The Devil is French: A Whipping Society Novel

by Delilah Marvelle

  “Good.” He held her gaze. “Do you feel that, mon dévot? What do you feel?”

  Why did she want to kiss him? “You are…ticking like a clock.”

  “Exactly. This is what you have done to me for three fucking years. This. I have no peace. None. Never. Not since you left London without sending me a single missive until I got into Bombay.” He leaned back, breaking her hold. “Are you in love with him?”

  Ew. “Of course not,” she said with the twist of lips showing her disgust. “No and no and no.”

  He said nothing. Still searching her face, he smoothed her shoulders with tense hands before releasing her.

  A shaky breath escaped her, wondering if she had lost her mind thinking she could handle this man. For everything in his mind was a crime scene.

  Stiffly walking past her and over to the cane he threw, he rolled it with his boot and kicked it upward to keep himself from kneeling. Catching it, he thudded it into the ground. “Is it Lieutenant Bradley?”

  This one might as well be Krishna. Unnerved, she breathed out, “How did you know?”

  He closed the distance between them, stalk-limping. “He was supposed to be in the greeting line but wasn’t. He was also in charge of your employment and the Field Marshal informed me he had asked for your hand several times. It’s called deduction, my dear Watkins.”

  That mind never stopped digging. “Trust this Watkins when I say it is over and it is done. Bradley knows his place.”

  He stared. “Why are you referring to him as Bradley?”

  She panicked, sensing he thought… “We were never that! Ever.” She leaned over and demonstrated with a spit. “If anything, go pummel Peter over in Turkey for that. He encouraged Bradley at every turn.”

  Ridley swiped his face with a trembling hand. “Fuck. I thought he had raped you.”

  She paused, seeing past the curtain of what he had tried to hide: his emotions. “Ridley.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Ridley.” She softened her voice adoringly and leaned in. “Not everything is as horrible and dark as you imagine.”

  He squeezed her hand. “If you had written, I might have been in a better state of mind.”

  She kept her voice soft. “If I had written, the words would not have been what you deserved. I was hurting too much for too long and I would have hurt you more. It was yet another reason I did not write. You had attempted suicide despite my devotion to you. How was I to embrace that? What sort of words could I have written?”

  He touched her cheek. “I’m so sorry. It may be difficult for you to ever understand, but I was mentally bleeding. When you came into my life, I was barely functioning. I was disconnected from everyone, including myself, and I’m still not…”

  He averted his gaze, his jaw working. “If I were to listen to my jugular right now, and my jealousy and everything I am hiding deep within me knowing I missed out on three years of your life whilst another gloried in it, I’d be in that building, spraying that officer’s blood for even looking at you,” he rasped. “For that is who I really am. Do you understand? Reason is saving him. Reason is ensuring I don’t scare you. That is why I’m usually this. Reserved. Rational. Gentlemanly. Because anything else and I am unrecognizable even to myself and I don’t want you to be scared.”

  She eyed him, her throat tightening. “Listening to you say that is scaring me.”

  He said nothing.

  She hesitated, wondering if the rumors were true. “Who is this Earl of Hell? How am I not to fear you or panic over what you will do next when everyone has stories about you shooting and beating men with pistols and canes. Are you truly that?”

  There was a pulsing moment of silence.

  Ridley slowly adjusted his leather belt, hooking his thumb through it as if to announce the two pistols and the massive sheathed blade was normal. “I have a work persona,” he admitted in a low tone. “Not including the assignment that went wrong outside of Bombay, I’ve been responsible for the deaths of nineteen people.”

  Her eyes widened. “Nineteen? You…killed nineteen people?”

  An exasperated breath escaped him through straight white teeth. “No. I take responsibility for any life slain during an assignment that goes wrong, and unfortunately, in my field, there are quite a few. In truth, I have never learned to abide by an eye for an eye sort of retribution. I have always embraced more of a tooth for a tooth retaliation given men have a hell of lot more teeth to knock out than they do eyes. Do you understand?”

  Using the fan, she attempted to cool down her skin that had overheated from the weight of the gown and the weight of being in Ridley’s presence. “No. Not really. What you survived as a child does not mean you now have to put the fear of death and murder into others.”

  He said nothing.

  She swallowed. “Helping others given what you endured is honorable, but it is clearly affecting you too much and making the world think the worst of you. I do not want that for you.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Everything you do reintroduces you to the pain of what happened to your father. Why live like that? I saw it written in every one of your letters. You return to the grime of these criminals as if they were your family and never give yourself peace. Do you never tire of it?”

  “Sometimes, I do. Yes.”

  It meant that maybe one day he would retire.

  It gave her hope for his safety.

  She reached out and gripped his hands. “Ridley. You drank an entire bottle of laudanum as if it were champagne. And that is what I fear most. That you have already crossed over beyond my reach, pursuing a justice you will never reach for you have seen too much and fear nothing. Even death does not scare you, and that scares me. What if during the course of our involvement, we end up with children?”

  His gaze snapped to hers. He squinted. “Are you saying you want children? With me?”

  The very thought of this one becoming a father sent her into a heaving panic. Instead of ducklings, they would be called…deathlings. “No,” she confided awkwardly, tugging her hands free of his. “Between my being an Indian and you being an inspector who puts himself in constant danger, such a thing would be baleful. What on earth would we do with them? Take them on jail tours and teach them how to decipher poisons in a greenhouse whilst loading lead balls into pistols by the age of four? All they would know of is death.”

  She shook her head. “No. Not my child. Not my children. The world will put them through enough given who I am: an Indian. But you? You, o Earl of Hell, are leading a life unworthy of any child. Do you doubt it?”

  Ridley shifted from boot to boot, the silence pulsing between them. “No.”

  She sighed. “You once told me you hid the devil. Is this the devil you were referring to? Is he your…work persona?”

  His jaw worked. “Amongst other things.”

  She lowered her chin. “What other things are there?”

  Ridley dragged a heavy hand through his hair. “I was hoping to actually discuss this with you in private on Friday.” He held her gaze. “At the hotel.”

  Her mouth throbbed. “I had a chance to read the bible.”

  Rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek, he held her gaze. “Did you?”

  She nodded. “I am not about to preach to you in the way I was preached to, but I did learn a few things about the one who calls himself the devil.”

  Nodding, she tried to distract herself from his gaze by adjusting his waistcoat. “Despite everyone always offering ‘scary’ descriptions of what ‘the devil’ is and what he is capable of, nowhere is it written as to what actually makes him so frightening. It is all heresay. Except, of course, for when he verbally taunts Jesus in a desert without ever once striking or when he slithers up to Eve as a snake without ever biting her. In truth, verbal taunts, harsh lands and hissing snakes never really frightened me. I was born and raised in India.”

  He squinted. “Your point being?”

  “Despite the devil being notorious for temptin
g so many people to sin, he never once grants himself or any human in that bible any miraculous powers that enables him to control anything and so I am incredibly confused as to why he is given any credence at all.” She squeezed his arm in assurance. “I suggest you not give this devil in your head any credence, either. The only power he holds over you is the one you give to him. For you are what I know you to be: a gentleman. Give credence to that. For you are that. You have always been that to me.”

  He held her gaze. “I’m no gentleman, Kumar. Did my letters not convey that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “All men are lustful in nature.”

  “Some more than others.” Shifting his jaw, he snapped out his hand. “Take a turn with me.”

  This one was still what he was back in London: a riddle. “Do I need a chaperone?”

  “No.” He grabbed her hand hard and wove his fingers forcefully through hers, walking them out of the grove. He skimmed her low décolletage. “You need a fichu.”

  Rolling her eyes, she squared a hand around her top heavy breasts. “I did not realize a low décolletage could offend your delicate sensibilities.”

  He leaned in. “I don’t mind risqué, Jemdanee, but I came for a relationship. A bit of maturity. Not this. You accuse me of being unable to control the devil, but I am accusing you of something far worse. Playing with my cock. A bit of advice: don’t.” He flicked her lip hard. “We have to be strategic.”

  She eyed him, her face burning.

  “Are you trunks packed?”

  She hesitated, leaning away. His casual approach toward everything, including death and sex was…ruffling. “Nahin. I have had too many apothecary orders and most likely won’t find any time to gather my effects until Friday evening.”

  Releasing her hand, he quickly removed his watch and flipped open its gold casing, noting the time. “Unfortunately, I have to leave in twenty minutes.”

  She jerked toward him. “You are leaving again?”

  He puffed out a breath. “Yes. Aside from meeting with all of the officers from the greeting line, I have to ride back to the Eastern barracks on the outskirts of Calcutta. I’m still training men in criminal profiling until Thursday night.” He weighed the watch, blankly looking at it. “How about I gather your effects when I return on Friday? That way, you don’t have to do it and you can go directly to the hotel. I’ll meet you there.”

  Jemdanee bit back a smile. “You would do that for me?”

  He tapped her chin. “What wouldn’t I do for you?”

  She slowly rolled her fan shut, remembering that gold watch all too well. He might as well have frozen himself in time. It was as if nothing about him had changed. Not even the watch he carried or the cologne he wore. “Still ticking fast, I see.”

  He shut the casing with a flick. “I merely respect what controls us all: time. Which brings me to a most endearing point.” Tucking the watch away with the push of his thumb, he jerked them to a halt and removed a folded parchment from the other side of his waistcoat pocket. With the turn of his wrist, he held it out between two fingers. “For you, my raven.”

  Jemdanee eyed him. “What is it?”

  “We adhere to it.” Edging in, he held it out, grazing the smooth flat surface against her lower lip, which he further dragged to her cheek and down her throat. “It’s only temporary.”

  It made her curious.

  She tugged the parchment free, unfolded it and paused, momentarily unable to comprehend what she was looking at.

  TEMPORARY SCHEME

  6 a.m. to 8 a.m. – Rise, bathe, dress, contrive the day’s business and breakfast with Ridley.

  8 a.m. to noon – Squadron duty for Ridley/recreational time for Jemdanee.

  Noon to 1 p.m. – Alfresco dining with Ridley.

  1 p.m. to 6 p.m. – Squadron duty for Ridley/recreational time for Jemdanee.

  6 p.m. to 10 p.m. – Mis en place, supper, examination of the day with Ridley.

  10 p.m. to 6 a.m. – Retire into separate quarters until logistics of sexual congress is agreed upon.

  She snort-laughed and sent it fluttering against the hot wind where it belonged, tumbling into a nearby shrub. “The hours after ten in the evening are poorly allotted.” She lifted a brow. “Whatever are you about? Is this a clever way to get me to cooperate?”

  “No. It ensures you never submit to anything unwillingly.” He leaned back, adjusting the cane. “I have to reconvene with the Field Marshal in the next fifteen minutes. That will give you time to catch up on your own work given you’re behind on forty-two prescriptions. Forty. Two. You’ll be here well past Friday if you don’t rattle the windows of that greenhouse.”

  She jerked toward him.

  He knew the amount of prescriptions she was behind on.

  Only her logs were aware of it. Logs she kept locked in her greenhouse with the keys always in her satchel. “How do you know how many prescriptions I am behind on?”

  He cracked his knuckles. “Sleight of hand. I had a few hours last night. Your logs are a mess.”

  This one had been digging! “Judge not. A few messes are to be expected. I have been servicing almost a hundred people on the compound with no one assisting me.”

  “Hence the schedule. You could use it.” An inexplicable look of withdrawal came over his face. “I’ve seen how you utilize the clock, Kumar. Not very wisely. Yesterday, you took a two hour walk into the city and wove through countless markets despite never buying anything. How is that useful to anyone?”

  Her lips parted. “Were you spying on me?”

  “I was getting to know you again given you only started writing when I arrived in Bombay.”

  This man was exhausting her.

  He set his shoulders. “How long have you your semnopithecus priam thersites?”

  Twisting her lips in an attempt to further understand him, she blurted, “My what?”

  “Chunmun. How long have you had him?”

  She lowered her chin. He knew everything. Everything, everything! He even knew the Latin name of the species Chunmun belonged to. “Almost eight weeks.”

  “Is he your version of my Chaucer?”

  She blinked. “Why would you think that?”

  “Chunmun has the same amount of letters as Chaucer.”

  This one’s mind needed more rest. “It never crossed my mind.”

  He hesitated. “You didn’t plan that?”

  “No. A monkey is not exactly a raven.”

  He gave her a withering look. “A monkey is also more work and requires an insupportable amount of resources, guidance and space. What were you thinking?”

  She groaned. “He peered out at me through the cage and I became a mother.”

  “I see. You once accused me of keeping a raven in an unnatural habitat but somehow think a monkey is…any better?”

  She cringed. “Are you accusing me of animal cruelty?”

  “Yes. Monkeys need other monkeys and more than a bedpost to swing from.”

  Her throat tightened knowing he was right.

  “Was he captured in the wild?” he pressed.

  She felt like a goodna. “Haan.”

  He searched her face, his deep voice softening. “You do realize, mon chou, I purchased Chaucer as a hatchling from the Zoological Society. He never knew life outside of people.”

  A miserable breath escaped her. She hardly needed a lecture. She’d been meaning to do it, but…she grew attached. “I always intended on returning him to the wild.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Where was he taken from? Do you know?”

  “Near Bishnupur.”

  “Bring him to the hotel on Friday and we’ll release him together after a few days. It’s a three hour ride to Bishnupur but you owe him a better life. Agreed?”

  It was inevitable. No amount of fruit in a bowl would change that Chunmun’s life needed more than four walls.

  She half-nodded. “You certainly seem to be well informed about my life. It hints you have been here long
er than a day. How long have you been in Calcutta?”

  “Long enough.” His amber eyes grew playful. “I had to catch up on everything I missed.”

  “So you investigated the animals I keep and pummeled a man.”

  He widened his stance, gripping his cane. “I was ensuring your wellbeing.”

  “Is that what you call it?” She stared him down, willing him to remember the day he almost died. “Despite what you think, Ridley, I have always been able to take care of myself and others. You, however, appear to be in dire need of guidance. You should not be assaulting men who are well known for being idiots but otherwise harmless. It does not suit your gentlemanly and academic nature.”

  He thudded the cane into the ground, leaning in. “Is the keeper of wild animals lecturing me?”

  She set her hands on her hips. “Haan. I am also asking the jaguar out of London not to use his career as an excuse to advance his personal life or intimidate others.”

  “If I had wanted to advance my personal life, I would have already damn well thrown you over my shoulder and taken you to London screaming. My life is there. Not here. Not in this depraved gallimaufry Britain created. They are all out of their fucking minds. The criminal rate is doubling in England with each passing year, yet these merchants, lords and pasty-white politicians think pouring all of their resources into another country is ingenious?”

  Tipping forward, he added, “My contract with the intelligence squadron terminates in five days. After that…” He adjusted the sleeves on her gown as if laying out the grand plan. “London needs us. Between your expertise and mine, it will be the greatest partnership to have ever touched a crime-infested city since Vidocq put a blade to Paris. Imagine what we could do for London. Imagine.”

  Jemdanee tugged her sleeves away from his hands. She was not going back to London. It held no fond memories.

  Prison. Poisoned oranges. Dead people at theatres as if that were the real show.

  And that didn’t even include the memories of his sweat-dampened skin. The trembling of her own hands wrapping his gored leg each and every day with fresh gauze.