Free In the Devil's Bed (Sins of the Duke Book 1) by Eva Devon Page A

Holding out his hand, he gestured her forward. The folds of his coat fell away from his body. A holster housing a steel and wood pistol at least seven inches long hung from his belt.
    Regan snapped her eyes towards the pistol then glanced an inch to the right. To his groin. Heat flooded Regan’s cheeks and she jerked her attention up to his face as she realized what she was doing.
    Looking down at her, his eyes darkened into pitch blackness. Silence stretched between them and a tingling heat worked its way up her legs and through her chest. She focused on his eyes, trying to ignore the alarming sensations in her body.
    Secrets flickered in his eyes. Promises that she was afraid to know, but tempted to discover.
    Grasping her umbrella firmly, Regan took herself in hand and strode out of the unfinished room. The wide hallway, meant for the transportation of great pots of soup and, if needed, beds, turned to the left.
    Regan hurried forward, as if fleet feet could somehow escape the disconcertion in her breast. A strange heat clung to her limbs. Shaking her head, Regan forced his strong face and broad shoulders from her mind.
    She could sense him, following, wordless.
    The hall opened into another room that would serve as the entrance and registration room. The brick chimney towered up into the sky, unplastered. The huge fireplace stood out like an odd, clean ruin amidst the lumber and bricks strewn about.
    Her foreman, Mr. Madison, stood talking to a short, yet broad, man with a fringe of brown hair on his pate. Mr. Madison towered over the man, his ham-like arms and wide chest almost blocking the smaller man from view.
    “Mr. Madison?”
    He turned away from the worker. The long pink scar on Madison’s bent nose stretched as he smiled. “G’day, my lady. It’s glad I am to see ye.”
    Regan held out her hand. The big man took it in his coarse one. “And I you. Can you tell me of any progress?”
    He nodded. “That I can. We’ve put in the beams on the upper stories as ye can see. And soon we’ll be laying the floors. Day after tomorrow, I think.”
    “Marvelous. Will we meet our projected day of completion?”
    “That we will. In fact, I think we’ll be finished in less than a month, if the rain stays away like it has.”
    Joy bubbled up in Regan’s chest. Joy at being one step closer to fulfilling her father’s wish. “That is wonderful news. Such work deserves recompense. I shall have hot pasties sent round at lunch today. And perhaps five schillings in each man’s pay packet?”
    Mr. Madison rubbed his wide hand over his head, tousling his thick hair. “That be far too much, my lady.”
    “Nonsense. They’ve earned it.” And it made her happy. Little else did. “That said, I’ll say good day to you. I shall be back later this week to collect the reports and bills.”
    “Aye. G’day, my lady.” Mr. Madison hurried off in the opposite direction.
    Regan crossed the threshold of her building with Captain Hazard two steps behind her.
    The sun beamed down on them. Though it failed to penetrate the cold breeze blowing through the street, she turned her face up, savoring the rays. They so seldom occurred in coal-blackened London.
    Hazard’s brows lifted. “Five schillings each? That was most generous of you.”
    The edge in his deep voice belied his statement.
    Regan knew he’d not meant to betray his true feelings. “Not generous at all.”
    She stepped over a pile of bricks and headed for her carriage. It was wedged into a small opening on the property just off the street.
    His following silence grated on Regan’s nerves like sand against glass. “It was necessary. I’ve been waiting for a way to add to the lads’ wages without them thinking it was generosity.”
    “An odd view for someone who runs a charity organization,” he drawled.
    Regan continued towards her carriage, refusing to let his cynicism affect her. “That may be so, but I am a firm believer in pride, and these men need money.