The Bride of Devil's Acre

by Jennifer Kohout

  “Aye, at the expense of an innocent girl,” Finn said, softly.

  “If that’s the price, then I’ll gladly pay it,” Devil said. One pampered life was nothing compared to what would happen to the men, women, and children living in Devil’s Acre if that bill had passed.

  “But it isn’t you paying the price,” Finn said, knowing Devil wouldn’t understand. “The girl is ruined.”

  “She was ruined the moment we took her,” Devil said, his voice hard. “Even you knew that.”

  “Nay, she still had a chance,” Finn reasoned. “Between her father’s name and money…” Finn shook his head. “But there’s no hiding this,” he said. “There’s no hiding rape.”

  “What would you have me do?” Devil asked.

  “I don’t know,” Finn said, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “But it’s your mess; you clean it up.”

  The two men stared at each other. It wasn’t the first time they’d stood over a body together, but it was the first time Devil felt they stood on opposite sides. “Find Stubs. Get rid of the body.”

  “He’s not going to like this.” Stubs was more Carver’s man than Devil’s, the two of them having come out of St. Giles together.

  “I don’t care; just get it done.” Devil watched Finn leave. Alone with the girl, he tried to decide what to do. Her attacker lay dead by his hand, and he was prepared to return her home. What more could he do?

  Jacqueline felt her body being lifted, her mind somewhere outside herself but still trapped beneath the darkness of the hood. Strong arms slipped behind her knees and shoulders, and a crisp, clean masculine scent replaced the stale scent of blood as she was cradled against someone’s chest.

  “Is he dead?” Jacqueline asked, recalling the thick spray of blood against her chest, and the sound that could only be described as a death rattle.

  Devil hesitated. Holding the girl in his arms, he tried to remind himself of all the reasons this had been necessary. “Yes.”

  “Good,” Jacqueline whispered as the world went blessedly black.

  “Where we going?”

  Finn ignored Stubs as they hurried through the streets back toward the Hammer & Anvil. Crossing his arms, he pulled his coat tighter and tucked his chin to his chest. The weather had turned foul, and the rain was coming down in sheets, leaving Finn soaked to the skin.

  Perfect night to dispose of a body.

  “Least you could do is tell me what we’re about, seeing as how I’m out the coin ‘cause of you.”

  Finn had found Stubs on St. Marks, the street that marked the divide between Devil’s Acre and St. Giles. He had had a whore pinned up against an alley wall, her skirts up around her hips and her thighs wrapped around his waist. Head tipped back, she stared up at the night sky with gin-glazed eyes. Despite adequate coin in his pocket, it seemed Stubs preferred the low-rent whores off Gin Lane.

  “You could have finished.” Far be it for Finn to stop a man from spending himself in a women, especially one he’d bought and paid for.

  “Not with you watching,” Stubs grumbled.

  “Don’t like an audience?”

  Stubs grunted.

  “Ah, well, I find it adds a bit of spice to the mix.” Finn glanced back over his shoulder. Stubs’ disgruntled expression clearly indicated he did not see the humor in the situation.

  “As for the coin,” Finn added, “she couldn’t have cost you much.”

  They were approaching the Hammer & Anvil, the sign barely visible in the rain. The street was deserted, and there was no sign of Devil. Finn could only hope he was gone, taking the girl with him. “We’re here.”

  Stubs craned his fat neck and checked out the cracked sign. “This place is closed.”

  “Down here.” Finn led the way into the bowels of the building. Lighting a lantern, he held the flame aloft, illuminating the body still crumpled on its side.

  “Bloody hell!” Stubs cried, recognizing Carver and stepping past Finn. Dropping to his knees, he rolled Carver onto his back, fresh blood seeping from the wound at his neck. “What the hell happened?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Finn said, setting the lantern aside and shaking out a blanket. “Help me wrap him up.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Short and fat, Finn wondered which came first, Stubs’ name or his physique.

  Stubs stood, his fists clenched at his sides. He took a threatening step toward the Irishman. “You’d best best be telling me who’s responsible, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Finn snarled and let the knowledge of the number of ways he could kill Stubs fill his eyes.

  Stubs was deflated, the aggression leaking out of his posture. “He was my friend. I would see his death avenged.”

  Finn sighed. Friendships were scarce in Devil’s Acre, and were even more rare in St. Giles. That Carver had inspired such sentiment in a man like Stubs was something to ponder another day. For now, they had work to do.

  “Grab his hands,” Finn ordered, taking Carver by the legs and preparing to lift him onto the blanket. “I’ll tell you the particulars later.”

  “Where we taking him?” Stubs grabbed Carver’s wrists and lifted. The man’s skin was chilled and his head lulled back on his neck. More blood seeped from the gaping wound, thick and sluggish.

  “We’ll dump him in the Thames.” Finn folded the blanket over Carver’s legs and secured it with a thick length of rope. “Here.”

  Stubs caught the rope Finn tossed him, setting it aside and reaching for the blanket. The blanket stirred. Stubs jerked his hand back. “Did you see that?”

  Finn looked up from the knot he was tying. “What?”

  Stubs stared at the blanket. “I thought…never mind.”

  “Hurry up. I want to get this done while it’s still raining.”

  Stubs nodded. Must have been his imagination. No way Carver was still alive, not with his neck slit and his blood all over the floor.

  “Grab an end,” Finn grunted. Carver may have looked like a snake, but he was still thirteen stones of deadweight.

  They wrestled the body back up the stairs. A quick look confirmed the street was still deserted, only the most desperate would be out on a night like this.

  The maze of deserted streets and empty alleys to the Thames seemed endless. The rain hadn’t let up. If anything, it had gotten worse. Rivulets of cold water streamed down the back of Finn’s shirt and soaked his shoes.

  I’m taking tomorrow off, Finn decided. Let Devil try and find him.

  Stubs struggled as Carver’s body shifted in his grip. The body sagged between them and threatened to touch on the ground. “Hold up.”

  “We’re almost there.”

  “I’m gonna drop him.”

  “He’s beyond caring; keep going.” Finn’s back was screaming, and he was ready to get this business done.

  Stubs scrambled to keep up.

  “There.”

  Stubs looked past Finn. Even in the heavy rain, the oily black water of the Thames was clearly visible. “I see it.”

  Finn scanned the banks of the river. There were no bridges spanning this section of the Thames, the government having deemed the expense an unnecessary waste. They would have to toss Carver’s body in and hope the current picked it up and carried it downstream.

  Finn led the way toward an exposed mudbank. The heavy rain had saturated the mud, and his feet sank in the thick sludge. Finn swore as he pulled his foot free, the mud creating suction that let muddy water into his shoe. Stubs wasn’t faring much better.

  The two men struggled to get close enough to the water’s edge, Carver’s body growing heavier by the second.

  “This is far enough,” Finn said, wiping his forehead on his shoulder. His hat was gone, and his hair was plastered to his head. “Let’s swing him.”

  Stubs moved parallel with the river, the body picking up momentum between then.

  “On three.”

  Finn counted down and heaved Carver’s body toward
the Thames. Unfortunately, Stubs fumbled at the last second, losing his grip and dropping the body. Instead of sailing over the bank and out into the water, the body landed in the mud, only its lower half in the water.

  Finn swore. Hands on his hips, he tipped his head back, letting the cold rain wash the sweat from his face. He prayed for patience. When he looked back, the body was still caught up on the bank.

  “I’ll get him.” Stubs was already moving, his feet getting caught in the mud and driving him to his knees.

  Finn watched, unwilling to help, as Stubs struggled to shove the body off the bank and into the water. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Stubs waded into the water, pulling instead of pushing, and worked the body loose.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” Stubs muttered, coming to stand beside Finn. They watched as the body slowly floated down the river. The Thames wasn’t a swift-moving river, at least not here, and was slow to pick up the body. “Where do you think he’ll end up?”

  “The sea, if we’re lucky,” Finn said, turning and heading back up to the street. But Finn wasn’t feeling lucky. “You coming?”

  Stubs shook his head. “I’m going to stay here for a few.” Then he shrugged, embarrassed. “Say my good-byes, as it were.”

  Finn cocked his head. “How surprisingly…sentimental of you.”

  “He was my friend.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Three weeks later

  “Mr. Henry Gates, my lord,” Benson announced, stiffly.

  “Thank you, Benson,” Lord John said. He remained seated as Henry approached and stood before his desk. “That will be all.”

  “Lord Edwards,” Henry greeted, bowing at the waist. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “It appears I had no choice.” Lord John tossed his pen on the desk and sat back in his chair. Gates had traded on his father’s name, ensuring his way in. “Sit.”

  Henry stiffened at the order, hesitating a moment with his hand on the back of the chair before finally taking a seat across from Lord John. Most people deferred to his future title, treating him with the respect due the Gates family name. “I’m sure you can guess the reason for my visit.”

  “You’ve heard the rumors?” Lord John asked. It had been three weeks since Jacqueline’s return. The exact nature of her situation was not common knowledge, but word of a broken down carriage and her disappearance had slowly made its way into polite society.

  “I have,” Henry admitted. The ton was in a frenzy. The rumors varied wildly from an unfortunate run-in with bandits to a late-night rendezvous.

  Knowing Jacqueline, none of it was true, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was Jacqueline needed his help, and with his daughter’s reputation on the line, Lord Edwards was in no position to refuse his request. “I’ve come to ask for your daughter’s hand. We can be married immediately and put this whole unfortunate business to rest before any more damage is done.”

  Lord John sat back and eyed the young man seated across from him. Despite his daughter’s best efforts, he was well aware of Mr. Gates’ suit. He had hesitated doing anything about it because, up until now, there seemed little risk of his daughter settling for the young man.

  But recent events had changed many things, and it was time to step in.

  “Mr. Gates,” Lord John began. Clearing his throat delicately, he released some of the tension from his shoulders and forced a congenial note to his tone. “While I appreciate your offer, I feel duty-bound to tell you…”

  Upstairs, Jacqueline remained in bed, despite the late hour. She didn’t feel like getting up; in fact, she didn’t feel like doing much of anything.

  A slight thump, and a gentle dip in the mattress heralded Cat’s arrival. The kitten padded across the bed, unmindful or uncaring as she crawled over Jacqueline and perched herself in front of her mistress.

  Purr-meow.

  “No.”

  Jacqueline would have sworn the cat glared at her.

  Meeeooowww. This time, there was no purring, and Cat punctuated her displeasure by butting her head against Jacqueline’s nose.

  Jacqueline closed her eyes, a ghost of a smile drawing up the corners of her mouth at the furry touch.

  Emme had brought the kitten to Jacqueline that first morning after her return, tucking the motherless animal under her chin, thinking the two females might heal each other.

  It had worked, until the rumors started.

  Adjusting the covers, Jacqueline reached out and scratched Cat under her chin. The animal quickly succumbed, tipping back her head and closing her green eyes.

  Jacqueline ignored the knock on her door as the purring got louder, and Cat rolled over onto her side.

  “My lady?” Emme cracked the door and peeked inside. Her mistress hadn’t moved since opening her eyes that morning, and her breakfast sat untouched beside the bed. “My lady, you really must eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Jacqueline told her maid.

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t need to eat,” Emme said, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her.

  “I’ll eat something later,” Jacqueline lied. She didn’t want to eat. She didn’t want to get up or get dressed, either. She just wanted to be left alone.

  “You’ll feel better once you get up and eat something,” Emme said. Circling the bed, she picked up an unworn gown, shaking out the light fabric and folding it over her arm. Every day she brought Lady Jacqueline breakfast in bed and laid out her clothes. And every day, they both went untouched.

  “No, I won’t,” Jacqueline told Emme. Besides, it didn’t matter anymore. Jacqueline never realized how much hope she had secretly harbored: the idea that one day she would be free from her father, free from the guilt of her mother’s death, and allowed to live a life of her own.

  But what hope she’d had was gone. Even if her father decided to let her go, there were no one that would take her now. No man wanted a wife soiled by another man, his touch permanently carved into her skin.

  Jacqueline shuddered.

  If there were such a man, what then? One day, that skin would stretch with the growing life of his child, the scars twisting grotesquely. Those marks were all any man would ever see. They were all she could see.

  You’ll carry me with you forever. Even in death.

  Bile burned the back of her throat. Stomach churning, Jacqueline lunged out of bed and reached for the chamber pot.

  Emme was there, holding the ceramic pot and rubbing soothing circles along the small of Jacqueline’s back.

  But there was nothing for her to throw up. Jacqueline suffered through violent dry heaves, her body trying to rid itself of memories that could not be forgotten so soon.

  “Thank you,” Jacqueline said, accepting a damp towel and wiping her face.

  “This will help,” Emme said, handing Jacqueline a glass of watered wine. “Sip slowly.”

  Jacqueline nodded, climbing back into bed and pulling the sheets up to her chin.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Emme asked softly, busying herself with tidying the room. It was quick work.

  “No,” Jacqueline said, and turned her face away.

  Distantly, the knocker sounded downstairs. Jacqueline frowned. There had been a noticeable lack of visitors since her return.

  Emme went to the window. “It’s Mr. Gates,” she said, spying the future earl’s carriage.

  Henry. Why would Henry…? Jacqueline jolted. Henry! Of course! If there was one person in this world she could count on, it was Henry.

  Jacqueline kicked back the covers. “Help me with my dress, and hurry!”

  “Yes, my lady,” Emme said, hiding a smile.

  Down in Lord Edwards’ study, Henry sat frowning.

  “You are aware of the rumors?” Lord John asked.

  “I don’t believe Lady Edwards was culpable in what happened,” Henry said, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand.

  “I am sorry to inform you, but my daughter was very much to blame
for what befell her,” Lord John lied.

  “I beg your pardon?” Henry sat forward. “I was led to believe that Lady Edwards carriage was attacked.”

  “Indeed, the whole thing was staged to look like a kidnapping,” Lord John said, his voice tinged with the appropriate amount of embarrassment. “It seems my daughter has developed a bit of a tender for a man of questionable origins. She knew I would never approve of such a match, and the two of them came up with this bit of fiction. It was only through fortunate circumstances that I was able to catch them before they made it to Scotland.”

  Henry collapsed back in his chair. No, it wasn’t possible! Lady Edwards—Jacqueline—the girl he’d grown up with, would never do something so impulsive. Hadn’t he just told her that she needed to stop living a life of duty and follow her heart?

  Henry’s heart beat hard in his chest. What if she had taken him at his word, and this was the result? He had always assumed that he had her affection, as sure as she held his heart. But what if that wasn’t true, and that by encouraging her to follow her heart, he had sent her into the arms of another man?

  “My lord,” Henry said, and stopped to clear his throat. “Are you sure she…?”

  “I’m sure,” Lord John said softly. “I was the one who found them together.”

  “I see,” Henry said, his mind working furiously. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. The circumstances didn’t have to change anything. He still wanted Jacqueline. There had never been anyone else for him. He could certainly overlook a moment of weakness, especially one he may have had a hand in.

  “You said you found them in time?” Henry asked, wondering at the type of man who could persuade the normally stoic Lady Edwards to act so rashly. “If that’s true, then nothing has changed. Lady Edwards remains in need of a husband and a marriage to repair the damage done to her reputation.”

  “That is very noble of you,” Lord John said, forcing a sad smile. The boy was tenacious—he’d give him that. But there was one thing no self-respecting man could live with. “However, I cannot expect you to take on another man’s bastard child, and there is every possibility that my daughter is already increasing.”