Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Do you have the papers?” Adam asked.

  Jack tightened his grip on the letters from Regan’s father as he led Adam into his study. Everything had happened so fast, he still hadn’t figured out how the hell he was going to tell Regan about her grandfather’s worst deeds. But soon, he would have to. He shut the oak door behind them.

  “Yes,” Jack said. “And more.”

  Adam crossed the room to the carved liquor cabinet by the fire and grabbed the scotch decanter. He yanked out the crystal stopper and poured in three fingers. For a moment, he stared at the burnished liquid. A faint smile, void of humor, played at his lips, then he lifted the glass and tossed back half its contents. Turning to Jack, he said, “For a man who just brushed death’s door, you seem remarkably out of spirits.”

  The urge to get drunker than a Tiger Bay gin sot was damned tempting, but not when he needed his wits. Not after what he’d found. “I have run into much deeper… difficulties.”

  “The bloom is wearing off the rose?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Marriage. I knew you married her for—less than honorable motives.” Adam turned the glass in his palm letting the liquid catch the light. “Has the clever girl already discerned that?”

  Jack fought back a growl. He’d put himself in a dangerous corner. At any moment, all that he cared about could be destroyed. Regan’s life and her love hung on a very narrow thread. And Adam controlled most of that thread. “Yes.”

  Adam drank the last of his scotch in a gulp. “You know, I rarely intervene in people’s lives.” His green eyes dulled. “They just don’t seem to be worth the effort. However, I must admit, you’re an exception. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. And to help Regan. God knows she deserves happiness.”

  Jack strode over to the fireplace and grabbed the satchel he collected from Chiles’ house yesterday morning. “And because of it, I’ll be forever in your debt, damn you.”

  The dull afternoon light spilling through the curtains shadowed Adam’s face. He gave a curt nod. “Damn right.” He stared down into the empty glass, cradling it in his hand. “Now, what else have you found?”

  Jack swung the satchel to Adam who caught it with his free hand. Then he pulled the letters out. “The papers we expected are in the bag.” He fingered the letters. “These, on the other hand…”

  Placing the glass down, Adam took the folded correspondence. He opened the top letter and his eyes widened. Wordlessly, he tucked the letters into the bag. “They will find their way to the Prime Minister before he has time to sit down to his brandy. But you do realize that something of this magnitude will be kept very quiet, if the duke is hauled off.”

  Jack nodded. He knew it all too well. And it worried him. “Adam, that letter must make a difference. He murdered his son.”

  Adam’s brows rose and he slowly tilted his head to the right. He let out a sigh that seemed to drain the life from his features leaving bitter lines about his mouth and eyes. “Try to prove it. The duke has friends in high enough places that will keep him from ever being held accountable for such a charge.”

  Jack ground his teeth down staring back at Ashecroft. Could the powerful never be destroyed? Still, he nodded.

  Adam lifted his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. “Till next time.” He strode to the door, then paused without looking back. “If this letter holds any truth, I would guess Chiles will want Regan dead. The fire may be evidence of that. Lumley certainly is and, if he wants her dead, no one will be able to stop him.” Adam glanced over his shoulder, his green eyes hard. “Not even you.”

  Jack nodded and forced a tight smile to his lips. “I know.”

  “God speed, my friend.” Adam slipped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  Jack turned to his desk and slammed his fists into the hard wood. Parliament had all the information they needed to call Chiles’ actions into question. But it would not be enough to utterly destroy the powerful duke.

  “Damn!” Jack growled. All his work, everything he’d done, was for naught. At worst, Chiles would be chastised and slapped on the wrist. And Regan. Regan would never be safe.

  Jack ran a hand through his hair. God, he’d been so arrogant to think he could destroy Chiles. Jack held his breath for a moment. He could kill the old man. It would be simple. Hell, he could make it look like an accident and then Regan would be safe.

  It was tempting.

  Shaking his head, Jack let the breath out on a slow hiss.

  Regan had shown him that revenge was not the answer. And he refused to start his new life with blood on his hands.

  If the king and Parliament couldn’t see their way to pulling the bastard down, he and Regan would be on a ship to Paris and then as far from the reach of Chiles as they could roam.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “We may have to consider moving.”

  Regan tried to look up from the hospital damage report. The dratted thing seemed never to end. They were going to have to tear what was left down and begin entirely again. “Move?” she said absently as she turned the page.

  “Regan.” Jack’s voice cut through the room, deep and gravelly.

  The hard edge in it forced her eyes up and she stilled. His entire body was tense. She took in a slow breath and put the thick parchment down. “Where did you have in mind? They’re building more new homes at Prinny’s Park.”

  Jack stared back at her without a word, his dark eyes hard.

  “Not the Park then,” she said softly. “Jack, what aren’t you telling me?” Her fingers curled into fists. Lord, it was never going to end. She’d thought he’d told her everything.

  Jack stepped forward, his eyes never leaving her face. “I know who’s been attacking you.”

  The sick feeling swirling in her stomach eased. “Well, that’s wonderful.” When he didn’t smile back, she folded her arms across her stomach. “It’s not wonderful?”

  Jack crossed the short distance between them and crouched down in front of her. Even with his knees bent, he could still look her in the eyes. Sympathy darkened his gaze and he placed a hand on top of hers.

  Her breath came in short pulls as panic began to prickle just under her skin. “Out with it.”

  “Your grandfather.”

  Regan stared at him. She blinked then laughed. She waited a moment for Jack to laugh, too. But he didn’t. The laughter died on her own lips and her chest suddenly felt hollow. “Jack, you’re taking this revenge business too far. He’s a bad man, but he’s my grandfather. My father’s father.”

  “Yes, and Regan…” Jack hesitated, his face shuttering.

  The ground seemed to open up around them and Regan was afraid, but she forced herself to ask. “What?”

  “Your father was murdered.”

  “In an alley,” she whispered.

  “The murderer was never found.”

  She shook her head. “A cutthroat-”

  “No.”

  “No?” she echoed. Slowly, she pulled her fingers from his. “You know who killed him?”

  “Your grandfather,” Jack said softly.

  She pushed back from him, stumbling on her skirt.

  “This is ridiculous. Too much. You’re—You’re—” the words spilled from her mouth, anger racing through her veins. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she gasped for air. “Don’t lie about this, not even for Devlin.”

  He strode forward and gently grasped her shoulders. “This is for you. Not for him. Regan, I would have nothing if you were hurt.”

  “I’m hurting now,” she said tightly.

  “I know,” he whispered, pulling her up against his chest.

  She fisted her hands, trying to ignore the horrid whisper in her mind that her grandfather was, indeed, capable of something so heinous. “You’re lying.”

  “I found letters from your father to Lord Castlereigh. Your father had found evidence that the duke was trying to have him killed.”


  Regan shook her head, but all the times her grandfather had threatened her and manipulated her flooded her mind. The man had been absolutely determined that she drop her father’s fight. He was almost obsessed with the Royalist cause. She sucked in a breath of air.

  “Oh, God,” she choked. It couldn’t be possible, but it was. And worse, it made sense.

  “I gave the letters to Adam. You can ask him.”

  “It won’t be enough,” she said against his chest. “Not to stop him.”

  “I know,” Jack murmured against her hair.

  Would the duke stoop so low to further his own ends? She thought back to the other morning and the pure determination on his face as he had given her his ultimatum.

  He would try to kill her just as he had done her father. He had tried to kill her. And it meant he’d most likely burned down the hospital, too. “I want to see him.”

  Jack’s hand stroked over her back as if waiting for her to unleash a storm of pain on him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Regan tilted her head up and, for the first time in her life, she understood the kind of anger that would drive one human to kill another. The fury crawled through her veins, sick and poisonous. She drew in deep breaths, fighting off a wave of rage. “I want to see him.”

  “Regan—”

  “Do you think he’d kill me outright?” she demanded. “Whip out a pistol and shoot me?”

  The lines around Jack’s mouth deepened. He stared at her for several seconds then finally bit out, “No. And never where there’d be witnesses.”

  She licked her lips. She needed to do this. For a year, she’d lived with her father’s murder. She’d had to accept his brutal death and the fact she’d never know who’d taken him from her. Well, now she knew. And she was not going to sit quietly back. “Do you know where he is? Right now?”

  Jack nodded. “O’Malley will know.”

  “Good.” Regan stepped away from Jack and smoothed her hands down the front of her gown. “We’re going.” It was time she showed her grandfather just what kind of monster he was.

  “You don’t have to do this. We could leave. We could leave this behind us.”

  Regan reached up and touched Jack’s face. “No, we couldn’t. My father, Devlin, countless others who are nameless victims. We could leave, but he will never stop.”

  “Regan, you’ve taught me that violence won’t heal our pain.”

  “I’m not going to kill him.” She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She could still see her father in her mind and it was so real that sometimes she couldn’t believe she would never see him again. Never again would she see his blue eyes dancing with amusement or experience his shrewd intellect. He’d never give a rousing speech or pat the back of her hand when he was pleased. Regan squeezed her eyes shut.

  The gentle caress of Jack’s hand touched the small of her back. “Tell me what you want.”

  She opened her eyes and her heart broke at the concern stamped on his features. “I want him to look me in the face and tell me how he murdered my father.”

  “Then we do this together.” He guided her back into the shelter of his arms. The strong bands of his muscles pressed her firmly against him and he cradled her head to his shoulder.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, needing to feel his strength. Apart, they were both riddled by painful pasts. But together… Together they were so strong. “You truly understand, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  And he did. Regan knew that if one person in this world understood the need for answers it was Jack. All his life he’d lived with the burning fire of anger. Well, she wasn’t going to let her grandfather get away with that. Not anymore. The bastard was finally going to answer for what he’d done.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The carriage rolled to an abrupt halt and Jack reached out for Regan. Before he could take her hand, she flung the door open and jumped down. Without hesitating, he followed her. She was halfway across the empty street when he strode up to her and took her cold hand in his. “I can’t protect you if you run off.”

  Her fingers tensed in his and she looked up at him, her eyes glowing with icy anger. “I will not be afraid anymore, and I refuse to let him control my life.”

  “Regan—”

  “No,” she snapped, slipping her hand from his. “This ends here.”

  Jack drew in a slow breath. The anger that had ruled his life was disappearing in the face of her pain. All he wanted to do was pull her tight to his chest and ease her hurt. But he couldn’t take the pain from her, even if his heart ached to. “Then we do it together,” he said firmly.

  She hesitated a moment then nodded tightly. The anger seemed to coil inside her, giving her steps a stiff air as she moved forward.

  Jack let her hand go, keeping his hands free and ready to grab the pistol at his side or the knife tucked at the small of his back. Staring up at the gently swinging inn’s sign, he tightened his jaw. The building was old and squat and almost entirely silent. The Cat’s Paw Inn was not a place to drink. It was a place to hide.

  They entered the narrow hallway, their footsteps creaking on the uneven wood floor. Darkness hit his eyes and he blinked.

  “Where?” she whispered.

  “Second floor,” he answered. O’Malley’s information had gotten tighter and tighter, but he still didn’t know the identity of the woman the duke met.

  Regan moved fast, her footsteps eating up the floor as if she were driven by some unseen force. He knew that force, it had driven him, too. And now that he saw it outside himself, his own heart hammered in his chest. Is this how she had felt? Had she been afraid that he would be consumed by anger and revenge?

  Because the Regan he was following was not the Regan he knew. They reached the top of the landing and she kept walking, her skirts rustling. She didn’t even pause as she demanded, “Which door?”

  “The one at the end, but let me—” Before he could finish, she was running. Jack let out a growl and strode after her. She grabbed the handle and rammed her body against the wood.

  The door jamb splintered and popped open. Jack opened his mouth in shock. In that moment, he thanked God Regan didn’t have a pistol. Because, in this moment, he had no doubt that she would have used it.

  *

  Regan threw the door open and advanced into the room. Her heart beat with the same pace of her feet, hard and fast. It took her eyes seconds to adjust to the scene. Her grandfather sat by the fire, a blue silk robe wrapped about his frame. A beautiful, if slightly older, woman sat at his feet, her eyes wide with shock.

  The duke sat still, his face a mask.

  Frenzy and rage sent her shaking and she felt Jack’s soothing presence behind her, but she couldn’t think of anything save her father. “You killed him?” Instead of the furious accusation she’d intended, her voice came out in a ragged demand.

  Her grandfather’s face paled and his knuckles whitened as he grasped the armrests on his chair. “Regan—”

  “Yes or no?” she gritted.

  “What is she talking about?” the woman on the floor demanded. Her peach silk robe embroidered with white silk and beads shimmered as she knelt.

  “Did you?” Regan demanded.

  Her grandfather, the mighty Duke of Chiles, looked away and when he looked back, his eyes shone with tears. “Yes.”

  With that one word, all the energy rushed out of Regan’s body and her limbs felt like lead pulling her down to the floor. But she remained upright and took a footstep forward. The air in the room thickened as if they were underwater. “You killed your son?”

  “Yes,” the duke said simply, but his throat worked as if he were swallowing back a bad taste.

  “You would have killed me?” The words came out of her throat like sandpaper. She had never liked this man, but she’d never known hate until this moment. It burned her body like liquid fire.

  “Yes.”

  At that, Jack strode forwa
rd putting his body between them. “You son of a bitch,” he bit out. The calmness was gone from Jack’s presence. Fury rippled off him. He crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed the duke and threw him against the wall.

  The woman screamed.

  Her grandfather started to slide down the wall, but Jack grabbed him and thrust him hard up against the surface. The duke’s head cracked back and hit the wood paneling. “I should gut you right now for putting my wife in the remotest danger.”

  “I did what needed to be done,” the duke said, his voice hard and unrelenting.

  “And what exactly was that?” Regan’s voice cracked through the room. She almost didn’t recognize it as her own. She crossed the distance to him slowly, not trusting herself unless she controlled every movement.

  Her grandfather’s blue eyes flicked towards her and desperation creased his forehead. “It is not yours to question.”

  “And my father’s life was not yours to take. Answer me.”

  Chiles shook his head.

  Jack’s hand whipped to the small of his back and a blade flashed in the light spilling from the windows. He pressed the edge against her grandfather’s groin. A wicked gleam burned in Jack’s eyes. “You’re not a duke here. And the only thing keeping you a man is my good will.” His fingers tightened dangerously on the knife and he leaned in ever so slightly.

  Beads of sweat dotted her grandfather’s forehead and he panted.

  Jack smiled, a cold calculating grin. “Answer any question she asks.”

  Regan stepped beside her grandfather and she looked up into the face that reflected her father’s. The strong planes had begun to wrinkle and the blue eyes were slightly faded, but he bore the same strength and determination that her father had… And yet there couldn’t be two different men. “What could make you do that?” she whispered.

  Chiles opened and closed his mouth. Then strangely, he turned to Jack. “Hazard, you saw what was happening in France. The chaos. The anarchy. All of it came from the uprising of the peasants. For God’s sake, the streets ran with blood. Thousands lost their lives when their society was turned topsy-turvy. The monarchy must be protected.”