Jack let his gaze drift to Regan’s other dining partner and his stomach twisted. Bloody everlasting hell. Lord Brookhurst sat to Regan’s left.
Lord Brookhurst turned in Jack’s direction and offered a disarming smile. “I have made your acquaintance before, have I not?”
“Yes, my lord,” Jack replied.
The servants, in one sweeping move of efficiency, brought out the first course. Jack looked down at the clear broth before him. The Wells family crest, a blue boar, stared up at him from the pale porcelain. Jack took hold of his spoon. The edges of it dug into his hand and he forced himself to relax his grip.
“Where have we met?” Brookhurst queried.
“I believe you made my acquaintance on the continent.”
Brookhurst’s smile broadened and his hard blue eyes glinted like unpolished rocks. The bastard was doing this on purpose. Jack smiled assuredly back at him. Smiling at enemies had become an art he’d perfected in the last years.
“Ah, yes. I do recall.” Brookhurst’s voice cut across the room and Regan looked at the young lord from the corner of her eyes. Her red brows drew together, confusion heightening the color of her cheeks.
She sensed it. A man going in for the kill.
Seeing exactly where Brookhurst was heading, Jack took the initiative, robbing the lord of the upper hand. “Actually, for a brief time I served in your regiment.”
The lady on Jack’s right tapped his arm with her pasty white hand. Her painted red lips parted into a smile that revealed slightly yellowed teeth. “What a fetching pair of officers you must have made,” she breathed, her brown tresses tilting towards him.
Here it was, the moment Brookhurst had been waiting for. Jack seized it out from under him. “Actually, no, madam. At that time, I was still a private.”
She blinked with small, deep set eyes, and a silence descended on his half of the table. Brookhurst lounged back in his chair for a moment, as if enjoying the scene he’d just arranged.
Regan stared at him, her eyes wide, anger sparking in their depths. At what? Brookhurst?
Jack looked away from her and returned his attention to the flabbergasted woman to his right. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”
She opened her mouth in a remarkable imitation of a gaping flounder. “Do you mean to say that you are not a gentleman?”
“Of course he is a gentleman,” snapped Regan.
The entire table turned their heads in her direction. Regan shifted on her seat. “I mean to say, how could an officer not be? And Captain Hazard was lauded by many, including Lord Wellington as one of his best.”
A murmur, like the buzz of bees, rippled around the room.
Brookhurst leaned forward, cocking his head to the side. “Forgive me, old man, I never had any intention of putting you in such an awkward position.” He swept his gaze across the nobles sitting at their end of the table. “Captain Hazard is a remarkable soldier. I’d say it was his calling.”
Jack forced himself to incline his head at the less than complimentary words disguised as a compliment. Waging war was not a calling that he wanted. Even if he was good at it.
The woman to Jack’s right blinked her short lashes. She swayed towards him, leaning so that her large breasts that overflowed her brass-colored gown squeezed together. “Of course. How foolish of me. You are Captain Hazard.” She clapped her hands together as if someone had given her a sugar plum. “What a novelty to have a man of your… origins with us.”
Hell. This was going to be a long night. He inclined his head then turned his attention back to his soup. Tonight, he would damn propriety and not speak through the rest of this course.
Both Lord Lumley and Lord Brookhurst crooked their bodies in Regan’s direction, their eyes drifting towards the contrast of Regan’s plump white breasts against the black of her evening gown. Brookhurst flicked his eyes over her, his fingers tightening on his wine glass.
A growl fought to free itself from Jack’s throat.
Lord Lumley laughed, a girlish sound. And suddenly, Jack realized he had not been listening to the conversation. He’d been staring at Brookhurst, wanting to take the man’s head off.
“My dear Lady Regan, how is it that you are not married?” inquired Lord Lumley.
Jack lowered his spoon to his bowl and stopped himself from straining to hear. But this was something he’d also been curious about.
Regan gently leaned her forearm against the table. “Well, I—”
“You really are too beautiful and well placed in society to not be married,” twitted Lord Lumley with a twirl of his lace-cuffed wrist.
The corners of Regan’s lips lifted into a wry smile. “Thank you.”
“I find I must agree with my peer, Lady Regan. You are far too exquisite to be on the shelf.” Lord Brookhurst angled his body towards her and, for a brief moment, the fabric of his coat brushed Regan’s arm. “We must find you a husband.”
Jack blinked, comprehension hitting him smack in the head. This was why Regan had been sent here. To her grandfather’s closest friend’s house. The old bastard wanted her married to a man like Brookhurst. Hell, perhaps Brookhurst specifically. The man was one of the duke’s devotees. As a married woman, she’d never cause trouble for the family again. With Brookhurst as her husband, she’d be controlled with an iron fist.
Jack put his spoon down, deliberately setting it gently against the porcelain bowl’s edge. His fingers curled into a fist in his lap.
Lumley shook his head sagely. Lips pouting, he said, “Indeed! We must find you a husband.”
Regan laughed and shook her head. “No. I have quite enough troubles without a husband.”
“Ah, but a husband would take care of those problems for you. You’d have no cares.” Lord Lumley winked at her.
“A life without care? How very boring.” Then Regan took one last sip of soup. “Wouldn’t you agree, Captain Hazard?”
Jack fought back a grin. She’d just extricated herself from a damned annoying situation and turned the focus on him. Clever little devil that she was. But his grin faltered.
His mother had been condemned as a woman. Physically scarred by a customer. Women needed to forge out their own paths without a man as their only protector. For sadly, all too often women needed protection, even from their so-called protectors. “I second that, Lady Regan. Though I must admit, I did see a fair number of rajas that enjoyed their life without care when I was in India.”
Lord Brookhurst narrowed his eyes. “Precisely.”
“India!” exclaimed the dark-haired woman next to him.
Jack hid a wince. Damn.
“What a fascinating life you soldiers lead.” She leaned forward, her breasts again pushing against the thin fabric of her dress. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to spill out right onto the table.
“What was it like being a foot soldier?” she asked, her voice conspiratorial, yet loud enough for half the table to hear.
“Foot soldier?” interjected Lord Wells. “Foot soldier?”
The old man focused on Jack, his fat, red cheeks shining in the candlelight. “Damned annoying creatures are what foot soldiers are.”
Jack lifted a brow. “How so milord?”
Lord Wells gripped his crystal goblet with his sausage fingers and lifted it to his lips. He took a swallow then lowered the glass. “The ne’er-do-wells had the nerve to ask a raise in their wages. Can you imagine?”
Actually, he could. But Jack refrained from saying so. “Well, there is the fact that the soldiers make less than two pounds per month and are frequently forced to wait excessive weeks for their pay.”
“What of that?” Lord Wells leaned back as a servant took away his soup dish and replaced it with Dover sole.
Jack picked up his fish forks. He wanted to jab the man in the eye with the sharp utensils. And would have. If he could buy a judge off for assaulting a peer in public. Jack turned the fork in his fingers. “What I think, my lord, is that two pounds would not e
ven pay your week’s breakfast bill.”
“And?”
A deep breath just didn’t seem enough to expel the disgust he felt for a man like Wells, but he took one anyway. “Two pounds is not enough for a man who has risked his life for king and country. Especially if he has a family at home.”
Lord Wells shook his head as he forked a large piece of sole. “You have been reeducated, Captain Hazard. Friendship with men the likes of Lord Ashecroft has changed you and made you forget what men of your birth are like. Their needs are little above animals. And as you put it, the women can fend for themselves.” He chortled. “I daresay they know how to make a bit of extra coin.”
A titter of laughter ran the length of the table. Jack gripped the fork handle, letting the hard edges dig into his skin. He doubted his mother would agree with Wells. Jack eyed the tines of his fork. This fool was not worth the hangman’s noose. He looked up. Regan’s face had drained of color. Her fingers tightened on her forks. As if she was considering skewering the old man herself.
Shrugging, Brookhurst added, “A good glass of gin is all they want. Hogarth certainly made that clear years ago.”
Anger pumped up and down Jack’s veins, but a small bit of satisfaction pulsed through him as Regan narrowed her gaze at Lord Brookhurst.
“That is hardly what Mr. Hogarth was trying to say with his etchings.” Regan’s voice, usually warm and deep, cut through the air.
Lord Brookhurst nodded his head, an overly apologetic expression drawing his brows together. “Of course, my lady. And having such a beautiful teacher, I would listen to your ladylike sympathies forever.”
Regan snorted.
Silence suddenly descended as several pairs of eyes turned in her direction.
Her chin shot up and her eyes flared as she took in the stares around the table. Her gaze met Jack’s. And then she smiled. It heated him like the warmest turf fire. She disliked these people as much as he did and she wanted him to know it.
Lord Brookhurst stared at Regan, his mouth slightly open. He obviously couldn’t believe she had snorted at his comment.
A hand slipped over Jack’s thigh. He shot the dark-haired woman to his right a sharp glance. He was used to it. Most women wanted a chance to bed a man who was not a gentleman. But right now, he had far higher concerns than a lust-driven noble woman. “Pardon, madam. I do believe you have misplaced your hand.”
She giggled, squeezed his thigh then turned to speak to the man on her other side. Thankfully, she took her hand with her.
But bloody hell. He’d give anything if it had been Regan’s hand on his thigh.
Chapter Twenty-One
Regan rushed down the main staircase, spotting Jack by a wide French window and overly large palm frond. The morning sun glinted off his shining black hair and played over the dark folds of his great coat.
A horrible, little thrill warmed her at the sight of him. And she forced herself to slow, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor.
He turned towards her, the folds of his great coat swinging about his long legs. A smile lit his eyes in recognition. “A maid tackled me in the hall near your room and said you wished to take a constitutional. She seemed most insistent that I meet you immediately.”
Regan smiled. “If I have to spend another moment in this house, I’ll choke.” And the last thing she needed was to get cornered by Brookhurst or Lumley. “Who better to take me for a walk? You are my guard, are you not?”
His lips curled in a slow smile. “Only your guard?”
“Jack—” the warning note in her voice surprised her. As tempting as the carriage ride had been, she had far more important things to do. Somehow, she was going to have to make him understand that. “We must speak.”
He nodded, the lines around his eyes creasing as his expression warmed. “Perhaps the house is not the best place to discuss such things.”
Regan nodded, her heart tightening. She didn’t want to lay down the line and tell him that they could only, at best, be friends. But it had to be done. He was far too dangerous and the temptation was becoming too great.
“Ah! Lady Regan!”
Regan winced. Lord Brookhurst. Forcing a pleasant smile to her lips, Regan turned in the direction of his deep voice. “Good morning.”
He strode across the wide entrance hall. Striking a pose, he propped his hand on his hip, lifting the folds of his fawn-colored coat from his cream breeches and green day coat. “Your presence was greatly missed at breakfast.”
“Oh, well, how kind.” What could she tell him? That she found pigs to be better company? “Now, I must be off.”
“Indeed?” Brookhurst said softly, his gaze darting to Jack. “Where to?”
Regan tensed at the clear suspicion in Brookhurst’s attention. “I was about to take my morning constitutional.”
“Splendid. Lord Wells’ grounds are exemplary and I am a lover of nature.” He smiled, his teeth white in his cat and cream grin. “And I’m sure you could use the additional company.” He turned his blue, calculating gaze back to Jack. “No offense intended.”
Jack inclined his head, a show of respect that didn’t quite hide the tensing of his jaw. “None taken, Brookhurst. I’m sure you can speak on things I never would even think of.”
Regan’s eyes widened at Jack’s veiled insult, but she kept silent. Frustration rattled inside her. She could not tell Brookhurst that she did not wish his company.
Bloody everlasting hell!
Suppressing a sigh, Regan gestured towards the tall double doors at the front of the entry. “Shall we then?”
“Oh, Regan!” Sylvia’s voice chimed through the hall as she swept in, her raspberry day costume a striking contrast to her blond hair and pale bosom. She halted, her skirts swishing about her legs as she spotted Brookhurst.
“We were about to take a walk about the park, Sylvia.” Regan fixed a pointed stare at her aunt, praying that Sylvia would come. At least then, she might be able to speak with Jack while Brookhurst was distracted by Sylvia’s charms.
Tilting her blond-haired head to the side, Sylvia glanced from Brookhurst to Jack, then back to Brookhurst. “A walk sounds just the thing.”
“Shall we then?” asked Jack.
Sylvia beamed a smile at Jack as she strode towards him. “Of course. Would you be so kind as to lend your arm?”
Jack’s mouth opened. “Of… course,” he said, his eyes trained on Regan.
No! No, no, no. How had her morning turned to such an utter disaster? She’d arranged this meeting to get away from Brookhurst and have a word with Jack. Pulling at her cuffs, Regan stared at Sylvia as her aunt placed her hand on Jack’s forearm.
“Lady Regan, may I?” asked Brookhurst as he extended his fawn-gloved hand.
She had no choice. And now she actually had to walk with the man. Jack and Sylvia strode out through the front door. Watching them descend the front steps, Regan set off after them, wondering how rude it would be if she didn’t even bother to comment on the weather to Lord Brookhurst.
Brent was waiting just outside on the pebbled path and followed at a distance as they made their way from the house.
As they crossed the wide lawn into the thick, oak forest, Brookhurst began a commentary on Italian Opera. Sunlight spilled though the wide, lime green leaves and danced over the rough forest floor.
Regan tilted her head in his direction and murmured her assent every now and then, amazed that he seemed to need no reply to continue his onslaught.
Now, if Brookhurst could just fall into a deep pit.
She stared at Jack’s broad shoulders and the way his body moved under his coat as he strode up ahead. Regan sighed as she lifted the hem of her skirt from trailing over the leafy ground. He strode in slow, contained strides as he kept pace with Sylvia. Her aunt readjusted her hand on Jack’s forearm. Her lips parted in a smile as Jack said something.
Still, Jack’s attention seemed focused above Sylvia’s head, on the terrain about them as if int
ruders might suddenly burst from the trees.
Regan fisted her free hand. Even as Jack surveyed the land, he and Sylvia seemed to be having a splendid time. And she—She was talking to a man that her grandfather would unquestionably think suitable for a husband.
The deep hum of Jack’s voice traveled from before her, vibrating through the still forest. He was her guard. A man who invoked the most powerful yearnings deep in her body. With each day, those yearnings grew stronger, urging her from the path of propriety.
Regan yanked her attention from Jack and glanced up at the intertwining fingers of the old oaks several feet above her head.
“It is such a great deal of nonsense,” Brookhurst continued, oblivious to Regan’s lack of attention. “Surely, you must agree?”
Regan looked over at Lord Brookhurst. He wasn’t a bad looking man. Actually, he was quite handsome, with his dark blue eyes, high cheek bones and dark brown hair. But the thinness of his mouth gave him a mean, pinched look.
His beliefs, on the other hand, were abominable. They matched his mouth.
Worse, with charming cruelty, he’d treated Jack like he’d been a stable hand allowed to sit at the table. A stable hand that still smelled of horse dung. Regan remained silent and so did Brookhurst, who looked at her expectantly. Oh! At last, he expected her to respond. “And why is that milord?”
His high arched brows lifted. “You are such a beautiful woman. Clearly intelligent. What a fine wife you would make and yet you remain unmarried.
Not this again.
Regan frowned. Did Brookhurst truly think she would consider him? “My lord, I have enjoyed my independence and will continue to do so. I could not be so devoted to my work if I were married.”
Brookhurst laughed. “But that is just it. You should not have such cares. If you truly wished to help people, you should take your rightful place in society. I’m sure you could charm the staunchest of politicians.”
Lords of the Isles Page 198
