Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (21 page)

“What color is he?” she asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the stallion.

“Black as night,” he whispered in her ear. “And twice as big as Goliath.”

She grinned and petted the beast. “He’d have to be in order to accommodate you. Can he handle both of us?”

“Of course. Now step aside as I mount. Victor will hand you up in a moment. I suggest you ride astride behind me if you wish to gallop along the beach. Or would you prefer to sit in front and remain at a walk or trot?”

Brother Anselm would not approve. Yet the temptation of galloping with her arms clinging tightly to Devlin was too much to resist. Her cheeks flushed with anticipation, and before she changed her mind, she said, “Gallop.”

His deep chuckle caressed her soul, and giddy tingles raced down her spine as he heaved himself into the saddle.

“Left leg up and foot in my hands,” Victor said as Devlin gripped her under the arm. She pushed down and swung her right leg over with ease.

Zeus stepped sideways, and Grace squealed, wrapping her arms around Devlin’s waist and pressing her cheek against his back.

“Ready to ride like the wind?” Devlin asked.

“Yes!” she shouted.

He kicked the stallion into a trot, then a canter, and finally a full gallop. And for the first time since arriving at Devil’s Cove Manor, Grace let go of all her fears to live completely in the moment.

The next day Mother Nature favored Devlin and Grace with gloriously warm fall weather, and with the sun shining high in the noonday sky, they set off to explore the woods. There were countless tree roots, fallen branches, and large rocks to hinder their progress, but Devlin was determined to make it to the massive oak he’d discovered weeks prior while playing hide-and-seek in the forest with Maribeth.

Grace wore breeches and sturdy boots, so he didn’t have to concern himself with her skirts catching on stumps jutting from the ground. She held tightly to his arm and listened intently to his instructions with an expression of sheer joy. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, and she breathed deep every so often, apparently enjoying the fresh air ripe with the scent of damp leaves that littered the forest floor in varying hues.

When at last they arrived at their destination, Devlin planted his hands on his hips and gazed at the tree with an assessing eye.

“It’s a magnificent oak, Grace,” he said, guiding her to the trunk. “The leaves have turned burnt orange. Do you recall the color of fall leaves?”

“Oh, yes.” The corner of her mouth curved up. “Warm, like the flames of a fire.”

“The forest floor is a blanket of leaves, and still the branches are full. I imagine it must be hundreds of years old.”

“So old?” Grace asked in awe. “Have you brought me to Sherwood Forest and The Major Oak, then? Shall we encounter the ghost of Robin Hood?”

He chuckled and took a few paces backward to watch her study the bark with her hands. “It’s perfect for climbing. Sturdy limbs branch out in all directions, at least eight, if not more. One thick branch has grown in a downward slope and snaked its way along the forest floor. If you’re not careful you’ll smack your head on it in a step or two,” he warned before jogging to her side to assist her beneath it. “When you’ve finished examining the trunk, I’ll guide you up the broad limb and then follow you to the second tier of the tree.”

“You’ve painted the image of an enormous spider with horribly long legs,” Grace teased, squeezing his arm. “Was that on purpose? You know how I detest spiders.”

He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, reveling in the softness of her skin. “I don’t believe you’re scared of anything. They call me the Devil, yet here you stand before me without a single limb trembling in fear.”

A burst of laughter exploded from her chest, filling his ears with a most pleasant melody. “So you admit it’s true! You must promise to share your adventures with me, Devlin. I long to hear about the world.”

“I promise,” he said, drinking in the sight of her rosy complexion and angelic smile. “
After
we have reached the treetop, we’ll sit on a broad limb and reminisce about our pasts.”

Grace ran her hand across the surface of the trunk and continued walking all the way around the base. “With such a wide base, the top must reach the clouds. How high can we climb?”

Devlin glanced up and considered the distance to the second tier of branches. He didn’t dare risk her safety by going any higher. “I reckon at least three times my height. Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

“Of course. You can’t afford for me to break my neck,” she said with a smirk. “Who would negotiate with Josephine on your behalf then?”

A shudder rippled through him at the thought of Grace sprawled on the forest floor, her neck twisted at an odd angle. He tugged her into his arms and held her tightly, suddenly needing to reassure her that she mattered to him. Not because of her ability to communicate with Josephine. Because she was sweet, and kind, and forgiving.

“Don’t jest about falling,” he said, brushing a kiss on her supple lips. Her body molded against his like butter melting on hot toast, causing the corner of his mouth to quirk up. She did, indeed, care for and trust him. “I would hate to see you hurt, Grace. Your life is far more important than negotiations with the gatekeeper.”

She wetted her lips and rested her head on his chest. “Careful, Devlin. I might use that in my own defense.”

The woman was incorrigible, always needing the last word and pushing his buttons, but today he would not fall victim to his foul temper. He grunted and turned her toward the fat limb of the tree awaiting them. “Cheeky girl! Now up you go. Take my hand.”

She hoisted her foot onto the limb and steadied herself. It was wide enough that both of her feet fit comfortably side by side. He held her securely by the hip with one hand while holding her hand with the other.

“Have you got the feel of it, love?” he asked. “You’ve got eight, maybe ten steps to the trunk where it widens further. The surface is smooth, no dips or curves to worry over.”

She nodded and stepped forward, giggling when she lost her balance ever so slightly and leaned away from him. He tugged her back, and she righted herself.

“That’s it,” he said. “A few more steps.”

She slid her right foot across the branch, and then her left, keeping her feet level. With each step, she rose higher and higher, until he was forced to release her hand and support her by the calf. If she fell, he’d be there to catch her. Her hands came in contact with the wide trunk. “I did it!”

“Yes, you did. Wait right there.” He retraced his steps and hopped onto the limb. In a few long strides he joined her, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Let me lead now. Hold loosely on to my waist, like this.” He placed her hands on each side of his hips and tucked her thumbs into his breeches. When they reached the next juncture, she held on to the trunk while he climbed up another level and instructed her where to place her feet as he pulled her up by her hands.

“Goodness, we must be very high now,” she proclaimed, somewhat breathless.

“Indeed,” Devlin said. “Come this way, in front of me. Yes, two steps. And now we sit in the V of this sturdy branch. It makes a fine chair, but you’ll have to lean back against me.”

He slid his back down the length of the trunk and stared at Grace’s round bottom while she crouched down unsteadily. She landed between his thighs with her buttocks pressed to his groin, and he suppressed a groan.

“Where on earth did you procure a pair of breeches, Grace?” Not that he was complaining. He rather enjoyed her fine figure.

“Cook spoke to one of the stable lads,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Abigail said I’d break my neck if I attempted to climb about in one of my dresses. I believe she thinks we’re quite mad for attempting it.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe we are mad. Even so, this isn’t my craziest adventure, I assure you.”

Devlin kissed her head and rubbed his lips on her silken tresses. Her hair smelled of rosemary tea and fresh air, and he could imagine how glorious it would look fanned out behind her, with the wind whipping through it, as she stood on the bow of his ship. Wild. Untamed.

She laid her head back against his chest and folded her arms, relaxing. “Certainly not, if I’m to believe Hatchet. Did he truly get his nickname in a fierce battle with pirates?”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. She was greedy for information, and denying it wouldn’t serve any purpose. “Yes, he did.”

Her body shuddered ever so slightly. “That’s horrible. Have you encountered many pirates at sea? Don’t lie or sugarcoat the truth. Tell me of your adventures, as you promised.”

He launched into several harrowing stories that would have inspired nightmares in most gently bred ladies. But Grace was unique and faced her own form of demons. After what he’d witnessed in the ballroom, he didn’t fear for her sanity or future lack of sleep after hearing his tales.

“I’ve had more than my fair share of encounters with pirates,” he said. “But I suppose it’s to be expected when one carries rich cargo from faraway places.”

Grace glanced back at him and lifted her brow. “What kind of cargo?”

He pursed his lips. Dare he mention the goods one traded only on the black market—drugs, weapons, and the like? After escaping the Butcher in his early years, he hadn’t cared where his wealth came from so long as he amassed significant profit in order to carry out his revenge. But he didn’t wish to alarm or shock Grace, so he said, “Wool, silk, and tea from China, sugar from the West Indies, and American cotton, of course.”

“And opium?” she asked.

She had lived in a monastery since the age of seven. What on earth was Brother Anselm reading to her all these years that she was informed about such things?

“Most shocking,” Devlin said with mock horror.

“Don’t feign surprise,” she said, threading her fingers through his. “I’m not a simpleton.”

“What do you know of opium, madam?” he asked with more than a little curiosity.

“Oh, bother.” She huffed. “I’m sure you’ve surmised by now that Brother Anselm is taken with pirates. Probably because they’re the epitome of all that is evil and wrong in this world. Pirates seek rich booty, and there is nothing richer than opium.”

“Good Lord, woman.” He could not mask the edge to his voice. He knew very well that Grace believed him to be a pirate. Yet she claimed she cared about him. “Is that how you see me? As the epitome of evil?”

“Well, I must confess I thought of you that way when we first met.” She turned and bestowed a brilliant smile on him. “But that was before. Now I think you’re quite redeemable.”

A forlorn smile crept over his lips at her earnest declaration. She would never surrender the battle to save his soul. An endless array of light shone through her, but he wasn’t worthy of receiving it, not a single ray. How could she cling to hope when he was so far gone?

“You must be daft,” he whispered into her ear. “What do you mean, that was before? Before what?”

“Before I met Maribeth and discovered how much she adores you.”

He grunted and shook his head. “Only because I allow her free rein of the mansion and to steal cookies from Cook without reprimand.”

Grace frowned at him over her shoulder. “And before you rescued me twice during encounters with my father.”

“In both cases I was motivated by my own interests,” he said with smug satisfaction. “I couldn’t very well let you die before you earned your 100 pounds.”

“Oh, do shut up, Devlin.” She scooted around so she faced him. “You cannot change my mind.”

He grabbed her wrist and squeezed, garnering her attention. He wanted her help, but on his own terms. This nonsense must come to an end. “Don’t fool yourself, Grace,” he said, all traces of teasing abandoned, “or waste your good opinion on me. I’ve more than earned my nickname, the Devil, plundering merchant ships, killing countless men, and seeking revenge. I’m a pirate through and through.”

She ignored every word uttered from his lips. “I’m no fool. Deep down inside of you is a good man. I can see him even if you cannot, and with time and God’s grace, you’ll eventually embrace him. Now, tell me the truth. Am I or am I not correct in stating that pirates attack ships carrying opium?”

With her cheeks full of color and the corners of her mouth turned down in a ferocious frown, she was delectable. He didn’t deserve her good opinion. But in this moment he’d take it all the same. Leaning over, he brushed his lips against her lush, pouty mouth.

“You have the right of it, but I soon determined the risk was not worth the reward. The other forms of trade were lucrative and far less dangerous. Enough to allow my crew to fulfill their wildest dreams.”

Her lips puckered in a triumphant grin, as if his admission proved his goodness. He sighed and let it drop.

“But what of your dreams?” Grace asked, tightening her grip on his waist.

Devlin closed his eyes and exhaled in one long, measured breath. He didn’t wish to think on his dreams. When he drifted to sleep each night, he often stared into the black orbs of the Butcher and felt his sharp blade cutting into his skin. Devlin rubbed his eyes, as if that could ward off the horrid memories.

“You know of what I dream,” he whispered.

She stiffened a moment and then sighed in resignation as she said, “Revenge.”

He regretted his words almost immediately. Their day together had been flawless up to that moment, and he didn’t wish to ruin it with talk of his mother, revenge, or Josephine. There would be time for that come the end of the week.

“Help me understand, Devlin,” Grace said, her brow furrowed. She rubbed the outer edge of his hand, where his pinky should’ve been, dropping a light kiss on it. “Please, tell me. Did your mother do this to you?”

His gaze was drawn to her lips, still brushing against his skin with infinite care. A lump grew at the base of his throat as he recalled that day, strapped to the table under the knife of his nemesis. How different he felt this time, watching Grace nuzzle the scar, with deep lines of worry pulling down her lips. She cared for him, and more importantly, he realized how very much he cared for her as well. She would understand his pain, having been a victim of circumstance herself. He need only let her in.