The Devil in the Duke: A Revelry’s Tempest Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  One of the brutes shifted and Logan’s head rolled to the side, unresponsive. A thin trail of blood snaked down his temple.

  She started to rush them, but Bournestein snatched her arm and jerked her to a stop.

  “For the devil’s sake, child.” He pushed her aside and moved toward Logan and his men. “Check him. He alive?”

  One man set his ear to Logan’s chest. He nodded.

  “See. A bump on the boy, that all it be.” He thumbed toward the door. “Take him out the back.”

  Sienna considered grabbing the man closest to her that held Logan’s arm. Grab him and then what? Get knocked down and be no closer to getting them to let Logan go? There were too many of them.

  She spun to Bournestein. ”What are you going to do with him?”

  Her father’s lips pursed for a long moment before he exhaled a malevolent breath. “I’ll let him live, that should be courtesy enough.” He looked to his man holding the club. “Dump him by the docks.”

  The brute lifted his club, his eyebrows raised. “Or I could kill him right now, sir?”

  Bournestein shook his head. “No. Deliver him to the docks. He can find his way home, or off English soil if he’s wise on his next move.”

  The ruffians moved in unison as they dragged Logan from the room, his feet trailing behind him and his body limp as jelly. Their footsteps echoed down the hallway toward the back of the townhouse. In the cover of darkness they could get Logan out past the mews without anyone noticing.

  Full panic seized Sienna. Logan was out of the room, being dragged to the docks. And she was alone with this man that she could only remember in flashes of terror mixed with begrudging respect.

  Her look darted about the room, desperate for escape, desperate to follow her father’s men and Logan. She was half naked and without boots, but if she could follow them, she could get Logan to safety once they dumped him.

  “Don’t be thinking yer going to escape me just yet, child. Wherever ye try to get to, my men will be on yer tail and Logan will be the one to suffer for it.”

  She stilled, her forehead tilting down as she looked up at her father, her eyes skewering him.

  He smiled. The snake smile. “That’s the fire I remember. There be things we need to discuss, daughter.”

  “I have nothing to discuss with you.”

  “But ye do.”

  “Why do you hate him?”

  “Who says I hate him, child?”

  “You just knocked him into darkness and you’re dumping him by the docks. I would hate to see how you treat someone you truly despise.”

  He chuckled. “Ye really don’t remember much, do ye child? Deliverance to the docks was generosity I don’t usually bestow upon those that wronged me.”

  “He wronged you?”

  Bournestein turned to his four men still flanking the front wall of the drawing room. “Light the sconce and leave us.”

  The brutes silently filed out of the room, one coming back with a lit candle from the sconces in the foyer. He quickly lit the two sconces that flanked the entrance and exited, closing the door behind him.

  Bournestein’s beady dark eyes followed the man until the door closed. He turned to Sienna, his voice taking on a kinder tone. “It’s clear ye don’t remember much, child, but if ye did—”

  “If I did—what—you wouldn’t have barged in here and nearly killed my husband?”

  “I wouldn’t have needed to.” The tip of his cane smashed onto the floor. “I loved that boy like a son and he betrayed me, child. Betrayed me like no one who has lived to tell the tale.”

  “Betrayed you how?”

  “He took ye from me, child. Just like he always took his mother away from me.”

  “He took me?” She took a step backward, understanding dawning on her. “You drove me away, didn’t you? Logan didn’t take me away—I wanted to escape—escape you.”

  His cane lifted, smashing into the wall next to him. “I did no such thing, girl.” He took a step toward her, spittle starting to form in the corner of his mouth as his voice spiked. “Ye be grateful, child. I gave ye everything yer mother wanted for ye. And then when I got ye back, I gave ye Roselawn. I gave ye peace.”

  “But I didn’t want that—I wanted Logan and you took me from him.” Her arm swung out, her finger pointing at the closed door. “Which one of them was it that came after me in Spain? Which one was it? Which one threw me into a wall so hard that I lost everything—every memory of who I was? Is that giving me everything, Father? Because the only thing I’ve ever wanted was Logan. And you ripped me away from him and locked me into a life at Roselawn that I didn’t even realize was a cage.”

  Bournestein stilled, the snake smile that always danced on his lips fading away. “Take care, child, on what ye say next.”

  “Why did you even come here—come after me? What do you think I’m going to say, Father? That I will happily go back and live with you at the whorehouse? You can’t possibly be that deranged.”

  His cane smashed into the wall again, and this time plaster flew, chunks stinging her face. “Ye watch yer mouth, girl.” He advanced on her.

  Sienna locked her feet in place, meeting his fury and his cane poised to strike her straight on. “I will never give Logan up. And if you kill him, you lose me, Father. You lose me forever.”

  His feet stopped, the raised cane dropping to his side.

  Slowly, the snake smile curled back onto his lips as his look bored into her. “But without yer memories, child, ye don’t know what ye’re talking about.”

  “But I do know what I’m talking about.” Her arms crossed over her chest, her voice vibrating with vehemence. “I know there is nothing you can say, nothing you can do that will tear Logan and me apart.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Bournestein stared at her, his head nodding.

  Nodding for far too long in silence.

  He opened his mouth, words curling around his snake smile. “Logan killed yer mother, child. Maybe that might make ye rethink yer vow.”

  ~~~

  “Next week, Sienna.”

  Sienna’s blue eyes went wide, a smile spreading across her face so striking it could turn the moon. “Next week? Truly?”

  Logan nodded, beaming under her glow. “I have enough. Enough to get us passage—to last us until I can find work.”

  Sienna squealed, jumping and wrapping her arms around his neck, her lips on his cheek, working down to his mouth. Her body pressed into his, all her curves fitting against his muscles.

  She was too close. Far too close for him to continue to curb himself. He’d sworn to himself—to her—that he’d wait until they were married on the ship to take her. But every day that passed he was finding it harder and harder to control himself. To keep his hands off of her.

  He could hardly kiss her anymore—not without restraint that left him in pain, near to breaking his vow.

  Not that she wanted him to keep it.

  But this was sacred to him. For how they grew up. For the things they were witness to at such an early age—every carnal act imaginable—whether they wanted to or not. They had seen it all, and because of it, this was sacred. Her body and his. Together after all these years. Sacred.

  Logan drew a deep breath just as her lips met his.

  Out of London. Onto a ship. And Sienna would be his.

  One week to go.

  He stepped back abruptly, grabbing her wrists at his neck and untwining her from his body.

  The pout on her face turned her full lips into a sulking frown so quickly he had to chuckle.

  “I know, Sienna—but we have to remain norm—”

  The door to his room blasted open, missing his head by an inch and slamming into the wall.

  Bournestein charged into the room, breathing fire, rage mottling his forehead and an ax swinging in his hand.

  Shit.

  “Bastard boy.” He shoved Logan into the wall, took a step, and shoved Sienna into
the opposite wall. “Little fuckin bastard boy.” The yell thundered in the room, shaking the floor.

  Bournestein went to the left bed—Logan’s bed—and flipped it up with one hand, slamming it up and over Robby’s bed.

  “Father, stop—stop.” Sienna pushed off of the wall and ran at her father, grabbing his arm before Logan could reach her and intercede.

  Bournestein didn’t glance at her. Didn’t acknowledge her. Just swatted her away like a fly. She went flying, hitting the wall hard.

  The ax lifted and Bournestein swung it down, chopping into the worn floorboards. Screaming, swearing, he swung at the floor again and again, shreds of wood flying in all directions.

  Logan couldn’t get a clear line to tackle him, not with the wild ax hacking away wood.

  Robby ran into the room, slipping to a stop when the backswing of the raging ax came at his head.

  Sienna reacted before Logan could, pushing off the wall and attacking Robby. “You bastard—how could you?” Fists swinging, she cut Robby across the cheek.

  Logan looked from Bournestein to his brother. Robby’s eyes were slow to track Sienna attacking. Hell, Robby was drunk—barely standing drunk.

  “You told him—you told him, Robby. How could you?” Sienna’s second fist against Robby’s jaw snapped him out of his drunken stupor and Robby finally reacted, catching her around the waist and twisting her around. She turned into a hellcat, kicking, scratching every bit of Robby she could reach.

  Just as Logan was about to leap, tackling Robby away from Sienna, the hacking of the ax against wood ceased and Logan spun around to Bournestein.

  Bournestein heaved himself to the ground, his arm diving, fishing into the hole he’d hacked into the floor.

  No. Hell no. Not their way out.

  Everything.

  Everything was under those boards. Their future. Their freedom.

  Throwing the ax to the floor, Bournestein stood, yanking the snuff box from the floor in his hand. He cracked it open and coins spilled everywhere.

  Bournestein whipped the box at Logan’s head. Logan dodged, but the corner of the steel box cut along his temple.

  Spit flew with Bournestein’s rage. “Everything was yers and ye think to leave me, boy? Ye think ye can escape me, ye stupid brat?”

  Logan turned back to Robby. “You told him?”

  “Ye were gonna leave, Logan—leave me,” Robby’s words slurred, barely coherent. “I heard ye makin’ plans with Sienna. Ye were gonna leave, Logan—leave me.”

  Bournestein’s men rushed into the room, the brutes pushing aside Robby and Sienna and attacking Logan.

  Arms swinging, Logan held them off for a minute before Bournestein kicked him from behind and Freddie Joe caught his right arm. Flesh met fist three more times before Tommy caught his left arm. They slammed him against the wall.

  Wiping his mouth, Bournestein pointed out the door. “Get her out of here.”

  Ignoring her scream, Robby picked up Sienna, tossing her over his shoulder.

  It slammed the air out of her and she gasped for breath, arms swinging at his back.

  Robby hauled her out of the room, his steps swaying.

  Logan twisted, kicking, trying to break the holds on his arms. The brutes only lifted him forward and slammed him into the wall again in unison.

  Air flew from his lungs, pain crashing through his body.

  Logan taught them that trick long ago.

  Asses.

  Bournestein walked to the door, grabbing the handle and slowly, quietly, closing the door. He didn’t turn back to Logan. “Ye were never going to leave Robby behind, were ye, boy?”

  Logan caught breath enough in his lungs to speak. “No, you bastard—just you, you and your fucking depravity.”

  Bournestein spun and punched Logan square in the face. Blackness. Stars.

  Logan shook his head, trying to right his vision.

  Another fist at his head.

  Sienna screamed from down the hall. Screamed and screamed.

  Rage that he’d never felt fired through Logan’s veins and he dodged Bournestein’s next fist at his face, sinking to the ground.

  His weight downward loosened the grips the brutes—his friends—had on his arms.

  Sienna’s scream pitched high. Desperate.

  Logan rolled on the floor.

  A foot smashed down on his ribcage.

  He reached for the ax.

  Logan jerked awake—his head pounding, his stomach churning—and he wasn’t sure if he was twenty and living that moment in time again or he was dreaming. Remembering.

  His eyes blinked.

  No. Not twenty.

  His cheek dragged against splinters of rough wood. Darkness smothered him. Water lapped. His head exploded with every breath.

  The docks. He was face down on the docks.

  Heaving a groan, he flipped over onto his back, his hands going limply to his stomach. Bare skin. Cold air snaked around his toes. His boots were gone along with the coins in the inside slit. He’d been rolled. Everything of value stolen off his body. Even his shirt.

  At least he hadn’t been crimped. No broken bones. Trousers in place.

  He angled his body to the side, pushing himself upright, trying to focus his blurry eyes.

  His mind raced—already a thousand steps ahead of his bruised body. The hovels and holes he needed to search. The beating he needed to deliver unto Bournestein so he would tell him where he stuck Sienna this time—for he already knew she wouldn’t be waiting patiently for him in his townhouse. He had to find her before Bournestein forced her so far away she was lost to him forever.

  Bournestein had always underestimated Logan’s capacity for savagery. Always. His advantage, for his capacity had just swelled a hundred fold.

  But first, he needed a shirt. Boots.

  It was time to light up Bournestein’s empire.

  { Chapter 12 }

  Logan took a long swallow of the cognac in his hand. Ridiculously smooth with fruity hints, it slid down his throat and he suddenly regretted his long ago decision to never drink in front of his men.

  He looked down at the glass of amber liquid. He’d been supplying the guards of the Revelry’s Tempest this Courvoisier cognac for the past ten years. No wonder they were so loyal—this brandy alone could move mountains.

  His gaze lifted to his men sitting and standing two, three deep around the long rough-hewn table centering the guards’ room at the Revelry’s Tempest. It had taken half the morning to round the guards up from their haunts about town, this band of twenty-five of the most coveted guards in London.

  The silence in the room was deafening.

  He had stood before them and offered them the truth, as much of it as he could afford to—the crux of it being that Bournestein had his wife. The men knew Bournestein well. Some had tangled with him, some had been rescued from his harsh, choking grasp. Far too many of them harbored deep-seated animosity for the man.

  But going after Bournestein was something Logan was going to do alone. Had to do alone.

  This meeting with his men was about succession. About keeping the band of Revelry’s Tempest guards intact after he was gone.

  Logan cleared his throat. “Bournestein threatens everything here because of me. It is me he has always been after.” He set his glass onto the end of the table. “I refuse to give up my men to my mistakes, so I do this alone.”

  A bear of a man, Greyson shifted in his chair, the wood creaking as he leaned forward to the middle of the table to grab the decanter of brandy. His movements precise, he poured himself a healthy swallow. Logan hadn’t seen Greyson touch the bottle since he yanked him out of Bournestein’s clutches nine years ago.

  Greyson took a sip, savoring it before he leaned back in his chair. “You aren’t giving us up, Logan. You go into Bournestein’s lair alone and you will fail.”

  Logan’s mouth tightened. Greyson would point out the obvious.

  “I plan on hiring men in St. Giles.
Bournestein controls them, yes, but there are plenty that wish to see him sink—that will gleefully help him sink.”

  “No, Lipinstein. Those bastards aren’t loyal to anything.” Greyson took another quick sip. “We are. We met your wife yesterday and it was more than clear that she is a part of you.” He looked around the room at his fellow guards, meeting their eyes, and then his gaze travelled back to Logan. “She is a part of you. So she is a part of us. We all go.”

  “Willingly.” Thomas, the guard Logan had snatched from a press gang at the docks six years past, nodded.

  “Willingly.” At the far end of the table, Anthony echoed the vow.

  “Willingly.” Directly at his left, Simmons’s meaty fist landed on the table.

  Again and again, the word echoed throughout the room until every man had his say.

  Logan looked about the chamber at his men, his chest tightening.

  All soldiers. All injured during the war—both in body and spirit. Men that were whole again, or at least on their way to becoming so.

  This penance he had served for his actions in the war—for marching his men toward the Spanish village by Arapiles—had healed these men, and a number more that had moved on from the Revelry’s Tempest.

  But he hadn’t expected this.

  He opened his mouth, words not manifesting.

  “Before you deny us this, Lipinstein…” Fredrick, the quietest of the guards, spoke up from the middle of the table on the right. “We are warriors. We were born that way. Trained that way. We haven’t lost that. We’ve repurposed it, yes, but it is still deep in our bones. You gave us that. You gave us our lives back. And now it is time for us to return the favor. There is no one better than us to have your backside.” He paused, his head tilting down as his look pierced Logan. “Plus, you must know we’ll just follow you into St. Giles, regardless of what you want.”

  The denial on Logan’s tongue stuck and he swallowed it back. It was madness to even consider it, but he needed them. Each and every one of them.

  His stomach flipped in self-loathing.

  That he would even consider this again. Consider marching his men into what could easily be death.