her no good to hate that she was a young lady, unable to live without the chaperonage of her family.
Still, she would rather drive a stake through her own heart before any Chance commanded her. It didn’t matter that he’d been trying to command her every bloody day since her father’s unsolved murder. “Uncle Geoffrey, this is not your concern.”
He planted his hands on his cherry desk and narrowed his pale blue eyes. “Not my concern? Anyone who bears the name of Chance is my concern, girl. And need I remind you, you live under my roof?”
“A fact I would change if society allowed,” she replied tightly.
Regan pushed herself away from the fire and strode to the desk.
“And you, of all people, know my father had no regard for the Chances, Dukedom or no.” Planting her own hands on the shining wood surface, she leaned forward. Anger pressed at her chest like a giant weight. “Now, I shall choose who is fit to be my guard. Captain Hazard will keep me safe while I work.”
Geoffrey’s lips tightened into a hard line. “It was an entirely different matter when a guard was going to follow you to that hellhole you run to like a nursemaid. But to have a man, a man of his low blood, living here with you? It is unspeakable and will raise scandal.” His lips curled back, exposing his perfect, white teeth. “He is the son of a whore and he is in trade. Your names cannot be paired.”
The audacity that he should try to control her life now that her father was in his grave drove her to distraction. She wanted to strike the man standing across from her. The one thing she knew was he never acted outside her grandfather, the Duke of Chiles’ command. And the duke had been trying to rip her father’s tendencies from her since his death.
“Captain Hazard is a respectable man,” she said pointedly. “When society learns he is my guard, that is all that will be thought of. He will be viewed as my…”
Regan’s throat closed before she could say the word.
“Servant,” finished Captain Hazard. “Nothing more.”
Regan flinched and stood frozen for a moment, unwilling to look at her tall, powerful guard. He’d undoubtedly heard the whole disgusting conversation. She trailed her fingertips over the smooth desk then turned to face him. “Indeed, Captain Hazard. Thank you.”
Geoffrey glared at Hazard. “A servant who does not know his place. People will think that he and you are—”
“I assure you they will not, My Lord.” Captain Hazard’s voice cut through the room like a sharp blade. He cocked his head to the side, the folds of his silk green cravat creasing into his black waistcoat. “I am capable of knowing my place. And you have no choice, unless you wish your niece murdered by a bunch of London toughs. Possibly in your home.”
The muscles in Geoffrey’s cheeks worked as he struggled to maintain his composure. After a few moments of silence, he finally said, “See to it that you bloody do know your place, Hazard.” He swung toward Regan. “Your father was a fool. He was always a fool.”
Anger sizzled through Regan’s veins. “He was your brother and if he was fool, then I would rather be a fool every blasted day than have your kind of reason.”
“I’ve had enough of your sentimentality.” Geoffrey shook his head then marched to the door. “Good day.”
“Good day,” Captain Hazard called after him.
Regan sighed as Geoffrey’s footsteps retreated down the hallway. The intricate patterns of the blue and white rug beneath her feet stared up at her. Silence filled the room and Regan tensed under Hazard’s watchful gaze. “My family is not… Pleasant.”
“Most families aren’t.”
Regan lifted her chin and turned to him. In the cool morning light, he should have looked tame. His tailored dark coat fit his frame in good lines, but it merely served as a container for the raw energy just beneath the captain’s surface.
“You sound as if you speak from personal experience,” she observed.
He cocked an eyebrow at her and strode over to the fire, spreading his long fingers towards its warmth. “Happy families are a myth. A myth that is spread so that people will marry and preserve the human race.”
Regan blinked. Not certain if he had truly just uttered those words. “That is a very cynical point of view.”
Rubbing his fingers together, he stared into the flames. “Name me three happy families in London. Truly happy families. Happy like you read of in books.”
Regan pressed her fingers over the folds of her perfectly smooth skirts. “Well, I—”
She stopped. And she struggled to think of a happy ton family. Sadly, she could not.
He straightened, his eyes tired and knowing. “There. You have your answer. If there were so many happy families, you would not have to pause to think of one.”
Letting out a long sigh, Regan strode towards the door. “My father and I were very happy.”
Silent, Captain Hazard leaned his shoulder against the tall mantel.
Did Captain Hazard believe her? She wished him to. Because that was the only true happiness she had, knowing that she and her father had shared such a wonderful relationship.
“This afternoon, I intend to go to Whitechapel,” she finally said.
“Then you will go. But first we will need to find you a pistol small enough to fit in your reticule.”
Arm herself? Regan strode towards the door then grabbed at the frame and shook her head. “With you at my side, that is hardly necessary.”
“It’s bleedin’ necessary,” he growled, the rough tones of an East End accent marring his perfect speech.
She had been dreading this moment. “I do not approve of weapons. I am a pacifist.”
“A pacifist?”
“Yes. Someone who—”
His laughter rolled through the room, shaking his shoulders. Captain Hazard coughed then laughed again. “I know what a damned pacifist is, Lady Regan,” he scoffed, the mirth fading from his eyes. His mouth hardened. “I just find it amusing that someone of your… lineage should have such scruples.”
Regan squeezed the door frame, the edge biting into her fingers. He’d spit the last word
out like an insult. And it struck like a solid blow.
The recent Chance fortune lay largely in munitions that had been made during wars with Napoleon and the Americas. “My lineage is something I must live with every day. There is no need to point out the obvious.”
“No. I suppose not.” He tapped his fingers on the marble mantel. “Your family made money off of my stock and trade. How odd that you now require my assistance.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Oh, we always have a choice.”
“I will be ready to leave within an hour.”
“As you wish.”
Regan turned on her heel and hurried down the hall. Captain Hazard’s dark past haunted him. It was hard, and hot, and his gentlemanly manner could barely hide the anger inside him. She could feel it touching her, leading her down a path she had never known… A path of darkness.
Chapter Ten
“Isn’t it beautiful?” breathed Lady Regan as she pointed the feral of her umbrella at the building.
Jack eyed the half-finished, four-story, sprawling structure that covered a good two blocks of land.
“It’s a building,” he stated.
Lady Regan glanced over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes. She pulled on the edge of her veil, covering her face, and tilted her chin up. Even through the black material, he could see her lush lips part in a smile.
“It is more than a building. It is a hospital.” Picking up her skirts, she skipped over a stray piece of timber. “Or, it will be soon.”
He followed the small figure of Lady Regan, her gently rounded hips swaying beneath the fine fabric of her frock.
Biting his lower lip, he forced himself to look away from the lush sight and up at the nearing monstrosity.
A hospital? Not ruddy likely. What doctors would come into Whitechapel? Only young men who wished to make a name for themselves and would use the poor as experiments for their new ideas. He’d seen it done. No one cared what happened to the damned.
Lady Regan strode over the ground stepping over bits of stone and equipment. She waved her umbrella at the building. “It will be modern and functional. And it will cost the people who need it most nothing for service.”
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