Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (26 page)

“Yes, I suppose he has.” Josephine squeezed her hand. “If he upholds his end of our bargain, you and I shall be together forever, and I promise he’ll not be harmed.”

Grace bit her bottom lip, afraid to ask one final question but loathe to live in fear of the unanswered truth. “But will his actions secure him the same fate as his mother? Will he forever burn in the fires of Hell upon his death?”

“I cannot predict whether or not the captain will be welcomed in God’s embrace, but, if you wish it, I will allow him to remain forever on this plane of existence after his death. Is that your wish?”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded.

“Then it will be done,” Josephine said.

And for some inexplicable reason, Grace believed her.

• • •

Dominick Sommerset, 8th Marquess of Covington, sipped brandy from his tumbler and rolled it over his tongue. The fruity liquid slid down his throat, leaving a warm wake in its path. He stared out the parlor window from his vantage point on the armchair, his eyes incapable of focusing on anything in particular as the events of the morning played over in his head. Darker than his worst nightmare.

I’ll stay out of your sight.

How those hollow words tortured him. The notion was ridiculous, twisting like a vice around his heart. He didn’t want Grace out of his sight; he wanted her in his arms to hold and cherish. And yet he’d let her walk away stoically, believing he despised her. What kind of fucked-up monster did that to a woman?

He rubbed his eyes and blew out an anguished breath, knowing full well that he was the worst kind of fool to ever think he deserved the love of a good woman. His actions were selfish, mean-spirited, perhaps even a bit deranged. Still, he couldn’t back down from bending her to his will.

The title, the money. What does it matter? Let it go, Devlin.

He would not let it go! His title, his name, it was everything. Devlin Limmerick would forever be the whipped whore of the Butcher, a sick bastard who derived tremendous pleasure from tormenting him into submission. And there was no doubt that he had submitted on bended knee, time and time again.

Devlin jumped to his feet and strode to the window, leaning his shoulder against the wooden frame. He would help Grace understand why his title mattered, why he must reclaim his given name. Dominick Sommerset was a hero who saved little girls from unspeakable tragedy and loved the person within. Once she knew the truth of his past, once she grasped the significance of his name, then she would understand … and she would forgive him.

She must forgive him.

A flash of movement in the forest, beyond the far edge of the lake, caught his attention. Grace emerged from behind a crop of trees, hand in hand with another woman. His breath hitched in his throat, and he squinted in an effort to confirm or deny his suspicions. Although the dress was not the same, the similarities in the woman’s hair and stature were undeniable, even from this distance.

Why was Grace strolling with Lady Beaufort in the forest?

Striding to the parlor door, he called out, “Hatchet, retrieve my gloves and coat this instant.”

It took but a moment until he was properly dressed and prepared to withstand the blistering cold wind. A frightening urgency to protect Grace crept into his bones, and he took off at a near trot. His long strides ate up the distance between the mansion and the spot where Grace stood alone staring into the woods. What the hell was going on? Had he imagined the other woman?

“Grace,” he said, addressing her while still at a distance. She turned toward him, and her lips dipped into a frown. Ignoring the slight pinch in his chest, he halted within a hair’s breadth before her. The desire to wrench her into his arms was maddening. “What in God’s name were you doing in the forest alone? It’s dangerous.” He succumbed to his fear and threaded his fingers through her hair before hauling her against his chest, not caring one whit if she felt the rapid beating of his heart. “Are you all right?”

“Devlin, what’re you—”

He lost his patience and tugged her hair down, forcing her face upward until he claimed her lips in a fierce kiss. Her mouth opened in surprise. If he had more honor, he’d have backed away and given her space, but he was not an honorable man. At that moment he was desperate to show her how much he cared for her. He drove his tongue inside her delectable mouth and melted in relief when she met his every stroke with fervor. She belonged to him.

He slowed their pace, cherished every slant of his mouth over hers and the way her lips gravitated toward his when he pulled back for a breath of air.

“Tell me you’re all right,” he said, cradling her face.

A single tear ran down her cheek and over his thumb. She lowered her face, burrowing into his hand. “How can I be all right when I’ve destroyed your life? You must hate the sight of me, and yet you kiss me. I don’t understand.”

“Hush.” He placed two fingers over her mouth. “You didn’t destroy my life. You saved it. Every time I faced the Butcher, I dreamed of you, and I found the will to survive. I’m a bloody idiot for laying those charges at your door. My first instinct is to go for the kill, say or do that which guarantees the result I seek.”

Devlin stepped back and shoved his hands through his hair, disgusted with himself yet wanting to find the right words to convey the feelings inside his breast. “I’m afraid the killer instinct has been honed in me over years. I wish to change my ways, but it will take time. And patience. I’m so sorry, Grace. Lord knows you deserve so much more than I can give. But the least I can do is to help you understand what drives me.”

She tilted her head and sighed. “Why can’t you let it go? The Butcher is long since dead.”

“Because his name was Bartholomew Limmerick, and he claimed me as his own—in every way known to man or beast.”

Despite her valiant efforts, Grace’s face contorted in a mask of horror, compelling him to look away. He rubbed his temples to ward off the sudden pounding in his head. His stomach clenched at the memory of that first night, when he’d learned his new identity.

“The Butcher gave me his surname. Stole my respect. Defiled me in ways that are branded on my soul. It’s not you I cannot bear the sight of. It’s me. Devlin Limmerick must die so I can reclaim my life as Dominick Sommerset, an honorable man, untouched, unsullied, and most of all—worthy. Can you see why I can't bear to live out my days as Devlin Limmerick, why my given name and title mean so much to me?”

“Yes, I can see.” She laced her fingers through his. “Josephine awaits you in the ballroom. Go reclaim your life.”

Devlin took the stairs two at a time and shrugged out of his coat. There was no need to brace himself for a blast of frigid air since Brother Anselm’s daily visits to bless the ballroom had been met with great success and they’d eradicated all of the lost souls. After tossing his jacket aside in the billiards room, Devlin loosened his cravat and stalked down the hallway. The dull thud of his boots against the marble floor would alert Josephine to his arrival.

When he entered the ballroom, he was struck again by the sheer beauty of the spectacular venue. Sunshine streamed through the glass dome, illuminating the room with a soft green glow. The servants had spent many hours cleaning in the past few days after the exorcism, and it showed. Everything was fresh and clean with a hint of lemon wafting in the air. It only wanted a coat of paint—perhaps a few tables for congregating around the perimeter—and a stage for the orchestra.

He surveyed the room, half expecting to find Josephine in the center with her tail coiled beneath her. But the space was empty. After taking a few more steps into the room, he paused and whirled around, certain he had heard a faint sound. Almost like a mop being slopped back and forth along the marble floor. A chill ran up his spine, despite the warm air, and he turned full circle again. But there was nothing. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, calming breath. What utter nonsense was this? He was known as the Devil! And rightfully so, having earned his nickname by killing the one pirate thought beyond anyone’s reach.

“Ssssso good of you to come, Devlin,” a husky voice whispered in his ear.

Gooseflesh raced over every inch of his skin, and he opened his eyes, determined not to fall victim to fear. A dark form hovered in his peripheral view, suspended and wavering, assessing him. He swallowed.

“Josephine,” he said, not moving a single muscle in his body. “I’ve waited a long time for this opportunity.”

“Yesssss, you’re a patient man.”

She slithered into view, the emerald torso and tail of her body sliding effortlessly along the smooth marble floor. He followed the tiny scales up, and his breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her breasts covered with black, wavy tendrils. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled to life, and he was thrown off-kilter when his gaze locked with a set of red, inscrutable eyes.

He clenched his jaw, working to control the anger simmering in his gut. Good God, no wonder Lady Beaufort had leered at Grace as if she wished to possess her. His instincts had been dead-on. What game was Josephine playing?

“Lady Beaufort,” he sneered. “What in the devil’s name is going on? You’ve played me for a fool. Is my title truly in jeopardy?”

Her husky laugh reverberated through the room, surrounding him from all directions and bringing his anger to a boil.

“It’s true,” she said, circling him once more, wrapping her body around his loosely until his legs were immobile. With her face but an inch from his neck, she paused, her forked tongue darting out to probe his skin. “Fear has a distinctive taste, and yet I don’t detect a drop of fear in you at the moment. Interesting.”

“Pardon the offense,” he said, gripping her by the neck. Her eyes bulged, and his lips curved up. “It’s difficult to feel afraid when I’m pissed off. Why the fuck did you seek an audience with me as Lady Beaufort, and why did you mask your voice?”

She squeezed his body until his knees buckled and he fell backward, his arse slamming onto the floor.

“Don’t piss me off,
my pet
,” she said, rearing back. “I don’t take kindly to insubordination.”

Devlin cringed and shook his head, shoving away the disgust that bubbled to the surface.
My pet.
She couldn’t know it was the Butcher’s favorite nickname. Or could she?

She uncoiled her body, and he stood, glaring at her. “Why not simply meet with me?”

“I needed to assess the situation first,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “See you together with Eveline. Determine how far you’ll go to get what you want. Because I know what I’m willing to do to get what
I
want. Eveline knows my voice too well, and I wished to shield her.”

Lord help him, Josephine knew Grace’s true identity. He had a gut of steel on the high seas, but his stomach turned with the knowledge, and it took significant effort not to retch. Steeling his heart, he folded his arms over his chest and attempted an air of indifference. If Josephine wanted to kill Grace, she could have already done so.

“I don’t follow,” he said. “How does Eveline fit into the picture?”

“Come now, Devlin. We both know why we’re here. You want me to kill your mother and toss her into the darkest pit for all eternity, ensuring she receives the vilest form of torture without end. And in return, I want something from you.”

He could not fathom what she expected in return. “What exactly do you want?”

“Hold a ball in one month’s time,” she said. Her eyes flared, the white streaks seeming to pop out against the deepening red hue. “Invite everyone near and far—including your mother. I’ll kill her and fulfill your wish. Don’t forget to invite Lady Madelaine Beaufort, of course.”

That still didn’t answer his question. “And what do you get out of this arrangement?”

“In return for my services, you shall proclaim Eveline to be insane in front of the entire assembly,” Josephine purred, tapping her forefinger to her lips. “And one more thing. You must seduce her and declare your love for her directly before the ball, and not a moment earlier.”

Devlin’s mind went blank. Seduce Grace and then renounce her publicly? It was preposterous—even if the entire village already believed her to be mad. To what end?

“You’re completely mental,” he said, staring at her blankly. Her request made no sense whatsoever. “That would destroy her!”

“Yesssss … ” Her lips curved in a maniacal grin. “It will.”

His heart leaped into his throat, and he turned, striding toward the exit. He could not do this. Could not make Grace the laughingstock of the village. Could not strip away her respectability for his gain. If he did this, he would be worse than the Butcher.

Dammit! He wanted to see his mother burn in Hell. Needed to reclaim his identity or face his own insanity. Of all the things that Josephine could request of him, why in God’s name must it be this? There must be something else he could do to gain her assistance.

He whirled around, fists clenched. “Don’t ask this of me! Anything else, and I will gladly comply. But not this.”

She held his gaze. “That is my price.”

Falling to his knees, he raked both hands through his hair. His gut burned with anger. His heart raged with fear. His head throbbed so violently it felt as if it might explode.

“She might forgive you, Devlin,” Josephine said, slithering closer. “You’re a betting man. You won Devil’s Cove Manor in a game of chance. It’s a small price to pay in exchange for your ultimate revenge after all those years you suffered. Either way, it turns out well; you’ll both live. I’ve even promised to save your soul from the depths of Hell when you die, though you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve Grace—and we both know it. You’re a man with blood staining his hands. How many lives have you taken?”

More than he cared to admit. Devlin Limmerick was not a good man; the worst vermin to ever walk the face of the earth had molded him. Josephine was right. He didn’t deserve Grace. Not as Devlin Limmerick.

“Why, Josephine?” he whispered. “Tell me why.”