“This is how I kill a man?” Jacqueline handed the blade back, watching as Devil slipped it back into a sheath crafted to the inside of his boot.
“Yes.”
“Will you teach me?”
Devil hesitated, concentrating on securing the blade and straightening the leg of his trousers.
“Please.”
“Not today.”
“But one day, soon?” Jacqueline didn’t mean to press, but the lesson and her obvious disadvantage in the face of her husband’s superior strength told her that this was the only way she would ever be able to truly save herself.
Devil was saved from answering by Dillon’s timely arrival. “Sir, Finn is here to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Jacqueline stood staring at him, still waiting for his answer. Something about the idea of teaching her how to kill a man didn’t sit right with him. Was it guilt over having taught her that such a thing was necessary? Before him, Jacqueline had lived in a world free from violence.
Finn strode in. “We have a problem.”
Devil sighed. “I am really getting tired of hearing those words from you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Finn rested his shoulder against the door to the library, eyeing the displaced furniture and bare floor.
Devil ignored him. “Do you have something to do today?” he asked his wife instead.
“I thought I might try shopping in Devil’s Acre.” Jacqueline smiled at Finn. The man looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. A thick shadow of whiskers dusted his chin, and his hair was mussed. She was also pretty sure those were the same clothes he’d had on last night at Purgatory.
Devil nodded. “Is Moose with you?”
“Aye, he’s waiting outside.”
“Go and get him. Tell him he’ll be escorting Lady J today.”
“We really should consider hiring a footman,” Jacqueline said, watching Finn disappear. “I hate to keep taking Moose away from business, especially when it seems you need him.”
Devil didn’t discuss the details of his business with her, but Jacqueline could see that Finn’s frequent arrivals seemed to coincide with bad news.
“I prefer someone I know and trust,” Devil said as Moose followed Finn inside. Hat in hand, Moose broke into a wide grin aimed solely at Devil’s wife.
“Morning, Lady J. I hear we’re going shopping again.”
Jacqueline smiled, her heart warming at the greeting. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Finn says I’m to take you around the Acre and show you the locals.”
“I seem to remember your mentioning a baker that specializes in pastries.” Jacqueline wanted to shake her head; the man seemed too sweet to survive in the world of boxing.
“That would be Charlie Barnett. He’s been baking bread for Devil’s Acre for about seven or eight years now.”
“Well, I missed breakfast,” Jacqueline said, carefully avoiding looking in her husband’s direction. “So, lets start there.”
“Use my name,” Devil told his wife, giving in to the urge and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “I have accounts with most of the local merchants.”
Jacqueline nodded, leaving Moose for the moment it would take to grab a shawl and her reticule.
Devil waited with Finn, the two men watching silently as his wife led Moose out the front door and into a rented hack.
“We’ll need another one,” Finn said, watching the two roll away. “We can’t walk to where we’re going.”
“Tell me,” Devil demanded.
“They found a body,” Finn said, staring out the window.
Devil’s head whipped around to Finn. “Who?”
“Mary, one of the whores.”
That didn’t narrow it down much. There were four or five whores working in Devil’s Acre named Mary.
Devil let it be. He’d know soon enough which one it was.
“Did you know her?”
“Aye.” Finn sighed and scrubbed at his face. She’d been friends with Annie, and the woman had still been weeping from the news when he left her.
They headed out, walking two blocks before finding another hack. Once inside, Finn gave the driver their direction.
“Who found the body?”
“One of the local women.”
“How did she know Mary was one of mine?”
“She didn’t, but everyone knows to call on you if there’s trouble.”
“This certainly qualifies.” Devil’s Acre didn’t see many bodies. The area was known for its hedonistic pleasures, and while a young lord might find his pockets picked clean, he could trust that his person wouldn’t come to harm. For Devil, it was a practical way of doing business.
Customers didn’t come back if they were dead.
“We’re here.” Finn jumped down, paying the driver to wait.
Devil followed the Irishman down the alley between two buildings, sounds of Gaelic emanating from an open window.
Devil stopped. “You live near here.”
“Aye, two blocks that way.” Though Finn was rarely there. This area of the Acre was primarily made up of Irishmen, their wives, and children. The one thing didn’t have anything to do with the other. Finn just preferred Annie’s bed to his own.
Devil started walking again. It was a quick trip down the alley and around to the backside of the building.
Two men stood waiting, their eyes looking every which way except at the dead woman lying covered on the ground between them. Their relief at seeing Devil was obvious and would have been comical if it weren’t for the gravity of the matter.
“I thought it best to leave her here until you decided what to do,” Finn explained.
“We covered her, just like you said.” Tom, the older of the two, stepped forward, tugging on his ear nervously. “The blanket belongs to Mary-Margret. She was wanting it back until we told her what it was for.”
Devil noted that the blanket was worn, its edges frayed, but it was clean. “Finn, make sure the woman gets something to replace it with.”
“Aye.”
“Did anyone come looking around?” Devil asked, curious.
“Nah, it’s just been us.”
Finn pulled the men aside, speaking to them quietly. Devil had no doubt he was warning them to keep their mouths shut about what they saw here today. Not that it mattered. Word of a dead whore was bound to get around.
Devil squatted down beside her, careful to keep his knees out of the pool of blood surrounding the body. Mentally bracing himself, he lifted the blanket.
She was pale, death having leeched away all the color of life, and her lips were blue. She’d been pretty, Devil thought, with a soft face and dark brown hair. Her eyes were closed, depriving him of their color and sparing him the memory.
“Whoever did this slit her throat,” Finn said. He remained standing. He’d already been by once and seen the body. He didn’t need to see it again.
Devil nodded. The jagged wound around her neck was obvious. Settling the blanket back over the woman’s face, he tried to decide what to do next.
“Does she have any family?” Devil didn’t recognize her, but Finn said he knew her, and they could always go to Lady Jade if need be.
“No, just the other girls in the brothel. They’ll want to do something for her. Annie already said they’d pay to see she was buried right and proper.”
Devil shook his head. “I’ll pay to have her buried. Tell the girls to go see Andrew; he’ll help them sort it out.”
“What do we do with her until then?”
“Find someplace nearby where we can keep her until I talk to Andrew.” Devil frowned, his brain slow to process what his eyes were seeing. He’d been staring at the blanket-covered body—such a small impression a person made in death—when he noticed something. “Her throat was slit?”
“Aye, and he cut deep.”
“So what’s that?” Devil pointed
further down the body. A small stain marred the blanket, the ghost of an image formed in blood.
Finn leaned closer and scowled down at the body.
Devil shifted, lifting the blanket. Then he froze. Three symbols had been carved into the woman’s stomach.
“What the hell is that?” Finn jerked back. He resisted the urge to cross himself.
“I’ve seen these marks before,” Devil said quietly, dropping the blanket.
“You have? Where?” Finn crouched down across from Devil, staring at his boss over the body.
“On my wife.”
On the other side of Devil’s Acre, Jacqueline stepped out of Mrs. Dubois’ dress shop. A French immigrant, Mrs. Dubois had an amazing eye for color, and her dresses were unlike anything Jacqueline had ever seen.
“I hope Devil won’t mind.” Jacqueline had bought two and ordered three more.
“I’m sure he won’t, Lady J,” Moose assured her, easily juggling the two additional dress boxes. They had already been to the milliner’s, not to mention the glove maker and, of course, the baker, and Moose insisted on carrying Jacqueline’s packages. “He helped Mrs. Dubois set up shop when she first got here.”
Jacqueline stopped, staring openedmouthed at the big man’s back. “He did?”
“Yep.” Moose kept walking. Their hack was just up the street. He’d paid for the day and was thinking it made more sense for the carriage to carry Lady J’s packages. “Still owns a piece of the shop, too, I think.”
“Are you saying he invested in Mrs. Dubois’ shop?”
Moose shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Are there anymore shops in the area Devil is invested in?”
“Sure, lots of them. Though there are some that just rent space in one of his buildings.”
Jacqueline snapped her mouth shut. It would seem her husband was more of a businessman than she had thought. She had assumed most of his money came from less…honest endeavors.
Hurrying down the street, she caught up with Moose as he stowed the last of her packages in the hack. “How long have you known Devil?”
Moose shrugged. “Long time.”
Not particularly helpful.
“He said you were once a fighter.”
Moose nodded, turning to stare down at her. “He ran the fights back then. Guess he still does in the sense that he hires them that does.”
There was nothing illegal about organizing fights, Jacqueline thought—a bit unsavory, perhaps, but not illegal. “But you don’t fight any more?”
“Nah, Devil pulled me out of the ring. He said it was best to go out on a winning streak, and I never lost.” This last bit was said with a big grin.
Jacqueline studied Moose’s features, adding up the nose that had been crushed and the gentle disposition. Moose wasn’t stupid, but Jacqueline suspected too much time in the ring had dimmed his wits a bit. Her husband, it would seem, had seen fit to rescue the fighter before serious damage had set in.
Jacqueline looked around. She’d spent the day in Devil’s Acre, visiting the shops and chatting with the local merchants. One look at Moose walking in behind her, and everyone had known who she was. She’d been met with pleasant greetings and treated with respect.
It was a far cry from her experience on Regent Street.
And now Moose. She’d bet her husband’s money Finn had a similar tale to tell.
“Lady J?”
“Hm?” Jacqueline glanced back and found Moose waiting for her beside the hack.
“Are you ready to go home? It’s getting late.”
“Of course.” Jacqueline smiled at Moose as he handed her up into the hack, the conveyance rocking significantly as he stepped up behind her. She could see why he never lost a fight.
They were quiet on the ride home, the hack passing through yet another part of Devil’s Acre she’d never seen before. Staring out the hack, Jacqueline realized that her husband controlled a considerable amount of real estate.
The area they were passing through was older than what she’d visited so far. The buildings here were worn down and faded, and several of the businesses appeared closed.
Turning the corner, the hack rolled down a deserted street, the only movement a broken and faded sign swinging precariously from a single chain.
Jacqueline shuddered. An image flashed behind her eyes, that of a faded anvil and hammer swinging gently in drifting fog.
“Stop the carriage,” Jacqueline ordered, grabbing Moose’s arm. “Driver, stop!” she called, when the man didn’t act fast enough.
The hack rocked to a halt.
“Everything all right?” the driver called, turning to look back at his fare.
“What is it?” Moose asked. “Are you OK?” Lady J had gone pale, and the hand on his arm shook.
“Wait here.” Jacqueline climbed out of the carriage on legs that threatened to buckled.
“Lady J?” Moose watched Devil’s wife get out of the hack. She paused on the sidewalk and stood staring back down the street. He leaned out the window trying to see what she was after.
Jacqueline stared up at the sign for the Anvil & Hammer. The paint was faded, but the image had been carved into the wood and remained long after the business had closed.
The last time she’d seen that sign, it had been late at night, and dark. A heavy fog had descended, and she’d been afraid, so terrified she could taste the fear in her mouth. But she would never forget that moment when her hood had slipped and the dim light from the street lamp had filled her vision.
The image of the street as it had been back then was forever etched in her mind.
“I think we best be getting back,” Moose called, holding out his hand. “Please.”
Jacqueline tore her gaze away from the sign. Moose was watching her, his face pleading with her. Information started trickling in. There had been three, maybe four of them that night, their voices low and nearly indistinct. But other things stood out, things like an Irish lilt and one man’s size.
Jacqueline turned and walked away.
“Lady J!” Moose called out, jumping out of the hack and hurrying after Devil’s wife. “Wait.”
“No.” Jacqueline ignored the big man jogging towards her, rounding the iron fence and propelling herself down the stairs. Too late. She remembered how narrow the stairs had been; her feet slipped, and she stumbled to the bottom.
Grasping at the wall, Jacqueline paused. Heart pounding, she looked around. From this point on, everything had been about sound and smell. Taking a deep breath, she caught the strong scent of earth and the warm aroma of oak.
Picking up her skirts, Jacqueline hurried down a narrow corridor, at the end of which was a door. Please let it be unlocked! Grabbing the handle, Jacqueline wrenched the knob, unaware of the small whimper she let out when the door opened.
Another corridor and several wrong turns later, Jacqueline pushed through a final door and burst into a small room. Gagging at the overpowering smell of oak, Jacqueline pressed the back of her hand to her nose and eyed the wall lined with barrels. Beneath her feet, packed earth muffled her steps as she crossed the room.
“Lady J, please come away.” Moose had caught up with her, dogging her heels and begging her to return to the hack.
“I was here,” Jacqueline whispered, circling the small room. “This is where they brought me, where you brought me.”
Jacqueline looked back at Moose. He remained at the door, his sad eyes watching her. She didn’t need to see his face to know she was right.
Jacqueline turned her back on him.
The rope was there, one end still tied to the pole planted in the center of the room. The other end had been cut, the bloody pieces scattered across the dirt floor.
Jacqueline rubbed at the rough scars on her wrists as her mind whirled with questions about that night. Who else had been there? Who was the man that raped her? Surely, her husband would know the man’s identity.
Devil.
“Nothing happens in Devil
’s Acre without my husband knowing about it,” Jacqueline said.
Moose didn’t know if Lady J was talking to him, or trying to work something out for herself.
“Why?” Jacqueline turned.
Moose shook his head. “It’s not for me to say.”
“Of course not,” Jacqueline said. She started towards the door. “You just do what you’re told.”
A flash of white caught Jacqueline’s eye, sidetracking her across the room. Bending down, she pulled a wad of lace out from between two oak barrels. Stiff with dried blood and saliva, the delicate lace had once been ivory.
She no longer owned the dress it belonged to. Her father had ordered it burned and all evidence of his daughter’s misfortune destroyed.
Turning on her heels, Jacqueline shoved the evidence into her pocket, brushing past Moose and heading up to the street.
Jacqueline wanted answers, and it would seem there was one man who had them all. Her husband.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Are you sure it’s Carver?” Finn asked, incredulous.
“You tell me,” Devil demanded. They were standing in his office at Purgatory, Mary’s body on its way to Andrew. “What the hell did you do with his body?”
“Threw it in the Thames.”
“And you’re sure he was dead?”
“Well, I didn’t check, if that’s what you’re asking, but the man’s throat was slit.”
Devil frowned. Maybe he was wrong. “Is it possible the symbols mean something? Maybe Carver was a member of a cult…”
“You mean we could be talking about more than one man with a thing for carving up women?” It was not a comforting thought.
“I prefer one, even if it means Carver is alive.”
“I still don’t…” Finn trailed off before breaking into a string of curses.
“What?”
“Stubs. That bastard, Stubs.”
Devil’s eyes narrowed.
“If there was a chance Carver was still alive, Stubs would have been the one to help him out.”
The Bride of Devil's Acre Page 15
