Jacqueline’s cheeks heated.
“But for me, it always came back to Philip.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I’m just trying to understand.”
“I know, but it’s wasted effort and really quite simple. I’m in love with a man engaged to be married.”
Jacqueline felt Marcus’ hopelessness alongside her own. “Does he love you?”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus answer came back quick, too quick.
“Yes, you do.”
Marcus sighed. “Yes, I suppose I do. There is something there between us, but Philip is ashamed and so bloody determined to do the right thing.”
“According to who?”
“According to his father.” The viscount was not a bad sort—old and set in his ways, for sure, but that was to be expected. Marcus’ one complaint (and admittedly, it was a rather significant complaint) was the insidious suspicion that having learned of his son’s…preferences, the viscount had bought Philip a commission and sent him off to die.
“Have you told Philip how you feel?”
“It’s rather obvious.” Marcus thought back to his last visit with Philip. He could still feel the unfamiliar brush of Philip’s mustache. The moment had held all the familiarity of longtime lovers and the excitement of time spent apart.
“What are you going to do?” Jacqueline could ask herself that same question.
“There is nothing to do,” Marcus said, carefully setting aside his glass. Philip had made his feelings known, and his choice was clear. “Come, let’s get you settled.”
“I don’t have very much.” Jacqueline had left Devil’s office, taking nothing with her as she fled Devil’s Acre except for the dresses she’d bought while shopping.
“Compose a note. I’ll send one of my footmen to fetch your maid. She can bring your things.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind my being here?” Jacqueline accepted ink and paper, sitting down at Marcus’ desk to write. “I’m at a loss as to what to do.”
“I’m sure we can put our heads together and come up with something. And if nothing else, you are considered married now.” Standing at her elbow, Marcus sent Jacqueline a smoldering look that was completely wasted on her.
“Marcus…” Jacqueline rolled her eyes. The man was incorrigible.
“You owe him no loyalty,” Marcus said, speaking of Jacqueline’s husband.
“I know. But falling into your arms would solve nothing.”
Marcus bent his head to Jacqueline’s ear, catching her crisp, clean feminine scent. “It would make for an extremely pleasant distraction, I assure you.”
Jacqueline turned, coming nose to nose with Marcus. Blue eyes regarded her without heat, and his brandy-scented breath was warm against her cheek. “I’ll be your friend, Marcus, but I will not be your lover.”
Marcus searched her face, his eyes dropping to her mouth before moving to caress the tops of her breasts with his gaze. He was going to kiss her, she thought, and all her brave words aside, she wasn’t sure she would refuse him.
A slow smile spread across Marcus’ face.
He knew, she realized, and she felt the flush start in her breasts.
“A pity,” Marcus said, his voice suddenly serious.
Standing beside Jacqueline, Marcus realized he could flirt with her, but the idea of using her to appease his loneliness, and perhaps punish Philip, left an extremely bad taste in his mouth.
“Not such a pity,” Jacqueline said. The tension between her and Marcus was slow to ease, lingering even as he stepped to and give her some space. “I suspect I stand in better company as your friend.”
“You will undoubtedly last longer.” Marcus had never been friends with a woman. He’d courted, bedded and dismissed hundreds of them, so many that he stopped trying to learn their names.
“It’s fortunate we found each other.” It was rare that one noted the first stirrings of friendship, those ties that bind two people together over time and distance. Jacqueline felt them now and knew that she and Marcus were building a friendship that would last a lifetime.
Marcus regarded Jacqueline from across the room, the knowledge there in his eyes. One misstep, such as a kiss exchanged in the desperate search for salvation, and the bond of friendship would break.
“Yes, well, you do know what they say.”
Jacqueline turned back to her note, aware that the moment had passed. “What’s that?”
Behind her back, Marcus tipped the bottle of brandy to his lips, pausing before taking a drink. “Misery loves company.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Where’s Carver?” Devil pulled his elbow back. Shifting onto the balls of his feet, he put all of his power into his shoulder and hammered his fist into the man’s bloody face. At the last moment, Devil pulled the punch, being careful not to break the man’s jaw.
He needed Stubs to talk.
They’d been at this for hours, the urgency driving Devil past a line he never thought to cross. It was one thing to meet a man in the ring, but beating a man for information…
Three things silenced Devil’s conscience: his wife, the scars on her stomach, and finding the man who had put them there.
“Where’s Carver?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” Stubs braced for another blow. This one snapped his head sideways and knocked him to the floor.
Finn grabbed Stubs under his arms and wrestled the fat man back into his chair. “Up you go.”
It hadn’t taken much to get Stubs talking; a few threats from an obviously enraged Devil were enough to make a mute talk.
As it turns out, Stubs had stayed at the river, watching Carver’s body slowly drifting toward the English Channel. A niggling of doubt had wormed its way into his brain and wouldn’t be shook loose. He was certain his friend was dead, but something kept him from leaving and eventually drove him back into the water.
He’d wrestled Carver’s body ashore, untying the rope and pulling back the wet blanket. The water had washed most of the blood away. Peeling off dead leaves and bits of river scum, Stubs had shouted a curse, scrambling backward on his arse when the man’s eyes sprang open. He knew better than to bring Carver back to Devil’s Acre, taking him instead to a doctor in St. Giles.
The doctor had been drunk, but he’d stitched up Carver’s neck and stupidly waited around for the man to wake up, hoping to get paid.
Carver repaid the doctor by slitting his throat, but this time there was no one to stitch up the wound.
“There’s a doctor who works out of one of the gin shops in St. Giles,” Finn said. He stood behind Stubs, arms crossed, watching Devil. “Johns, Johnson, Johansen—something like that.”
“What was the doctor’s name? The one you took Carver to.”
Stubs spit out a tooth. “I don’t know.”
Devil pulled back his arm.
“I don’t know, I swear! I didn’t ask!”
Devil didn’t drop his arm. “But you knew where to find him?”
“Everyone knows that shop keeps a space for a doctor.” Doctor, healer—it didn’t matter if the person was educated or not. The shop owner traded space for services and paid in gin. It wasn’t very good business for all concerned, but especially not for the patients.
Devil paced.
Finn took a moment and leaned against the wall. He’d never seen Devil like this. The man was possessed. He’d shed his coat and used his cravat to tie Stubs’ wrists together. His white shirt was spattered red with blood, and his eyes held a haunted look that had been there ever since Lady J walked out of the man’s office.
Devil turned back to Stubs. “You left Carver at the doctor’s?”
Stubs shrugged and groaned at the pain in his dislocated shoulder. “He needed to rest, and the doctor wasn’t going to be using it.”
“But he’s not there now?” They’d been through this twice, and each time Stubs said the same thing.
Stubs shook his head. “I told you. I
went to check on him, but he was gone.”
Devil cursed, looking over Stubs’ head at Finn. “We have to find him.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Stubs said, laughing through broken teeth and a bloodied tongue. “Carver will find you soon enough.”
“What are we going to do now?” Finn asked.
“We wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“You heard Stubs. Carver is coming for me.” Let him come, Devil thought. It wasn’t often he got the pleasure of killing a man twice.
Finn followed Devil into the house. Was that anticipation he heard?
“Where’s my wife?” Devil passed through the foyer, Dillon holding the door for him and Finn. He owed Jac more of an explanation, if not an apology.
“Lady Jacqueline is not at home, sir.”
Devil pulled up outside his study. Dillon had already closed the door and was heading toward the back of the house. “Dillon. What did you say?”
“Lady Jacqueline has not returned, sir.”
“Are you sure?” Devil had a hint of foreboding. Without waiting for a reply, he turned from the study and headed up the stairs.
“I haven’t seen Lady Jacqueline since she left with your man this morning, sir, though a note did arrive a short time ago for her maid,” Dillon added.
“Devil?” Finn followed Devil, the men taking the stairs two at a time.
Devil burst into the master suite. The bed he’d shared with his wife was made, the sheets smooth and the pillows neatly arranged. It was too bad, really. He’d enjoyed seeing the reminder of their love making.
The bed wasn’t the only evidence of Mrs. Barrett’s cleaning. His discarded coat had been hung, no sign of wrinkles and his brush and razor were lined up with precision on the washstand. He’d told Jac to move her things in, but the room was empty of any sign of his wife.
Devil stepped past Finn, still waiting in the hall, and opened the door to the guest room. Jac’s maid jerked upright, a dress in her hands and two open trunks on the floor in front of her.
“Where is she?” Devil demanded, eyeing the trunks. Bloody hell. When Jac had said she was going home, he’d assumed she meant this home.
Emme hesitated. The note from Lady Jacqueline had arrived half an hour earlier with instructions to pack her things. It had not contained any instructions for handling the lady’s husband.
Instead of answering, Emme handed the note to Devil.
Finn watched Devil’s eyes narrow.
“Are you familiar with your destination?” Devil asked Emme.
“I know where I’m supposed to go.”
“Good.” Devil slipped the note into his breast pocket. “Let Dillon know once you have my wife’s things packed. He will see to it that proper transportation is secured and ensure that you reach your destination.”
“Is there a message you wish me to convey to her ladyship on your behalf?”
There were many things Devil wished to say to his wife, but they were things better said in person. “No.”
Devil brushed past Finn, leaving the maid to her packing.
“Devil. Wait.” Finn rushed after his boss. “Where is Lady J?”
“Gone.” And better off for it. Devil trotted down the stairs and back out through the front door.
“When are you going after her?”
“I’m not.” Not yet, anyway.
“It’s not like you to be so pigheaded. Well, actually, it is, but this time you’ve got it all wrong. You should be going after your wife and bringing her back.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who thought my marrying her was a mistake?”
“Aye, but that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you started to fall in love with her.”
Devil stopped and stared, eyes narrow. “Who says I’m in love with her?”
“I do.” Finn had seen Devil with his share of women, the cold, hard facade fixed firmly in place. Lady J was the first one to warm those green eyes and cause the man to forget himself, if only long enough to share a kiss in Purgatory.
“I haven’t known the woman long enough,” Devil said as resumed walking.
“You may not have completed the trip, my friend, but you are well on your way.” Finn fell in step with Devil, the two of them walking at a brisk pace. “You can’t just let her leave.”
“She’s safer where she is,” Devil said. At least he hoped so. He didn’t know Eddington that well. He could only hope that staying with the earl put his wife beyond Carver’s reach.
“Where is she?”
Devil told him.
Finn’s eyebrows disappeared under his hairline. “I didn’t know Lady J and Eddington were acquainted.”
“They met at Purgatory.”
“But why would she go there and not back home to her father?” Finn didn’t understand the ways of the aristocracy, but he did know that it was unusual for a lady, even a married one, to move into the home of a notorious rake.
“I don’t know.” But it was one of the things Devil planned on asking his wife, just as soon as he dealt with the danger hanging over his head. Carver was a slimy bastard, and he’d already proven himself capable of rape and murder.
Devil wouldn’t be bringing his bride back to Devil’s Acre until he had the peace of mind only Carver’s death could bring.
“Of course, this just proves my point,” Finn said.
“You had a point?”
“Aye, you’re in love with Lady J; otherwise, you wouldn’t be worried about her safety.”
“Love is for women and poets. I’m neither.” Devil turned the corner, entering Purgatory through the front door. It was early yet, only a few places at the gaming tables occupied. Still, Devil made a point to walk the room, speaking quietly with the dealers and stewards before heading back toward the bar. “How are things next door?”
Finn frowned, sliding his hands into his pockets as they passed by the bar and stepped into Devil’s office. “The girls are uneasy.”
Devil nodded. They would be, and with good reason. “I want a man on every floor and two at each of the entrances.”
“Aye, I’ll see to it.” Finn watched Devil circle his desk. The man hadn’t slept, and there was still blood on his shirt, most of it concealed beneath his coat.
Devil reached into his desk, taking out his pistol and slipping it into the small of his back. He also checked the blade in his boot and grabbed his walking stick. The accessory had a thin sword hidden in its length. It wouldn’t do him much good while at Purgatory, but then he didn’t expect Carver to come at him in such a public venue.
No, Carver was a snake. He would be hiding under a rock, waiting for Devil to pass by so that he could strike unseen.
“I want you working the floor tonight,” Devil said. “Get in on the games, and make sure the other players know I’m here, and my wife is not.”
“Won’t it seem odd, my talking out of turn?”
“You always talk too much.”
Finn ignored the friendly insult. “Aye, but there are some topics of conversation one does not engage in, not if he hopes to keep his skin.”
“A man might hope to blame a lack of discretion on too much whiskey.”
“Aye, and the Irish are known to drink.”
Devil ran his hand through his hair and buttoned up his coat. He needed a bath. His time with Stubs had left a slick film of filth on his skin.
Unfortunately, he suspected he was going to get a lot dirtier before this was over.
Three days.
Three days ago, Jacqueline learned the truth about her husband and her marriage. Three days ago, Jacqueline had moved in with Marcus and learned that her friend was in love with another man. Three days ago, Jacqueline learned the name of the man who raped her.
She’d learned a lot in three days.
Jacqueline couldn’t help thinking that three days wasn’t that long, all things considered. Not much
happened in three days. Not usually, not unless you considered having your entire world turned upside down not much.
Most flowers took longer than three days to bloom.
Jacqueline snorted, the sound a soft echo in the vastness of Marcus’ library. Since when did she think about flowers? Things were getting desperate if she was thinking about flowers. But of course she was thinking about flowers. She’d spent the past three days thinking about everything else, and she was quickly running out of topics to keep her mind from wandering to thoughts of her husband, her marriage, and the big question left hanging out there.
What was she supposed to do now?
Jacqueline twisted her ruby wedding ring on her finger. The stone caught the afternoon light and fractured it into hundreds of sanguine shards. She had avoided asking herself that question, and Marcus seemed to understand she wasn’t ready to look past the moment. So, he left her to herself.
The two dined most nights together, Marcus heading out after dark to destinations unknown while Jacqueline retired to her room or roamed the well-stocked library. It had quickly become her favorite room in the earl’s house.
Speaking of her host, Marcus had returned last night well after Jacqueline had retired and was likely still abed. He would rise shortly before dinner, dress, and join her for a drink. He had not spoken again of Philip, and she had given him the courtesy of not asking. She had no idea where he spent his evenings, and she thought perhaps it was best that way.
The two of them were quite a pair.
“Forgive me, my lady, but you have a visitor.”
Jacqueline’s head snapped up, and her heart beat hard. “Devil.”
“No, my lady,” Turner, Marcus’ butler, said apologetically.
Jacqueline hadn’t realized she’d said her husband’s name out loud.
“A Mr. Gates asks if you are receiving.”
“Henry?” This was certainly unexpected.
“What would you like me to tell him, my lady?” Turner, actually Marcus’ entire staff, seemed unfazed by Jacqueline’s presence.
The Bride of Devil's Acre Page 17
