“You gave me an awful scare,” Brother Anselm admonished, though his gentle stroking of her hair took some of the sting out of his words. “I will never be so happy to quit a place as much as this one. The effect it has on you is troublesome. We’ll leave at once.”
“Over my dead body,” Devlin growled. “She’s in no condition to travel.”
“Stop arguing, please,” Grace said, grabbing hold of Devlin’s forearm. Tension radiated from his body, causing the muscles beneath her fingertips to flex. “I’m not leaving.”
Unless she chose insanity, which she did not. But she did need to speak with Brother Anselm privately. And soon. He must be worried sick, having heard only fragments of her conversation with her mother and father. Why was God asking her to add to his burden instead of relieving it?
And how was she to survive such a conundrum? She couldn’t leave the mansion, and yet she couldn’t assist Devlin in his quest. If he betrayed his mother by killing her with Josephine’s help, then the price of the black magic would be paid and Josephine’s soul mate would bind with Grace’s soul for all eternity. Would he abandon his pursuit for revenge if he knew that? His actions over the last few days spoke of a man who cared. But did he care enough? Her head throbbed, and a gale of nausea stormed her belly.
She leaned over and heaved the contents onto the parlor floor, thankful at least that she had avoided Devlin’s lap. He held her hair away from her face as he rubbed her back in soothing, circular motions.
“Here, use this to wipe your mouth,” he said, placing the damp cloth in her hand.
“I’m so sorry.” Heat flamed in her cheeks as she fell back onto the settee and cleaned her face. A moment later, she was hauled into Devlin’s arms.
He kissed her forehead. “You need the comfort of your bed.”
“Devlin.”
“Shhh … ” His strides were swift but steady, barely causing her body to jostle against him as he climbed the stairs. “Whatever it is can wait. I’m ordering you to rest, and you will not disobey my order. There will be enough time tomorrow for talk. Then you can explain why you were so foolish as to attempt speaking to your father without me by your side.”
She relaxed in his embrace and sighed. Brother Anselm hadn’t shared the full events with Devlin. Thank goodness for that. It would allow her time to ponder her options, though they seemed few.
Despite carrying her the entire way up the stairs and to her room, his breathing remained even, and she marveled that a man of his obvious strength also exhibited a gentler nature. He’d offered her a reprieve, and she would take it, because the conversation she must have with her mentor would be draining enough.
“Brother Anselm?” she asked.
“I’m here, Grace,” he said as Devlin lowered her to the bed.
“Stay with me, please?”
“For as long as you need me, child.”
Squeezing Devlin’s hand as he pulled away, she attempted a smile. “Thank you, Devlin. I’m exhausted and fear I wouldn’t have made it up the stairs without your assistance. I wager you didn’t anticipate how often I’d trouble you for hard labor when you hired me.”
“No trouble,” he murmured. “But troublesome. I hadn’t imagined this business of contacting spirits would drain your resources so thoroughly. One hundred pounds seemed an outrageous sum, but now I rather believe you didn’t ask for enough.” He caressed the top of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll leave you in the care of Brother Anselm and hope to see you fully recovered at breakfast in the morning.”
She felt the loss of his warmth and shivered. A blanket covered her toes and then settled over her entire body.
“You’re freezing,” Brother Anselm said with a cluck of his tongue. “Let me stoke the fire. I’ll be a moment away from your side.”
Grace burrowed under the blanket as she listened to the familiar sounds of her mentor bustling around the room, and she took the time to shore up her courage. He knew of her unholy attraction to Josephine. How that knowledge must slay him. And yet he still stayed by her side and cared for her.
“There, is that better, Grace?”
The weight of his stout hand covered hers, and she took comfort from it. He didn’t recoil from her touch, and that small fact alone lifted her spirits. “Yes, Brother. You always take good care of me. I’m sure I don’t deserve it.”
“Nonsense,” he said, shushing her and adjusting the blanket so it covered her all the way to her chin. “Rest now, my dear, so we can quit this place.”
“We cannot leave, I’m afraid.” She wetted her lips and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You must be so disappointed in me, Brother, and I’m so sorry to burden you with my troubles.”
“Tell me, please,” he said. “You’re so very dear to me, and I wish to help you. You’ve never shut me out in that way before. It scares me more than anything. Why did you stop speaking aloud with your mother?”
“Because I was speechless.” That wasn’t a complete lie, not one so horrible that she would burn in Hell for it. “My mother still has the sight. It appears Josephine has fused her dead mate’s soul with mine. That is why I’m drawn to her, why I cannot resist allowing her into my dreams. She wishes to remain with me for eternity.”
“Jesus, pray for us,” Brother Anselm said, the horror in his tone evident as he stood. His robe rustled in the silence as he paced alongside her bed. “This cannot be. We must leave immediately.”
“No, we cannot. Mother fears that my soul will split in two if I leave the mansion, rendering me truly insane. You must promise to keep this secret close to your chest, Brother. If gossip gets out, you can imagine what would happen. Devlin cannot fight off his entire staff or the village if they choose to unite and drag me to Waverly Hills. Promise me.”
“But if you stay … ” His thoughts drifted away into the silence, and he didn’t dare to complete his sentence, as if acknowledging what might happen was too horrid.
“I can wait out the effects of the dark magic,” Grace said in a feeble attempt to reassure him. “Our souls will not fully bind unless I allow it. Now that I’m armed with the truth, I can fight against the pull I feel toward Josephine. My will is strong, stronger than her soul mate’s. Once the time has passed, I’ll be free again.”
Brother Anselm heaved a long sigh, and she could imagine him deflating against the back of the chair at her bedside. She had made the right decision to withhold the full truth from him. He didn’t need to know that the fate of her soul lay outside her absolute control.
“Promise me you’ll keep my secret, Brother.”
“Yes, of course, I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Devlin lifted his chin and waited impatiently for Victor to complete tying his intricate cravat. He was anxious to begin breakfast and speak with Grace to ease her mind. She had been in no state to discuss the matter of Josephine the day before and had spent the remainder of the afternoon sleeping off her migraine. He could not force her to partake in his revenge. Instead, he would find another medium to communicate with Josephine, as Victor had suggested. What were another few weeks of delay when he’d already waited years?
He slipped his arms into the dark-blue waistcoat Victor held for him and pulled the lapels until it hugged his shoulders and back.
“What does this Madelaine Beaufort want, anyway?” Devlin asked, glancing into the mirror one last time. It had been more than a week since she’d left her visiting card, but in the excitement of everything that had occurred, he had forgotten about the appointment. “I’ll be damned if I can recall who she is.”
“Her visiting card lists Salcombe, Devon, as her residence.”
Devlin’s brow shot up involuntarily. “Why would she place her residence on her card? It’s unheard of.”
Victor nodded his agreement. “It appears she wishes you to know from whence she came.”
His hometown. It wasn’t possible that anyone had gotten wind of his plans, yet. So who was this woman, and
why was she calling on him at eight o’clock in the morning?
“Presumptuous tabby,” he snarled. “Nobody calls so early in the morning. It had better be as important as she claims. Please stay with Grace in the dining room until I can join her.”
Victor’s face reddened as he cleared his throat. His eyes darted around the room, unable to meet Devlin’s steady gaze.
“What is the matter with you?” Devlin demanded.
“Grace descended the stairs as Hatchet was showing the woman into the parlor. She ordered tea and insisted on keeping the lady company while you dressed.”
“Good Lord, man. Have you all lost your minds? We know next to nothing about this woman or her intentions.”
He bolted out of the bedroom and strode as quickly as his legs would carry him without running. Victor trailed behind him.
“Hatchet won’t leave Grace’s side, Devlin. Besides, the girl has a will of iron and can be obstinate, you know.”
Devlin glared over his shoulder at his best friend. “She weighs less than a sack of potatoes, too. Next time I expect you to remove her, even against her will. I’ll not have her put in harm’s way.”
He opened the parlor door and strode inside, slamming it behind him, in Victor’s face. Blood pulsed through his veins. He scanned the parlor, and his breath caught in his throat. Lady Beaufort stared at Grace with such rapturous interest, it sent chills down his spine. His first instinct was to shield Grace with his body, but just as he started in their direction, his guest gazed up from her seat across the room, arresting him in his spot.
Her eyes were a most peculiar color, red shot through with lightning bolts of white. He’d seen something similar once on an albino during his travels, but this woman, with her long, black tresses, was no albino. Nor was she a tabby. She was stunning, with a beauty so ethereal, she seemed ageless.
The woman stood and curtseyed low. “My lord, the Marquess of Covington, I thank you for the honor of your time. I’m Lady Madelaine Beaufort. I apologize for the early hour; however, I’ve come regarding an urgent matter.”
All the blood drained from Devlin’s face, and he stood immobile, staring at her, speechless. Nothing could’ve prepared him for her address. It was impossible. As far as the world knew, the Marquess of Covington was dead, having suffered an unfortunate shark attack off the shore of Salcombe at the age of fifteen, though a body had never been found and his mother had refused to declare him dead.
He narrowed his eyes on the woman, trying to recall any detail of her person that might trigger his memory, but it was futile. “The Marquess of Covington died sixteen years ago. Who are you, and why have you come here?”
Lady Beaufort glided toward him and rested her palm on his arm, a gesture that was both inappropriate and unwelcome, setting his anger to boil.
“Your secret is safe with me, my lord. My heart bleeds for you and the injustice you have endured. Servants’ tongues wag, and our mothers are the closest of friends.”
He clenched his jaw. This woman could not fathom the injustice he had endured or the depths of his suffering. It annoyed him to no end that she presumed to understand. “What do you want?”
She licked her lips and gazed up at him through her lashes. “Are you aware your mother talks in her sleep?”
Despite his anger at the presumptuous woman, his curiosity was piqued. There was, after all, a reason she’d come calling. “And what, pray tell, does she say?”
“You shall be stripped of your title,” she said, squeezing his forearm.
Red-hot anger burst through him like wildfire. His bitch of a mother would not let it go! Would not rest until she had robbed him of everything in his life. Was it not enough that she had stolen his dignity?
“Impossible!” he roared.
“It’s true; in a sennight from tomorrow your stepfather shall meet with the prime minister and request that your title be retired and your fortune donated to the House of Commons. Prime Minister Gladstone will, of course, need to confer with Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, on the matter. But everyone knows the prime minister is liberal to a fault, and Her Majesty fully supports the House of Commons. She’ll not hesitate to retire the title when her own title is purely symbolic.”
“No!” he said. “She won’t get away with this, damn her. I’ll not allow it! Bloody fucking hell, the woman will pay for everything she’s done to me.”
The news fueled the fire raging in him, taking him to a dark place where all he felt was the hatred and betrayal that had engulfed him over the past sixteen years. The world around him blurred, meshing into a kaleidoscope of gruesome images he’d endured at the hands of the Butcher. Whipping, cutting, branding, biting, strangling. Horrid cries of anguish pierced his ears. Especially those from the early months. When he was still innocent. When he hadn’t yet learned to block it all out. His skin crawled, and he felt unbearably sullied.
“Devlin, please!” someone shouted, shaking his shoulders. “Devlin, answer me.”
Everything around him came into focus, and he glared down at the tiny hands gripping him. Eveline Mitchell. Why was she here? She was tucked away in Devil’s Cove, far from him … far from the Butcher.
“Devlin!”
He shook his head and gazed into her dark-brown eyes. No, that wasn’t right. Eveline had crystal-blue eyes.
“Devlin, are you all right?”
Brown, vacant eyes. Grace. He’d forgotten she was in the room, witnessing everything that had happened. Closing his eyes, he inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Why was everything spiraling out of control?
Only twenty minutes before, he had been prepared to set Grace free. One week. Now he had one week to negotiate with Josephine and set his plan into action. He could do it with Grace by his side, helping him. For the first time in years, he felt hope.
“I’m all right,” he said, cradling her face. She was so very dear to him, and he didn’t want her to worry. “I’m all right. But I need you now more than ever to go to Josephine. I must speak with her immediately. Time is of the essence. You heard what my mother plans to do. Please help me.”
“Devlin, I can’t,” she said, her voice cracking.
Her bewildered frown crushed his heart, and it stuttered. Why wouldn’t she help him?
“You can, dammit!” He whirled around and strode away, balling his hands into fists at his sides and putting distance between them. He didn’t trust himself not to scare her again.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, hugging herself. “The title, the money. You’re a captain now. You’re already wealthy. Let it go, Devlin.”
“Do not presume to tell me how to feel,” he said, exercising every ounce of control he possessed. “You have no idea what I’ve endured. No concept of the lies and betrayal that woman has wrought. You can help me, and you will!”
“I can’t,” she cried again, tears streaming down her face.
She offered him nothing but tears. How was that a fair shake when tears had never altered his fate? Lord knows, he’d shed enough of his own under the knife of the Butcher. She preached to him of God’s loving grace, but when would his suffering finally lead to the blessings promised by the Good Book? A man could only endure so much. Something snapped in him, and no matter how he tried to rein in his anger, he could not.
“Yes, you can!” Devlin shouted, striding to her and clasping her shoulders, wanting to shake sense into her. “You owe me this! Do you hear me? You owe me, Eveline Mitchell.”
Grace gasped and struggled to break free, but he held her captive.
“My name isn’t Devlin Limmerick, Grace. It’s Dominick Sommerset, 8th Marquess of Covington. I saved your life when you were a child, and I paid dearly for my act of kindness. Do you hear me? My mother was appalled at the beating I delivered on Willie Jackson. Believed me to be a monster, not a hero. She likened me to my father, who beat my mother for years. She staged my death and gave me to the Butcher! The most notorious, bastard pirate ever to exist, and sh
e gave me to him as his plaything, begged him to castrate me as a means of bringing my lineage to an ignoble end.”
He shoved her away and covered his face, breathing hard. His knees grew weak, and he leaned against the wall, resting his forehead on the cool surface. Goddammit, but his heart ached something fierce. He ought to rip the damned thing out and be done with it.
“All that because I saved you, Eveline,” he whispered. “You owe me this one small favor. Arrange a meeting with Josephine for me. I’ll do the rest.”
• • •
Grace wavered on her feet, certain she was going to faint, only to be steadied a moment later by a strong pair of hands.
“Come sit here,” Hatchet said, leading her to a nearby chair.
Dominick Sommerset. Devlin was Dominick. It couldn’t be true. He’d died shortly after saving her life. She’d cried for months afterward, saddened and angered by the injustice of his fate, wishing countless times it had been her instead. Only she’d been wrong. His fate was far, far worse.
Bile rose in her throat, and she gagged, swallowing it back as she choked on her anguished cries. Devlin had been tortured because of her, because she had been a stupid and selfish child who’d lost control of her emotions and attacked a reckless boy. She was the evil one, the horrible one. How he must hate her. All this time he had endured her presence in order to get close to Josephine. It was no wonder Devlin hadn’t taken her to his bed, didn’t make sweet love to her. How could he? That he was even able to tolerate her kisses and pawing must have taken Herculean effort.
Oh, how she wished he had left her to die that day, then none of this would have happened. She would be safe in the bosom of God, and he would have led a happy life.
You’re nothing but a pawn in a dangerous game he plays.
Josephine’s words couldn’t be further from the truth. Devlin was the pawn, and the one person who should have loved and protected him above all others in the world had played him. His mother. Instead, she’d sacrificed him to the Butcher. Grace grasped her pinky, drawn to the memory of Devlin’s missing digit. She gagged again, thankful for an empty stomach. How many scars did Devlin conceal from the world?
Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) Page 19
