“I do not care for political maneuvering.” She hated the lies that passed nobles’ lips as if they were truth from heaven above.
The gurgle of a water rippled through the air and Regan squinted. Not more than a hundred feet ahead, a stream cut into the soft earth. It flickered with light under the morning sun.
“Are you not aware that I am already trying to change the plight of the common man?” she asked. “By practical means?”
Brookhurst shrugged as he smiled down at her. His lips curled in a knowing grin. “Of course, but you are a young woman without the proper guidance of a husband. A wiser man would show you that calculation is a far better tool in this world. And certainly it is not your place to go so boldly amongst such filth.”
She could not credit the words coming from his mouth. Was he so foolish as to think she would respond favorably to such comments? She’d worked hard to guide her own life. Her father had been determined that she be able to look after herself.
Men like Brookhurst were particularly disturbing. He was a ruler of the world and he meant to keep his boot firmly planted on everyone he considered beneath him. A man exactly like her grandfather.
She’d had enough. Regan tilted her lips up in a smile.
They stopped just before the stream. The tree branches stretched out their thin fingers on each side of the bank, entwining and grasping each other, as if their lives depended upon it. Earth-darkened water rushed and swirled around large stones that crossed like a path over the wide stream.
She held out her hand to Brookhurst. “Would you be so kind?”
He tilted his head. Taking her gloved hand, he lifted it to his lips. Their warmth pressed through the glove. Regan inwardly cringed. They stepped to the edge of the stream bank. Earth crumbled like a tiny waterfall into the stream.
“Lady Regan!” Jack strode up beside them, leaving Sylvia a few feet away. He looked from Brookhurst to her. “Perhaps, I should help you. I have more experience in these things.”
Brookhurst snorted. “I think not. We all know the only purpose you have for the ladies, Hazard. This is not it.”
A muscle jumped in Jack’s cheek and his sooty eyes narrowed.
Regan glanced from Brookhurst to Jack. Brookhurst was either extremely brave or extremely stupid. Jack looked like he was about to pound Brookhurst into the dirt.
A smile tugged at her lips. Her scheme would be more suitable and less violent.
Clearing her throat, she placed her hand on Jack’s upper arm. His muscles shifted beneath her fingers and her breath caught in her throat. “Thank you, Captain Hazard. But I wish Lord Brookhurst to assist me.”
Jack’s eyes hardened and he gave a curt nod.
“Shall we Lord Brookhurst?” asked Regan, adding an especially cheerful note to her voice.
Brookhurst aimed a triumphant glance at Jack. “Of course.”
He led Regan towards the first stone in the stream. She teetered, then with undue force, bumped into his waist.
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed.
Just as his eyes widened with a hint of panic, Regan yanked her hand free of his.
Brookhurst’s foot slipped on the wet ground and his arms flailed like a windmill as he beat the air with his fists.
The water splashed up like a great fountain as he tumbled into the stream.
She bit back a triumphant laugh.
Brookhurst scrambled in the water, the tails of his coat floating like two downed sails.
She turned to Jack. “Perhaps you should help him.”
Mirth danced in Jack’s eyes, replacing the hardness she had just seen. “Sadly, I cannot swim.”
Brookhurst slid downstream several feet before he grabbed hold of a rock. His brown hair plastered his face and he sputtered.
At last, her conscience intervened. “Help him,” she laughed. Regan didn’t wish him to be physically damaged. Just humiliated.
Jack nodded and strode down the side of the stream bank towards Lord Brookhurst.
“My my,” Sylvia’s voice chimed in the warm, spring air. “How well done. He’d never dream you could do such a thing to him on purpose.”
Her aunt wrapped her slender arm around Regan’s waist and gave her a squeeze. A cheered glow tinged her pale cheeks. “If he isn’t the most pompous ass in creation with a solid cruel streak, I don’t know who is.” Sylvia stepped closer and whispered in her ear, “It is rumored Brookhurst has a very small—”
“Sylvia!” Heat flashed through Regan’s cheeks as she pulled away. “That is repulsive.”
Sylvia shrugged. “As you wish.” She then cocked her head to the side, her blond curls caressing her neck. “Now, Captain Hazard is a very interesting man.”
Regan narrowed her eyes. She did not want Sylvia to find him interesting. Her mind sputtered for a moment. Had she truly thought that? But she didn’t wish him for herself, so why should Sylvia not have him? The urge to growl teased her throat. “Really,” Regan asked carefully. “What did he say?”
“Oh. Not a great deal. As I thought, he seemed limited to one subject.” Sylvia’s eyes danced as if containing the most tantalizing knowledge.
“I don’t wish to know, Sylvia.” The idea of Jack speaking to Sylvia on her favorite subject suddenly dropped a weight on her chest.
“You do not wish to know that he could speak of nothing but you?”
“Me?” Regan gasped.
Sylvia waggled her brows. “You.”
She couldn’t believe it. No matter how much she wished to. “Did he list his disapprovals of my work?”
Sylvia shook her head and her blond curls bounced. She tilted her slender neck back and laughed. “Strangely, no. I believe he admires you and does not wish to admit it.”
Regan opened her mouth then snapped it shut. Lord Brookhurst stomped towards them, his clothes slicked to his body. Jack followed a pace behind him, his lips twitching.
“Ladies. I must return to the house.” Brookhurst stood there, water still streaming down his face.
Lord! He expected her to return with him? Regan widened her eyes as far as she could manage and clasped her hands together. “Do forgive my clumsy footing. How gallant of you to save me from such a fall, but—” Regan frowned. She couldn’t blatantly tell him she needed to be alone with Jack.
Sylvia cleared her throat then turned on Brookhurst. “I should be most happy to accompany you back to the house. I am tired and in need of rest.” She paused. “Regan, I am sure, is in need of more exercise.”
Sylvia’s voice, low and suggestive, stung Regan’s ears.
She knew exactly what exercise Sylvia had in mind. Regan snapped her attention away and studied the thick grass, determined to ignore the growing desire blossoming between her thighs.
Brookhurst’s eyes narrowed and he pointed his gloved hand at Jack. Water flew from the gloved fingertip. “See that you keep her safe.”
Jack stared back at him, his face hard and challenging.
Brookhurst looked away, his face paling. “Yes. Well. Shall we?” He held out his arm to Sylvia.
She held up her small hands in mock protest. “If you do not mind, I should prefer to not to be dampened.”
The edge of his square jaw jutted out as Brookhurst gave a curt nod. He turned on his booted heel and marched off in the direction they’d come.
Sylvia threw a smile at Regan then hurried after Brookhurst, her raspberry-colored skirts rustling against the green ferns.
Regan stared blankly after the diminishing form of her aunt. As Jack stepped up behind her, his spicy scent filled her senses and, suddenly, being alone with him seemed a mistake.
Brent, who had kept his distance, stepped forward.
Jack’s rumbling voice called, “Head back to the house without us. I’ll see to Lady Regan.”
Brent nodded and followed Sylvia and Lord Brookhurst.
As soon as the others were out of sight, Regan turned towards Jack.
Her gaze fastened on his strong lips.
His presence, an alarming constant in her life now, filled her with desire for his mouth. She forced her attention to his eyes. Gold, the color of scotch, warmed their sootiness.
“I should like to walk on,” she whispered.
He gestured for her to proceed. Regan’s gaze dropped back to his lips, full yet strong. They’d slant over hers. Demanding. Teasing.
She shook her head and started back towards the edge of the stream. “Jack, I—”
He grabbed her hand, his fingers enfolding hers, and he gently tugged her closer to him. The folds of her skirts brushed his boots as he murmured, “I had no idea you’d a vicious streak.”
Regan tried to ignore the heat flickering in her belly, but it felt so simple and wonderful. And terrifying. “Hardly vicious. As Sylvia put it, he is a pompous ass. I do not like him.”
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her gloved hand. The friction of their gloves seared her skin. Gently, he grasped her chin and turned it towards him, tilting it up. “Pompous ass is a mild insult for that bastard.”
Every inch of her trembled with heightened awareness of him. His size dominated her, making her feel small, yet powerful, as if she could convince him to do anything in this moment. And she loved it. This sway that she had over him, that made her think he wanted her as much as she desired him.
Gently, Jack lowered his hand from hers and circled it around her waist. With his free hand, he shoved her bonnet back. It bounced against her back as he cupped the back of her neck, then thrust his fingers into her hair.
“Regan,” he whispered, lowering his head.
Regan tasted his breath against her tongue, spicy and hot. He took her mouth with his, strong and dominating.
It branded her with him as if he was laying claim to her. Regan grasped his shoulders. She opened her mouth, needing all of him. And she felt. Oh, lord she felt.
The hard ridges of his muscular chest pressed against her breasts, and yet she wasn’t close enough. She wanted more. To have nothing between them. Her hands pulled at his coat, her fingers twisting the wool.
As if he understood her need, Jack circled his other hand to her lower back and pressed her hips against his. Regan gasped at the sensation of his heat and hardness against her.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth as his hardness pressed through the folds of her dress and into her belly.
A moan escaped her lips, stifled by his mouth. A teasing tension knotted between her legs promising something wild and uncontrolled.
Jack lowered his hand from her back to her bottom. His strong fingers cupped her and pulled her up. The apex of her legs brushed against his hard ridge. Instinct took over and her thighs parted. Jack groaned. He moved his mouth to her throat and Regan dropped her head back, her eyes drifting shut.
He pressed open-mouthed kisses against the line of her neck. Bracing her upper back with one hand, Jack lowered them both to the ground. For a brief moment, he released her.
This was the moment for her to say no. To run. But she wished to stay. To know him and the pleasure he could give.
He yanked his great coat off and swept it across the ground. Leaves scattered as his coat billowed out and touched the earth.
Their eyes met and Regan’s breath caught in her throat. Need and passion flickered in his dark gaze. As if he wanted to consume her and give her pleasure until there was nothing but him in her world.
Slowly, Regan stretched her hands out to his shirt and fisted the linen in her hands. Wordlessly, he raised his arms in offering. Biting her lower lip, disbelieving she was doing it, Regan tugged the fabric up his waist, then over his shoulders. Dropping his shirt to the ground, Regan stared, unable to look at anything but the sun playing over the hard ridges and planes of his chest. Scars lashed at his ribcage in long white marks. Regan let out a small cry and stroked one of the long welts.
“Shhh,” he soothed.
“What happened—”
“That’s over and done.” He caught her hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing her palm.
Regan’s heart ached for him. He’d known so much pain all his life. She doubted she’d ever know the whole of it. She knew he wouldn’t let her soothe him with words, so instead she stroked the side of his face then kissed him with every ounce of passion and comfort she had inside her.
He growled against her mouth, as if he understood the offering. Finally, he broke the kiss and Regan drew in a deep breath. Her eyes roved over him and stopped at the hard bulge in his trousers. Gently, Jack took her hand in his and placed it against his sex.
The hotness of him passed through the fabric of his trousers into her hand and Regan touched the bulge with a tentative stroke.
Jack hissed out a breath and his body tightened beneath her hand.
Regan pulled her hand away, afraid that she’d made a mistake. “I’m sorry.”
A strained laugh rippled from his throat. Dark. Rich. Offering her a world of pleasure. “Don’t be sorry. You feel so good,” he groaned.
He moved forward, yanking her against the bare muscles of his chest. His mouth descended over hers, taking from her and giving at once. Filling her with need, tightening her belly, as he tilted her back, until her shoulders brushed the rough ground covered by his coat.
He bunched the fabric of her gown up about her thighs, exposing her, leaving naught but a thin slip of linen between her and his touch.
Regan gasped against his mouth and pushed her fingers into his thick hair. She didn’t understand the sea of emotions raging through her.
Jack tugged at the fabric of her drawers and it tore, leaving her exposed. And his fingers stroked her hip. She jolted against the intimate touch and stared up at him in shock as he trailed his fingers down between her thighs. Her breath shuddered as he slipped his fingers into the soft down at the apex of her thighs. He stroked in a slow, seductive circle. Then he proceeded lower, sliding into her hot wetness. She bucked against his hand.
Regan moaned, needing a deeper breath of air. His lips moved to her neck, nipping at her. But his fingers continued to stroke, drowning her in drunken need. Tightening her body, until she thought she would break.
Good Lord, it felt like nothing else she’d ever known and she didn’t want it to ever stop. She couldn’t concentrate on anything. Not breathing. Not anything except that tight knot. Just his fingers driving her wild with want. Teasing her. Leading her to the edge of something. As if he had all the time in the world. But she did not. She tilted her hips into his hand. “Jack. Please. I—”
He murmured gently, the sound barely audible over the rippling of the stream, against her neck. He lowered his mouth back over hers, stroking the soft skin of her tongue with his.
His fingers moved slowly, seductively, raising her to unbearable heights and then retreating. Regan’s breath tightened in her chest as she kissed him. She almost couldn’t see. Not with the sensations flooding through her body.
Jack slid a finger into her wet heat and every muscle in her body tightened. Intense pleasure rolled through her. Again and again. She called out his name, the sound breaking on her lips.
The sensations shook her body. A pulse hitting her, wave after wave. But his fingers kept touching her, working their magic. And the pleasure kept coming and coming. Regan wanted it to go on and on, and stop at the same time.
At last, her body relaxed against him. He stroked his hand over her thighs, then circled his hand to her waist, his breath harsh. The gentle bubbling of the stream and the breeze rustling the tree branches suddenly seemed unnaturally loud. But Regan didn’t care.
The roughness of his wool coat brushed against her forehead as his lips pressed against her hair.
She felt like she was suspended in midair, fluid, like water must feel, and he, like a rock, held her in place.
The muscles in his neck stood taut and the edge of his jaw was tight. But he smiled down at her, a soft smile. “I didn’t mean fer this to ’appen ’ere.”
The roughness of his voice and hi
s sudden accent surprised Regan. She loved it. Regan wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He was being his true self with her.
He brushed her temple with the back of his fingers. “But it were exciting. Don’t ye think?”
Regan lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up into his eyes. Desire shone in them, stroking her face as his hands had just done. “I can’t believe I—Jack—” Regan pushed herself back, keeping her hands lightly pressed to his naked shoulders, savoring their strength.
Question flickered in his eyes.
“Jack, what you did, I have never—”
“I know.”
Regan glanced away from him and into the forest. She swallowed. And it hit her like a solid blow. Anyone could have seen them. Regan’s mind descended upon her with a sickening crash.
The tautness of his body flexed against her and the hard ridge of him radiated heat against her stomach. He hadn’t had release.
Coldness spilled down Regan’s back, settling in her stomach. What had she done? She’d taken what he’d given. What she’d told him they could not do. She’d allowed him, had wanted it. Had given him no reason to stop.
Dear God, they could have been discovered. Anyone could have seen. Someone could have seen. And then what? What would happen to her father’s dreams? What would happen to all the people who needed her in the East End when the gossips had torn her reputations to ribbons and she was nothing more than a ruined woman?
Where had her reason gone?
Tears stung Regan’s eyelids. She pressed her face against Jack’s strong chest. She breathed in once more, her body, despite herself, loving the feel of him against her. Then she pushed herself away.
The muscles in his neck stood taut. But he smiled down at her, a soft smile. He brushed her temple with the back of his fingers. “Yer so bloody beautiful.”
Her stomach clenched as if someone had just punched her. “Jack—” Regan pushed herself back, pulling her hands free.
Question flickered in his eyes.
“I shouldn’t have. It was wrong.” The words sliced Regan’s throat, leaving pain in their wake.
His smile dimmed. “It wasn’t wrong. It’s the natural thing between a man and a woman. And I—”
Lords of the Isles Page 199
