Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls)

by R. C. Matthews

  His strong arms encircled her, and she folded into the pirate’s chest, weeping. He was warm, his embrace a protective cocoon. Settling back against the headboard, he pulled her onto his lap. She grabbed hold of his shirtfront and held on. Corded muscles covered his broad chest and added to her sense of safety. He smelled good, too. Her body melted against his, and she sighed. He ran his hand down the length of her hair until her tears subsided.

  “What is it, Grace?” His voice was rich and soothing.

  She turned her face up toward his. He was so close she could feel his breath on her lips. His finger wiped an errant tear from her cheek, and she shivered. Her belly quivered with the oddest sensation.

  “Did you have a nightmare? Should I call your maid, or can I get you a glass of wine?”

  Shaking her head, she sniffled and sat up, putting distance between them. Her screams had likely awakened the entire household. It wouldn’t do if she were found in his embrace.

  “There’s something in my room,” she said, gathering her wits. “I don’t know what, but I heard the click of the door latch, some … breathing … and … and something else.”

  He would believe the rumors that she was insane when she divulged the last part of her story, but there was no help for it. She wouldn’t find a moment’s rest in her bedroom until the culprit was captured.

  “And slithering.”

  “Slithering?”

  He didn’t mask the incredulity in his tone of voice.

  “Yes, you do know what slithering is, don’t you?” she snapped.

  “A snake slithers,” he said wryly.

  “Indeed. Please search my room so you can dispose of it.” She climbed off his lap, placing herself in the middle of the bed once again. “You didn’t warn me of the foul creatures roaming about your mansion. That’s cruel. I should have rather faced the asylum than snakes.”

  He snorted. “I’m paying you a goddamned fortune to fend off evil spirits, and you lose your mind over slithering?”

  “Evil spirits cannot bite,” she retorted. “Send a hundred vile ghosts in my path, and I promise I shall not flinch. But snakes … ”

  “There are no bloody snakes here, I assure you.” And though his words came out gruff, there was a hint of amusement in them as well.

  “Please look for me, Captain.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. It wounded her pride to be reduced to begging, but the prospect of a snake sharing her quarters was too horrible by far. She had discovered one too many snakes nestled in her bed at the priory as a child. “Please, I beg you.”

  “Very well,” he said with an exasperated sigh, and the bed bounced up when he lifted his weight off.

  She crawled to the edge of the bed and listened as he made his way about the room. His presence emboldened her, and she sprang onto the floor. “Well?”

  “Nothing,” he said.

  Her brow furrowed. How could that be true? She’d heard a distinct rattle only minutes earlier.

  “Are you searching carefully?” she asked.

  He snorted again. “Yes.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “In the far corners?”

  “Yes.” He huffed, and she could imagine him rolling his eyes.

  “But you haven’t checked under the bed.”

  He grunted. This time the noise was a deep sound laden with disbelief. “How do you know?”

  She smiled and folded her arms over her chest. “I’m blind, not an idiot.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I’ve been blind a long time, Captain, and I rely heavily on my hearing,” she said, striding toward him to prove a point. “I’m quite adept at reasoning out what’s happening in my surroundings. Clothes make an inordinate amount of noise when a person bends to the floor, and most people grunt on the descent or when they stand. I heard none of those noises. So, I can only conclude that you haven’t checked beneath the bed.”

  He chuckled, and the sound of his trousers assured her that he was, indeed, peering under her bed.

  “Nothing.”

  Grace wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed warmth back into her body, warding off the sudden chill rushing through her. “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.” He pulled her into his embrace once more and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Would you like me to stay with you tonight? Protect you from whatever lurks in the shadows?”

  His hot breath tickled the delicate skin below her ear. The sensation was unlike any she had ever encountered as her body quaked with tingles from head to toe. Why did she feel as if she might faint when he was so close? Her breathing quickened, and he smiled against her throat.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky.

  Is that a … Her mind snapped back to attention. Good Lord, what was she agreeing to? She pushed against his chest, and his arms fell away, leaving her with a heavy sense of loss. “That is a no!”

  What kind of woman did he take her for? As far as she knew, he had raped his share of women on the high seas and she was to be his next victim. “Do you imagine I’d fall willingly into the bed of a murdering scoundrel?”

  “Do not flatter yourself, madam. My offer was to protect you, not bed you.” His tone conveyed a heavy measure of annoyance as his booted feet clipped across the room. Then he paused. “And may I remind you that this murdering scoundrel saved your life?”

  His words cut through her icy veneer, and she slumped against the edge of her bed. Had she truly misunderstood his intent? Her emotions were in a jumbled knot at the base of her belly. She was being unfair to the captain. Rumors about him had run rampant through the village upon his arrival in port a month earlier, some of them quite astonishing to her virgin ears.

  But she, of all people, should understand that rumors couldn’t always be trusted. She vowed in that moment to form her own opinion of the man who had slain her demons at the tavern and raced to her room in the dead of night to offer assistance.

  “My apologies if I misinterpreted your offer,” she said, head bowed. “But I ask that you kindly remember I’m a virgin, not a servant anxious to warm your bed.”

  A painfully long pause ensued. She could feel his gaze roving over her body, knew instinctively that he watched her closely. He must’ve found whatever he was searching for, because he opened the door to leave.

  “Apology accepted. Shall I ring for your maid?”

  “No,” she said. “That won’t be necessary.”

  The door slammed shut, and she ran to the corner, pulling on the bell rope. A few minutes later, her best friend appeared and yawned. “What can I do for you, Grace?”

  “I’m scared,” she said. Emma knew her well enough that she would see through any lies, so it was no use attempting it. “Would you mind terribly sleeping with me tonight?”

  Chapter Six

  “The chit called me a murdering scoundrel,” Devlin said, glaring through the mirror at Victor. “Can you believe it?”

  His first mate and valet raised a single eyebrow. “That’s what has you in a foul temper this morning?”

  “Yes, dammit.” He turned and reached for his dagger, sheathing it on his calf holster. “I risked my bloody neck for her. Ungrateful, little—”

  “Spare me!” Victor’s hand shot up, bringing an abrupt halt to Devlin’s rant. “We both know why we saved her, and it wasn’t chivalry. You suffered a mere scratch for your efforts. Tell me what’s really worked you up in a fine lather.”

  Devlin bristled under his friend’s observation. It was the goddamned truth, but still, he hadn’t appreciated the tone of reproof in the straitlaced woman’s declaration. She’d worked him up in a fine lather, all right. I’m a virgin. She ought to remind her body of the fact—she hadn’t reacted like a virgin when she trembled in his embrace. Devlin’s jaw tightened and he reached for his coat, jabbing one arm into a sleeve, and then the other.

  “Well?” Victor asked.

  He should’ve known his blackhea
rted friend wouldn’t let the matter drop. “Nothing.”

  Victor rubbed a hand over the black stubble lining his chin and changed tactics. “Do you suppose all mediums are as well-endowed as Grace?”

  Devlin scoffed and sat on the edge of his bed to pull on his Hessians. He would not be baited. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

  “I heard her scream last night,” Victor continued as he leaned against the bedpost and gazed at his nails.

  Devlin did his best to ignore the subtle twitching of his friend’s lips.

  “But when I arrived, you were already cradling her to your chest. Did that end well for you, mate?”

  “Bugger off,” Devlin said, standing to his full height to face Victor head-on, scorching him with his glare. The bastard didn’t even flinch. “I don’t dabble with virgins.”

  “Well, fuck me,” Victor cried, tears of laughter shining in his emerald eyes. “Did she kick you out before or after you tried to kiss her?”

  Devlin’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He was on the verge of reminding his first mate, in very painful terms, how he’d earned the nickname the Devil. Deep breath. The chit wasn’t worth his energy. He clapped Victor on the shoulder instead and grinned.

  “You’ve a date with a monk this morning, Victor. It’s rude to keep him waiting.”

  “Later then,” Victor said, striding to the bedroom door while leaving a roar of laughter in his wake. “You can tell me all about it later.”

  The door slammed shut, and Devlin consulted his pocket watch, pressing his lips into a grim line. Time to get down to business. He was anxious to see whether Grace would show her mettle. After last night’s events, he hoped she didn’t plan to remain locked in her room in a fit of vapors. He’d been led to believe she was made of sterner stuff. Some of the gossip the villagers had shared about her abilities didn’t coincide with the trembling woman he’d comforted last night. Still, she’d seemed well enough when he’d left her. And for 100 pounds, she’d better be ready to begin her work today.

  He entered the hallway to find Grace walking toward the staircase with her maid chatting nonstop in her ear. Good God, shouldn’t she hold on to her charge’s arm? With the inordinate sum he was paying the maid, she ought to at least do that. The last thing he needed was to find Grace with a broken neck. Mediums were not easy to come by, and her reputation was unparalleled. She’d be of no use to him dead, and there was no doubt he needed her services. Devlin tugged at his waistcoat and strode toward them.

  “Good morning, Miss Grace,” he said on his approach, lest he startle her. He was a quick study, and the challenge of learning to adapt to her needs intrigued him.

  “Good morning, Captain.”

  Stopping a few feet away, he took in her full appearance. How had he not noticed the streaks of burnished gold running through her dark chestnut hair? The effect was stunning and drew the eye away from the glass orbs staring blankly from her heart-shaped face. He admitted, without guilt, that it took time to adjust to her eyes, though it helped that he often found his gaze wandering lower, to her pert mouth.

  She wore a simple white cotton dress sprinkled with blue forget-me-nots. It must’ve belonged to the lady’s maid because Victor was headed to the priory with Brother Anselm at that very moment to collect Grace’s belongings.

  “Can I be of service to you this morning?” Grace asked, arching an eyebrow.

  He suddenly recalled his reason for approaching and settled a sharp glare on the lady’s maid. “Shouldn’t you take hold of Miss Grace’s arm? I don’t want harm to befall her while under my care. I believe I made myself clear on this matter. Must I draw up a contract and list out your specific duties?”

  Miss Taplin had the sense to blanch under his heated stare, but Grace was as calm as a saint, without even the slightest quiver of her plump, pink lips. Enticing, damned kissable lips. He should’ve taken the opportunity last night, just to get her out of his system. At least then he would’ve earned the verbal facer she’d planted. But he’d been too intent on enjoying the way her supple breasts pushed against his chest. His gaze trailed down. She was well-endowed, indeed. Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to her companion.

  “Well, Miss Taplin?” he asked, his tone clipped and impatient.

  Grace placed her hand on her maid’s arm and said, “I prefer to explore my environment. I’ll ask for assistance if I need it, I assure you.”

  That haughty tone of reproof was back, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle. The little brat. There were stairs, and furniture, and all manner of other things that might trip her. She may not care about her safety in the mansion, but he would, until such time as she had fulfilled her services. He had just the thing in mind. “I’ll procure a walking stick for you.”

  “I beg you, do not!” Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she blew out a thin breath of air. “Pardon me,” she said, “that was rude. Forgive my need to feel somewhat … normal. It won’t take long for me to adjust to living here. But if you’d like to assist me, then please advise your staff not to rearrange the furniture during my stay.”

  He took a moment to study her. It wasn’t often he met with so much conviction and courage in a young woman. Her determination was admirable, at the very least. Maybe she would prove to be as talented as he’d been told. One could hope.

  “Of course,” Devlin said, holding out his arm toward her. There were other ways around her obstinacy. “Might I escort you to breakfast? Please, take my arm.”

  Her posture stiffened.

  “Yes, I know, you’ll ask if you need assistance. This is me behaving like a gentleman, and I wish to discuss your duties over breakfast.”

  The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she took his forearm, resting her hand daintily on it as he led her to the staircase.

  “The balustrade is to your right,” he said, recalling the straightforward directions Brother Anselm had provided the evening before.

  He allowed Grace to set the pace down the stairs; her fingers barely touched his arm yet her steps appeared confident. The grand crystal chandelier in the foyer lit the golden strands of her hair, shimmering in resplendent glory and providing a stark contrast to the ebony finish on the stairs. Devlin rather thought the original owner of the mansion took the décor a bit far, capitalizing on the manor’s famous name. As they approached the bottom of the stairs, Hatchet held out an envelope.

  “Good morning,” he said with a curt bow. “You received a letter, Captain. Lady Madelaine Beaufort requests the honor of calling on you.”

  Devlin turned the envelope in his hand and inspected the family crest sealing the missive. It didn’t ring any bells, so he placed the envelope in the inside pocket of his jacket to read later. “Thank you, Hatchet. I need hardly say this, but please don’t allow visitors without discussing it with me first.”

  “Of course,” Hatchet said, glancing at Grace and giving a knowing nod.

  Grace was staring in Hatchet’s direction with a bemused look on her face. The fact that she always directed her attention to the person speaking was probably another way in which she continued to feel normal.

  “What a unique name you have, Hatchet,” she mused aloud. “Though I haven’t much experience with butlers, I don’t imagine many share your name.” A mischievous grin appeared, and she continued, “Nor do they partake in tavern brawls, I daresay.”

  Hatchet coughed back a laugh, and Devlin felt his own lips twitching at her observation. His staff was unconventional, and though he hadn’t been inclined to apprise Grace of the truth, he imagined she might find it a comfort under the current circumstances.

  “Many of my staff follow me at sea and on land,” Devlin said. “They are all well trained in both affairs of the house and aboard ship. Hatchet is my second mate. You’re quite safe here.”

  “Is that how you earned your name, then?” she inquired. “At sea? Pray tell, why do they call you Hatchet?”

  Hatchet grinned, baring a golden eyetooth
, and looked to Devlin for permission to share the tale. Grace leaned in like a man around a roaring bonfire sharing battle stories with his cronies, and the gesture was so endearing, he nodded his approval.

  “Well, miss, we were in the midst of a fierce battle, set upon by a nasty pirate and his backstabbing crew,” Hatchet began. “It was dark, and the sea raged around us, as if sharing our anger at being set upon in the middle of the night. I was fending off a tenacious heathen when I saw our captain in a spot of trouble. He’s a fair good fighter, but even I would’ve struggled with three men attacking me. Problem was, the captain fought on the lower deck whereas I remained on the upper deck, too far to be of any real use to him. That is, until I realized my opponent wielded a hatchet. I took him down with one swift parry of my dagger to the gut and hurled the hatchet at one of the motley crew attacking the captain.”

  Grace’s hand flew to her chest. “My goodness, that was a bold move. What if you’d killed the captain instead?”

  Devlin lifted a brow. The wench almost sounded disappointed he hadn’t met his demise.

  Hatchet grinned at Devlin and winked. “With three men attacking him, I figured he could die at the hands of his enemy or by the toss of my hatchet. He might’ve thanked me for death in that moment, the battle was so fierce, and we’d all grown weary.”

  “The hatchet became his weapon of choice,” Devlin said, drawing her attention back to him. “As well as his nickname.”

  Red roses flushed Grace’s cheeks, and she sighed. “I knew there must be an adventurous tale behind it; however, I admit that exceeded my expectations.” She placed her hand on Hatchet’s arm, once again surprising Devlin with her ability to surmise her surroundings despite her blindness, and she grinned. “You must promise to tell Brother Anselm sometime.”

  Devlin chuckled and shook his head. “Anyone fascinated by Grimms’ Fairy Tales would enjoy Hatchet’s story, and he has many more to hold the attention of an old man.”