Redeeming Jack (Paperback) Book 2

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Chapter 1

London 1814
Jack Llewelyn gave a long-suffering sigh, crossed his arms and leaned back against the silk-covered wall of the Delamere House ballroom. Lilac ribbons and purple flowers of every variety had transformed the cavernous ballroom into a spectacular spring-like vision of a woodland grove. Even to Jack’s jaundiced eye, the duchess’ first ball would be described as a triumph.
Jack mentally calculated what it must have cost the Duke of Diable Delamere’s secretary to buy all the hothouse blooms and scented flowers in London and grimaced. He glanced down at Michael Waterstone, who occupied the wheelchair by his side. “Michael, I hate doing the pretty, and I’m not dressed for a ton ball. You don’t need my help anymore, so why in God’s name have you dragged me here this evening?”
“Don’t blame me. Elizabeth—or should I say Her Grace, the Duchess of Diable Delamere—ordered me to bring you along. And since this is her first formal ball and the duke is my employer, I couldn’t quite see how to put her off.”
“Devil take it,” Jack swore softly, aware of the interested eyes on him and the gradual, inevitable swell of gossip his presence always stirred. He hadn’t ventured into the ton for almost five years, yet nothing had changed. “I hope Her Grace hasn’t taken it into her head to befriend me. I have enough problems without that.”
Michael’s mouth twitched. “Elizabeth is my sister. Please refrain from referring to her in such unflattering terms.”
“I hold Her Grace in the highest regard, but she can be intimidating when she sets her mind on something. Even you can’t deny that.”
Wisely, Michael chose not to comment. Jack glanced at the dance floor, where a waltz was in progress. In the center of the room, the duke’s dark head was bent toward his new duchess. His stance radiated a possessive interest Jack knew to be sincere. He had crossed paths with the duke earlier in the year and experienced the ferocity of his devotion to his Elizabeth at first hand.
Jack had met Elizabeth before her marriage, when she advertised for a male nurse for her brother, Michael. At the time, unbeknownst to Jack or to her family, she’d paid Jack’s wages from money earned breaking code for the duke.
He forgot about the couple when a uniformed figure stopped in front of Michael and saluted. Jack resisted the automatic impulse to salute back and instead thrust his hand into the pocket of his breeches.
“Lieutenant Waterstone, it’s a pleasure to see you, sir.” The smartly dressed young man shook Michael’s hand and pointedly ignored Jack.
“Good evening, Captain Howard,” Michael replied. “Have you met my friend, Lord Jack Llewelyn?”
Captain Howard flicked Jack a disdainful glance. “With all due respect, Waterstone, I’m surprised that a war hero such as yourself would want to be associated with a man who was dishonorably discharged from the army for deliberately leading two men into a French ambush.”
Jack straightened and withdrew his hands from his pockets. He was a good six inches taller than the hapless Captain Howard. Rash words of contempt and challenge hovered on Jack’s lips, but he kept his mouth shut. He’d trodden that path before and barely survived. Wearily he wondered if he’d ever be allowed to forget.
Michael frowned. “I honor all those who have fought and died for our country. Llewelyn fought through the first years of the peninsular campaign. What right do we have to condemn anyone who lived through that hell on earth? Things happen in the heat of a battle that defy explanation. Why not give the man the benefit of the doubt?”
Captain Howard stepped back and saluted. “I apologize, Lieutenant, but much as I admire you, I can’t feel comfortable conversing with you in such company. Perhaps I may visit you at home?”
He clicked his heels and was gone in a blur of scarlet cloth and silver braid. Michael cursed under his breath.
“You don’t have to defend me,” Jack muttered. “I’m quite capable of looking after myself.”
“I’m not sure you are. And why on earth shouldn’t I stand up for a man I consider my friend?”
“You don’t know what happened in Spain, and I certainly haven’t tried to explain myself. I stopped trying a long time ago.” An image of his father’s disgusted face flashed through Jack’s mind.
“That’s exactly why I believe you were wronged.”
Jack stared out over the ballroom. “I’m no hero. I got what I deserved. A man died because of me. So perhaps you and your sister could stop trying to ‘help’ me and let me go to the devil.”
“Go if you must, but the duke wishes to speak to you before you leave.”
“You know where I lodge. I’m sure you can arrange a convenient time for the duke to meet me there.”
He pushed past Michael, aware that he was behaving atrociously but unable to bear the stifling heat of the ballroom for a second longer. As he strode through the crowds, he rubbed his hand against his thigh. Sometimes he feared he was still so tainted by blood and death that his touch contaminated and destroyed those around him.
Jack headed for the wide doors of the ballroom, ignoring the poisonous whispers that made the hair on the back of his neck spring to attention. He descended the spiral stairs into the wide black and white marbled hallway, stopping in the shadow of the stairway to gulp the fresh air flooding through the open front door.
As Jack watched, a party of guests arrived and began to remove their cloaks and wraps before ascending the impressive staircase. A woman stood silhouetted against the backdrop of the falling snow. A flash of titian hair, frosted with diamonds, caught his attention. He paused as the woman took off her cloak to reveal a simple white ball gown.
When the lady raised one hand to pat her hair, her fragile skirts took flight in the draughts of freezing air and more diamonds sparkled in the candlelight.
With a deep sense of male appreciation, Jack imagined the auburn-haired beauty standing naked in her bedroom as fat cherubs poured sparkling gems over her luscious, long-limbed body. He wished he could be there…
She turned toward him, as if noticing the heat of his stare, and he forgot to breathe. Ignoring her chattering companions, she picked up her gauzy skirts and walked toward him. The tap of her jeweled-heeled white sandals echoed against the marble floor. When she reached him, her hand came up to her throat.