Jack leaned a little, the barest of invasions into Garret’s space. “Now that we’ve arranged this merry meeting, it would be in your best interest to cooperate with us.”
Garret stared back unflinchingly, his eyes one step from dead. “Spare me the theatrics.”
A cold smile tilted O’Malley’s lips. “Sure and there isn’t much more theatrical than a firing squad.”
“Especially if you’re at the wrong end,” Jack added.
Garret’s shoulders tensed but his face was blank as a slate. The slow sound of metal on metal clicked near Garret.
“And how do you feel just now?” Garret tilted his head to the side. “Theatrical?”
Jack’s gut coiled as he realized that Garret’s hand was under the table and no doubt pointing a pistol. “I’m always up for a good show.”
O’Malley smiled and the sound of another weapon being cocked came up through the table. “And don’t ye know an Irishman hates to be upstaged?” His face hardened. “Put the pistol on the table.”
Garret held still for a moment then a slow, rumbling laugh rasped from his throat like he hadn’t laughed in years. “Fine. We’re at a standoff. And you obviously mean business.”
Garret lifted the pistol, put it on the table and snapped his fingers. Within moments, a tavern wench sauntered her way up to their table, her hips working like the pendulum on a clock. “A pitcher of ale and some glasses, sweetheart.”
She smiled, her brown eyes wide and welcoming. “Anything you like, luv.”
As she worked her hips in that tick-tock walk and moved away, Jack shook his head. Apparently the scar had not detracted from the man’s appeal to women. They sat in silence for several seconds, until at last Jack said, “I never thought to see you again.”
Garret arched a brow. “Deserters usually try to stay out of sight.”
“So do men who shoot superior officers,” O’Malley pointed out.
Garret shrugged. “I’ll not deny it.”
“Is that why you’re working for Chiles?” Jack demanded. Garret had always been a rough bastard, but at one time, he’d had a scrap of honor. But maybe that had disappeared the day he’d shot a man in cold blood. In the back.
“Chiles gives me protection while I do his dirty work.”
Jack nodded slowly, hating that he understood a scum sucker’s need for protection, but… “He can’t protect you from us.”
Garret laughed dryly. “Sod off, Hazard. You’re powerful in London. I’ll give you that. But you can’t scare me with delusions of grandeur. You know how powerful Chiles is. What he can do.”
O’Malley leaned back, his blue eyes hard and searching as he stared at his former officer. “Which is?”
For the first time since he’d walked in like a big dog claiming his turf, Garret shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “Which is why I’m sitting here and you’re not at the bottom of the Thames.”
The tavern wench came back with a tray and she easily unloaded it, bending with a skill meant to show off the ample curves of her body.
O’Malley’s eyes darted to the deep “v” of her bodice but he shook his head. Soldiers learned fast the ease of a present that gifted itself from a tavern wench long after a tryst was done.
“Anything else?” she purred.
Garret placed a hand on her waist, caressing it lightly, and he stared up at her with hot, lazy eyes. “Not now, sweet.”
She sighed as he trailed his fingers away. With a backward glance, she headed back to the other tables.
Garret threw back half his ale then wiped his black-gloved hand over his mouth. “You’re going after Chiles?”
Jack took his tankard but didn’t drink. “How did you guess?” he drawled.
“The man’s an ass.” Garret’s jaw hardened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “He deserves to be disemboweled. The documents I’ve seen. The workhouses. The profiteering. The abject abuse of workers.”
“That’s not enough,” Jack said evenly.
Garret paused, his breath seemingly trapped inside as he contemplated Jack’s statement. Then he shook his head, sighing. “Others have tried to bring the duke down before. You’re correct. You’ll need something bigger than corruption.”
“What about the boy he sees?” Jack asked easily as if it wasn’t his only point of attack now.
Garret’s brows lifted. “A boy?”
O’Malley leaned back, casually eyeing his tankard. “We know he sees a lad at least once a week.”
A wry smile twisted Garret’s lips. “You think he sees a lad?”
Nodding, O’Malley said, “I’ve seen him with my own eyes.”
“Oh, you’ve seen someone,” Garret said meaningfully.
“But not a lad,” Jack tested.
“Ask me no questions… I’ll give you this much. The he’s a she. And she’s not a girl, nor is she a prostitute.” Garret swiped a hand over his face as if suddenly tired. “Look in to the woman. I don’t know who she is, only that she must be married to someone damned important to warrant such secrecy. She might be the duke’s weakness.” He paused and tapped the table with his fingertips. “In your research, have you noticed other meetings with certain men?”
“So, he does fancy men?” O’Malley asked.
“Not unless five of the most powerful lords in the country enjoy having orgies together,” Garret said dryly.
An instinctual interest sharpened Jack’s focus. “They meet regularly?”
“Mmm. And they all have the same political leanings. I’ve no proof mind you, but I think they are all interested in consolidating the power of the monarchy and the House of Lords. They hate the House of Commons as far as I can tell. It’s treason of course, to go against the Commons. They won’t see it that way.”
“What else?”
Garret glared pointedly. “I think I’ve told you more than enough.”
“I think ye haven’t even begun to sing as yet.” Placing his tankard down, O’Malley braced his arm on the table. “In fact, I’d love to hear a whole chorus of information.”
Garret smiled tightly, his eyes on O’Malley “And Ireland will be free.”
“Ireland’s like me mammy.” O’Malley’s fist twitched as if he was fighting off the urge to belt Garret. “Now, do ye have to go and hit below the belt, going after a man’s mammy?”
“If you’re going to hit someone, that’s the only way to do it. Below the belt, I mean.”
Jack laughed, the sound hard even to his own ears. “True. Or you can just try shooting them. In the back.”
Garret’s face twisted back into unreadable stone. “Sod off.”
Jack pushed his tankard away and took Garret’s pistol, shoving it into his belt. “We’ll be seeing you.”
“No.” Garret stared down at the table, the cocky anger lulling from him. “If you found me, others will. Besides, I’m sick of the foul taste in my mouth.”
“I want more information,” Jack said evenly as he came up behind the former officer. “Or do O’Malley and I need to convince you.”
“Go on now.” O’Malley stood, his big bull-like body looming above Garret. “For I love a good bit of convincing.”
Garret kept his eyes on the table. He sat relaxed with his arms slung over the chair back. The man had managed to turn himself off like a switch. “I’ll give you what I can get. But I’m going into hiding again. And soon.”
“Back to the rock ye slid out from,” O’Malley said brightly.
Jack clapped his hand on Garret’s back. “Don’t look so bleak, man. It’s not death at dawn. Yet.”
They left Garret sitting alone at the table and headed back into the night. As he and O’Malley stepped out into the narrow, filth strewn alley, Jack’s breath blew out white in front of him. “So, he doesn’t bugger people.”
“Too bad,” O’Malley tsked. “That would have been the easiest way.”
“When the hell has this ever been easy?”
O’Malley wrapped his coat ti
ghter about him as they tramped into the dark fog. “I don’t suppose it’s ever easy until yer dead.”
They parted ways in the darkness and Jack sucked in the rotting air. It was strange. As he drank in the foul taste of the night, he couldn’t help feeling that he was rotting, too. Slowly, steadily, from the inside out.
Chapter Fourteen
“She can be controlled.”
“Indeed.” Chiles stared at his youngest son, barely able to keep his disappointment in check. He leaned back in his high backed leather chair and folded his aging hands. “You have done such an admirable job so far.”
Geoffrey stood on the green and blue woven carpet, shifting from polished boot to polished boot. Even now, the man, in his thirties, was a child. He damned well was never supposed to be the next duke. No, that had been James. The eldest. Strong, determined, and charming, he would have completely won over the House of Lords. But he’d had to go and oppose everything the Chiles name stood for.
Petulant, selfish, and a liar, Geoffrey had no idea what real power meant. He’d use it for personal gain and not impartial imperatives. Good God, Chiles could hardly credit he was this sniveling man’s father. Geoffrey’s one saving grace was his avid royalist principles. Which in the end was the only thing that truly mattered.
Geoffrey’s pale blue eyes shifted left as if looking for a hasty excuse for his own shortcomings. “Your Grace, she is willful. The way she was raised—”
Chiles shoved himself to his feet, towering slightly above his own son. “Yes, she is James’ child.”
He smoothed down his green waistcoat, wishing Regan had been a man and slightly more moldable. But she was what she was and, like her father, she was digging a very early grave for herself and her political and social reputation. “She’s a Chance and she must conform to our beliefs. Now that James is gone, we have the opportunity to be seen as a united front against those who would question our God-given authority.”
No, he could brook no opposition from his own family. Not in these politically dangerous times.
“Father?”
“We shall make her see the error of her ways and perhaps, unlike James, she can be redeemed. If she is placed into the right man’s hands…”
Geoffrey frowned, his forehead creasing as if strained. “Marriage?”
Chiles inclined his head. The narrow scope of his own son’s resourcefulness tired him and he sighed. “That, amongst other things. As you say, she is willful. We will force her hand.”
Geoffrey snorted. “You’ll have to shove the groom down the aisle. For God’s sake, who’d want to wed such a disobedient and self-centered woman? She thinks of nothing but her own interests. Look how she ignores you.” Geoffrey smoothed his cravat. “And, of course, myself.”
Chiles smiled tightly. He should never have entrusted Geoffrey with Regan. He should have immediately brought the girl into his house and begun her reeducation. But the wheel was already spinning now. “Just take her to the country, Geoffrey, or have Sylvia do it.”
“And if she refuses to be brought to heel, like James?”
Chiles narrowed his eyes slightly, letting several moments of silence hang between them. “Leave that to me.”
Geoffrey swallowed then nodded. “Yes, Father.”
Chiles waved at his son. “Now go.”
Bowing slightly, Geoffrey hurried out of the room.
Chiles stared at the empty doorway. Though Geoffrey desperately wanted it, Chiles couldn’t give him his trust. The boy was too selfish, too impulsive. No, there were things that were too secret even for his only remaining son.
Chapter Fifteen
“You’ve made a mistake.”
Jack darted around the boxing ring, his fists raised, and his body slightly angled to the side. He kept his eyes trained on Adam’s, waiting for movement. “No. You did, ya bleedin’ blue blood.”
Adam Ashecroft, the Earl of Easton, let fly, sending a punch towards Jack’s jaw. The earl’s huge fist sailed past Jack’s chin as he twisted to the side.
“You couldn’t hit a man if he were standin’ still,” Jack taunted.
Adam’s smiled. The kind of smile a tiger would give before he took a chunk out of a man’s arse. “Your accent is showing.”
Tucking his right fist just below his chin, Jack aimed a left hook at Adam’s face. His fingers grazed skin, but didn’t land, and the momentum carried him forward. Damn, but he couldn’t stop the image of Regan, her hair falling over her shoulders, and the softness of her nightgown, clinging to her body, from flashing in his mind. Jack balanced on the balls of his toes and shook his head. His damp hair lifted off his forehead as drops of water flew into the air.
Adam stepped to the right and Jack mirrored him. Boxing was a game he was good at. It was a game he played like some men played chess. And he could work Regan out of his thoughts as if she, too, was simply a game to be won… or lost. He rolled his head to the right. A sharp pop echoed about him as the bones in his neck adjusted.
Adam dodged in and threw his right fist at Jack’s face with the tight and controlled movement of a swordsman. Jack turned to the right and ran straight into Adam’s left fist. Air whooshed out of his lungs. He stepped back and whacked Adam in the cheek with his elbow.
Adam hissed as his head snapped back. They jumped back away from each other. Adam lowered his green eyes.
Jack smiled. They could go on like this for hours and neither would win. “We done yet?”
“Only if you’re finished working your tension out.” Adam lowered his fists and strode over to the side of the ring.
Jack followed. He picked up a towel and wiped it over his hair. “I am not tense,” he said over the sound of other fights and warm-ups taking place in the boxing club.
One of Adam’s black brows tilted up, mocking him. “I have seen Lady Regan. Like I told you before, you’ve made a mistake.”
Rubbing the towel over his chest, Jack looked away. He didn’t mistake Adam’s meaning, but he was in control. “I am her guard. No more.”
Adam laughed as he yanked on his shirt. “See to it that it stays that way or the Duke of Chiles will cut off your balls and feed them to his dogs.”
“The bastard would cut a man’s balls off without reason.”
Adam nodded, running a hand through his black hair. “He’s one of the most powerful men in London—”
“I happen to have influ-”
Adam picked up his green cravat and fingered the folds. “Chiles also has a five hundred-year-old name to go along with that power and kinship to the king. Do not get involved with her.”
Feigning indifference Jack folded his arms over his chest. “Why are you warning me off a bit of sport?”
Jack had known Adam for a good four years. And Adam and O’Malley were the only people he’d trusted since Devlin died.
“Because I don’t want to see you destroyed by a man who would hang a man just to watch him dance.” A muscle in Adam’s jaw twitched. “Jack. He is cousin to the king and has more money and connections than God.”
“I know,” Jack growled.
Slowly, he drew in a deep breath. Adam could never know his real intentions. It didn’t matter if the man had been a spy for Wellington. In his heart, Adam would always be a man of honor. A man who would never use an innocent young woman to defeat an enemy.
“Never fear,” Jack assured. “Lady Regan is too straight-laced for my tastes.”
Adam narrowed his eyes. “Somehow, I thought you might enjoy that challenge.”
To see the passionate woman who lived beneath her calm exterior break free and live as wantonly as she kissed? Hell yes. That challenge appealed to him very much. Too much. “She’s safe from my corruption if that is your worry.”
Adam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Adam’s smiles hadn’t for some time. “Good. Aren’t you supposed to be with her now? Being you are her personal guard and all.”
“I give myself a little over an hour a day out of her pres
ence.” Or else he would go bloody mad. He needed time away from the soft smell of lavender that surrounded her. The glint of her red hair. The way her body moved. And the way her damned mouth had felt under his. Jack pulled on his shirt and laced up the ties.
“When I leave,” Jack said, “I ensure she is heavily guarded, and she does not leave her townhouse without me. She’s as closely guarded as the king.”
Adam rolled his eyes and groaned as he slipped his arms into his deep green coat. “I suppose all this work means no raising hell for a while?”
“No. Not until I can find out who is behind the attacks.”
“You do realize that it could take some time?”
Jack smiled tightly. “I’m not too worried about that. Everything will run its course and I’ve arranged with O’Malley to set feelers out in the East End for information.”
Adam nodded. “You’re certain it’s an East Ender?”
“All evidence suggests it. Why?”
Hesitating, Adam looked about, then focused on Jack. “Consider. Her father was not popular with the Tories. The man’s own father openly opposed him. I think the duke would have disinherited the earl had primogeniture not stood firmly in his way. Some even believed James Chance, heir to a dukedom, supported a Republic.”
Jack closed his eyes for a moment, taking in this information. “And he was murdered.”
“Indeed,” Adam drawled. “Conveniently leaving his cause in the hands of a powerless young woman.”
Jack nodded. “If you hear anything about Chiles or her father, the earl—”
“I’ll keep you informed.”
“Things still active at Horse Guards?” Jack eyed the man who had taught him how to survive in the officer’s mess. They’d been a pair of outcasts. Jack had been a tough amongst blue bloods and Adam, a spy. Still, the Earl of Easton looked worse for wear these days, as if something beyond the puffed up bureaucrats of Whitehall were pressing him.
“Men are always trying to betray their king.” Adam smiled dryly. “Especially this king.”
Adam slung his cloak about his shoulders and inclined his head to Jack. “Mind yourself and stay out of the chit’s skirts.”
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