Jack squeezed his eyes shut. Moments of death never seemed real. Hell, it would not seem real for days. But it would sink in. If not today, then next week. If not in a week, a month. It always did. But she wouldn’t be alone. Not like he had been.
A shriek tore through the room, raising the hair on the back of Jack’s neck.
“Captain Hazard!”
Regan tensed against him, her fingers digging into his arms. He winced. Shit. Jack lifted his head and took in Lady Wells, her emerald green evening gown almost black in the candlelight. He kept his arms firmly around Regan. “Yes, Lady Wells?”
“He is—He is dead!” Her high voice pierced Jack’s ears.
Murmuring, like the low buzz of wasps, traveled through the hall. Jack ground his teeth, resisting the urge to growl a comment on her powers of observation. “Yes,” Jack gritted.
Regan tilted her head away from Jack’s face, but held tightly to his arms as if he were a shield to be worn in battle. “Please close the door, Lady Wells,” stated Regan, her voice strong and unwavering.
For a woman nearly murdered, her voice sounded calm. Cool even. Like a woman ordering a maid to fetch her slippers. Knowing she was in shock, Jack gently rubbed his palm against her back in a slow circle.
“What? The d-door?” Lady Wells’ glance turned towards the splintered frame and her eyes widened. “Good Lord. What has happened?” she shrieked.
Jack stared down at Regan’s face. The color seeped from it, leaving it paler than milk. “He attempted to murder Lady Regan.”
Several gasps echoed from the hall. Lady Wells blanched and placed a hand to her curled hair. “You killed him?”
Jack pressed Regan tightly to his chest, relishing her body against his. She squeezed her arms about him and turned to Lady Wells. “No. The man killed himself.”
“Regan? Regan!” Sylvia’s voice rose above the others. “Get away you ruddy cows,” she hissed.
Regan glanced up at her aunt, shadows darkening her eyes. “Thank God, for her.”
Jack nodded. If someone could disperse the vultures without force, it was Sylvia. Sylvia hurried to Regan and started patting Regan’s shoulders and back as if to make sure her niece was, indeed, all right. “I would recommend that you two let go of each other,” she whispered. “Now.”
Taking Sylvia’s hand in hers, Regan stepped away, her eyes trained on Jack.
Jack turned to the doorway.
Lady Wells stood in its center. Several other men and women in their evening attire and dressing robes stood behind her. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the red splatters around the room. “There is blood everywhere,” condemned Lady Wells.
Jack glared at the woman. Didn’t she understand the gravity of what happened? “I think it would be best if you called the bailiffs or a magistrate.”
“To incarcerate you?” asked Lady Wells.
“No, not for me. For the dead man. He was going to commit murder,” he stated, his voice growing lower as he fought the need to yell at the woman.
Several more gasps from the people behind Lady Wells filled the room. Jack cocked his head to the side, leveling a challenging gaze at Lady Wells. “The real danger here is that he broke into your home… With seemingly little effort.”
Lady Wells’ narrow eyes darted back toward the bath and the water-soaked floor. She flinched and paled as she stared at the blood spilling in long fingers across the hardwood from the man’s neck.
“I see.” Lady Wells swallowed. Backing away, she puffed out sharp breaths of air. “How did he get in? How?” she wailed, clearly more afraid for herself than anything else.
“Out of the way! Everyone back to bed. For Christ’s sake, out of the way.” Adam Ashecroft, of all people, shoved his way through the crowd, towering above the nobles as he stepped into the room. His long great coat was spattered with rain water and his hair was windblown as if he’d only just arrived. “Rumors are spreading like wildfire through the house. I arrived just an hour ago. I thought you might need assistance in this hell house.”
Adam’s pupils were abnormally large in his green eyes and the muscles at his neck stood tense, as if he’d just been through a fight. Jack narrowed his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him? Jack shook his head. There was no time. “Take a look at the dead man. Without moving his body.”
“Certainly.”
Jack turned back to Lady Wells and strode towards the door. “All of you,” he swept a warning glance over the thin, pale, overbred faces. “Back to your rooms,” his voice growled more than he had intended.
One by one, the crowd stepped back. Several of them craned their necks as they walked by the door, attempting to glimpse the body. Lady Wells squared her shoulders. “This is my home. How dare you—”
Jack stepped up to Lady Wells’ thin frame and looked down at her, cocking his right brow. “Yes?”
She looked away and stepped back. “W-well…”
Jack shook his head and guided her through the doorframe. “Goodnight, Lady Wells. Lord Ashecroft and I shall speak with Lord Wells later. Tell him to meet me in his study.” Jack slammed the door shut. It shuddered in its splintered frame, but remained shut.
Blowing out a long, harsh breath, Jack forced himself to focus on what needed to be done, not on the gossip that was sure to alter his life forever. And Regan’s.
But who in God’s name would go to such lengths to kill her?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jack approached the bed, hesitating a few feet before Regan. Her slender, white calves and ankles stood out against the folds of the dark blue blanket. She kept her eyes lowered to her lap.
While Sylvia had one arm tucked around Regan, her eyes were trained on him, demanding answers.
And at the moment, he had none to give. He only wished Regan would look at him.
“I cannot ignore that I am to blame for a large part of this,” Regan whispered.
Sylvia opened her mouth, but Jack shook his head at her. Regan needed to speak. To voice what she felt, even if it ripped his heart to shreds. He crouched down before her and placed his hands on her knees. Jack studied the line of her neck and the soft shadows beneath her eyes.
She tilted her chin up and opened her eyes. “I have insisted on carrying out my father’s work, regardless of the consequences—” Regan’s voice broke and she drew in a breath.
Sylvia looked from Regan to Jack then slowly she released Regan and stood. As if understanding that Regan needed to be assured by Jack now, and no one else, she walked over to Adam by the fire. They stood silently, watching. Stretching the tension in the room as they waited.
“If this was someone’s fault it was mine,” he insisted. And it was. He should have protected her better. Never agreed to come to this damned house to begin with. Never left her side for a moment, propriety be damned. And requests be damned.
The corners of Regan’s lips tilted up in a tentative smile. “Let us not quarrel now over the blame. I am sorry, Jack.”
Jack smiled back at her with understanding. He would fight with all his blood to ensure that no one would hurt her ever again. He reached up and stroked his fingers over her smooth cheek. “I will make this right.”
“I want to know who he is.” She gestured with a nod of her head towards the body.
The fact that Regan was dressed in nothing more than a sheet could not escape his notice. Jack exhaled. “Do you have a robe that you might put on? A warm one?”
“Yes.”
Jack rose to his feet. “Good. Lord Ashecroft is a gentleman and, in this instance, Oi shall attempt to be one, myself.” Despite his efforts, his old, instinctive speech roughed out of his mouth, “and we’ll turn about while you dress.”
Jack crossed over to Ashecroft and Sylvia. He took hold of his hardened friend and turned him towards the far wall. “Turn around. And if Oi see you trying to catch a glimpse, Oi will personally pull out yer eyeballs.”
Adam lifted a brow, turned, and kept his eyes straight for
ward. “It’s my other balls that I couldn’t do without, Hazard,” he said dryly.
Jack rolled his eyes.
“Thank you, I’ve finished,” said Regan.
Jack turned and swallowed. The robe was no better than the blanket. It was blue silk with beading and white orchids embroidered along its edges. The fabric spilled over her nude body, caressing every curve. And he did not want Adam, or any other man for that matter, seeing Regan like this.
He also had no intention of letting Regan linger around the dead man. “Sylvia, would you please take Regan to your room? I will follow you shortly.”
Sylvia nodded and strode over to Regan, her hand extended.
“I would prefer to stay here. With you,” said Regan. She crossed her arms under her breasts, a subtle gesture of defiance.
“If you must, but you will stand back.”
Regan nodded and let her hands drop to her sides.
Adam crouched down beside the body and patted the masked man’s pockets. He paused, a frown creasing his brows as he pulled a slender cigar case from the man’s jacket. He pulled the top free and lifted the open case to his nose. “Bloody hell, these are first quality.”
A growing sense of suspicion tugged at Jack’s gut. He reached over and slid a cigar from the case. Pointing it at the man’s smooth fingers, he shook his head. “He’s upper class. Or at least wealthy. Absolutely no callouses.”
Adam nodded. His face was surprisingly grim and a touch old. “His clothes are tailored.” Adam glanced down the length of the man’s legs. “Look at that. No dirt. No mud. Nothing.”
The muscles in Jack’s neck tightened. Something damned well wasn’t right. “Yes. Let’s do the obvious thing.”
He reached down and tugged on the black, coarse mask. It clung like a second skin, then slid off his head.
Jack stared down at the face, a sick feeling swirling in his stomach. Blue eyes stared back at him, empty, and blond locks fell against the corpse’s temples.
The square line of his jaw hung down, relaxed. The unease deepened. Jack dug his nails into his palms and closed his eyes for a moment.
“Shite,” Adam hissed.
Jack glared down at the dead man. Disbelief rushing through his veins. “Lord Lumley,” he growled.
Adam fixed him with a piercing green stare. “Now, why would a noble try to murder Lady Regan?”
Jack let out a slow shaking breath. He had no idea. None. And suddenly Jack knew that Regan was in more danger than he ever could have imagined.
*
“I am going with you.” Regan looked up at Jack, fighting the urge to smooth her black skirts in frustration. Morning sunlight spilled through the hall from the towering windows that faced east. It filtered over Jack’s tossed hair, black trousers, and rumpled linen shirt.
Anger glimmered in his eyes. Not at her, she was sure of it. No. He was furious at the situation. And she could not blame him.
But she needed clarity. Needed to find out what was to happen. While she didn’t understand why in God’s name Lumley would have tried to murder her, she would not let Jack face Lord Wells alone.
Jack looked down at her, his eyes hard. “No.”
“Jack, I may be ruined.” Though, in truth, she was trying not to think of the ramifications of this night, she would not sit upstairs in Sylvia’s room and wait for the men to sort out her future.
He lifted his strong hand to her cheek, his roughened fingers brushing her skin. “Lord Wells will most likely accuse us of having an affair.” His black eyes looked away, as if searching for the right words. “They may not believe I was not already in your room when—”
“My attacker came in,” she finished. Tilting her head into the palm of his warm hand, she raised her hand and spread her fingers over his. “Let us do this together.”
And the fact that Jack held her future in his hands, the future of her father’s dream, forced itself on Regan. Everyone in London would know that Jack Hazard had held her naked body, regardless of the circumstances, in less than a fortnight. And if utterly ruined, she would never be able to help the people of the East End again.
Jack drew in a breath, then nodded. “Of course. Let us face the old bastard together then.”
Regan walked by Jack’s side, stretching her steps to match his as they headed toward Lord Wells’ study. Regan swallowed and snuck a quick glance at Jack. He stared straight ahead, his jaw squared as if he intended on going into battle.
A footman in the Wells uniform of blue and gold opened the study door. Regan stopped. In that room, she’d have to face Lord and Lady Wells and God knew who else. She’d face their judging looks and face the fact that she could no longer act with impunity. And yet, it seemed trivial in comparison to the events of last evening.
Jack looked down at her, his eyes hard as if he were being led to the gallows. It had finally occurred to him what was going to happen and what they were going to be told. Tears stung her eyelids. She blinked them away and gave Jack a tight smile. “We’ve no choice but to openly discuss what happened,” she whispered.
Jack turned his head away and looked into the room. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Raw anger pulsed off him. “No. There are no more choices.”
Regan bit her lower lip half afraid to know what had caused this sudden spike of anger. Drawing in a deep breath, Regan forced herself to look into the study.
Morning light glinted off her grandfather’s cane which he spun slowly in his fingers. His emerald ducal ring winked. He narrowed his blue eyes, and tilted his silver head to the side. “How kind of you and your lover to join us.”
Good God, what was he doing here? Regan fisted her hands at her sides, resisting the urge to stride forward and slap her own grandfather.
The duke gave a sharp yank to his royal blue coat, then thumped his cane to the floor. “Come in and shut the door.”
Jack’s strong face turned granite-like, but he gestured for Regan to enter. Keeping her eyes trained on her grandfather, Regan stepped into the room. Jack followed a foot behind her.
The duke crossed from the center of the room to the fireplace, putting the large, walnut desk between them. “I am certain you did not plan on my presence this morning, but Lord Wells sent a messenger the moment he heard of this debacle.”
“How kind of him.” Jack stepped beside Regan. His long, powerful legs brushed the material of her skirts.
“Kind?” snapped her grandfather. “You were not hired to be my granddaughter’s stud.”
Regan blanched. Did everyone think of Jack as nothing more than horseflesh? An animal with a single purpose for upper class women? “Captain Hazard is my guard. Nothing more.”
Jack tensed beside her, but Regan ignored it. There was the smallest glimmer of hope that she could secure Jack his reputation, even if she had to destroy her own.
“Your granddaughter speaks the truth,” stated Jack.
“I couldn’t give a blind man’s bugger about the truth. No one will!” Spittle sprung from the duke’s thin lips. “What will be seen is a dead lord and that a Chance has lain with—”
He threw his cane to the floor and it clattered against the hardwood floor. “With the dregs of society. The puffed up, promoted son of a whore who can’t name his own father from the countless men between his mother’s legs. That’s what will be seen.” His lip curled in disgust. “And my granddaughter has proved herself to be no better to pair herself with you.”
Regan flinched. The words hit her like a blow to her stomach. She had never liked her grandfather. Nor respected him. But that did not stop the words from cutting.
The glint of a pure, unadulterated hate flashed in Jack’s soot black eyes and, in that moment, Regan knew he could kill in an instant. She thought she’d known it, but it had just been an idea. Now it was real.
As if he owned the manor, Jack squared his shoulders and slowly, deliberately, closed in on the duke. “Know this, Your Grace. Unlike you, I will protect Regan no matter the cost. Even if
it means taking her as my wife.”
Regan’s heart slammed in her chest. “Jack. You don’t have to—”
“The hell he will!” roared the duke. “I will lock you up in the country before the likes of him marries one of us.”
Jack grabbed hold of the duke’s lapels forcing him onto the tips of his shiny-toed boots. “Old man, if she will have me, nothing will give me more pleasure than taking your granddaughter to wife.”
Regan looked from her grandfather, whose eyes bulged from his red face, to Jack, who bared his teeth like a feral beast. Jack’s fingers were mere inches from the duke’s throat. Something was happening between them that she did not understand.
Regan rushed over to the two men, her silk skirts swishing against her legs, and placed her hand on Jack’s wrist. The fabric of his black coat shifted over his taut muscles. “Jack, let him go.”
Digging his fingers deeper into her grandfather’s coat, Jack looked down at her. A wealth of anger and pain burned in his eyes. She’d never seen Jack so shaken. So angry.
Slowly, the tumultuous emotions faded from Jack’s eyes as if he were caging them. He pulled his hands away from the duke in a sudden jolt.
Her grandfather stumbled back and brushed his front down. “Regan, give me your word you will do as I bid in this.”
A dry laugh cut from her throat. “I have never done as you bid. My father? Your son? He reviled you. Do you understand? He dedicated his life to righting the wrongs you perpetrate on a daily basis.”
The duke said quietly, “If you marry him, you will… regret it.”
Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her back, away from her grandfather. “Consider us duly warned.” But the hard edge in Jack’s voice contained a warning of its own. “Come, Regan.”
Tugging on her hand, Jack led her towards the door. Regan threw a single glance over her shoulder. Rage continued to glow in her grandfather’s eyes. His hands were in tight fists. Regan tilted her chin up, defying the warning in her heart. She had just made a truly dangerous enemy.
Regan followed Jack from the room, running to keep up with his long strides. He remained silent as he climbed the wide stairs towards their rooms, his strong hand enfolding her fingers. Regan said nothing, wary that he had demanded marriage as their solution.
Lords of the Isles Page 202
