Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (27 page)

“Because Marcus Deveraux mutilated my soul mate,” she spat. “Rosalie was everything—my life, my breath, my destiny. And he destroyed her! For what?” She shot across the room, twirling in circles with her arms wide, rising to the tip of her tail. “For an underwater ballroom so magnificent it would herald envy from every duke and duchess in England. Beatrice Mitchell warned him! He knew, dammit, but he excavated the land anyway. Ripped my lair from the ground along with the love of my life, shredding my heart. Why do I ask this of you? Because I, too, will have my revenge. Let’s call it an eye for an eye, shall we? Marcus robbed me of the greatest love of my life. And now I shall rob his daughter of hers. It’s only fair.”

He understood the gut-wrenching need for revenge better than anyone, and yet he was honorable enough to exact it from those who played a direct hand in his misery. What sort of vile creature sought recompense from an innocent woman?

“Why must she pay for her father’s sins?” Devlin asked, rising to his feet. “You already killed him. A life for a life.”

Josephine snorted and dashed toward him, stopping within a cat’s whisker of his face. “What is life without love? I was promised an eternity with my soul mate. She was a gift from Satan himself. A life for a life is
not
enough. Do we have a deal or not?”

“We do not.” Devlin rubbed his neck, unaffected by the hissing rage spilling from Josephine’s lips. “I can’t wait one month, and you know it. My mother will strip me of my title within the week. It isn’t enough that she burns for her sins. I want my life restored.”

“Think, man.” She shoved her finger into his chest. “You have the power to stop her if you’d only use your brain. Or did the Butcher mangle that, too? You have the contract.”

A thin sheen of sweat gathered on his brow. Was there nothing secret or sacred that this creature didn’t know? He had never spoken to anyone of the evidence of his mother’s guilt. Not even Victor. It remained locked away in his bedchamber.

“The contract she signed with the Butcher to have me castrated?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yes, write to her. Threaten to expose her if your stepfather speaks with the prime minister.” Josephine bobbed and weaved in her excitement; it was obvious she had plotted her revenge for some time. “You have one month to plan the ball of a lifetime. Dominick Sommerset, 8th Marquess of Covington, has risen from the dead. Is that not cause for celebration? Invite your mother to the ball in exchange for the contract. She will come. You renounce Grace, I kill your mother, and the score will be settled on all accounts.”

It would work. His mother would never allow her contract with the Butcher to become public knowledge. He could plan a ball within a month. Grace might forgive him if he showered her with love and then explained his actions after the nightmare was over. She had been called insane countless times in her lifetime. Devlin rubbed his eyes, hating himself for even considering it.

“They’ll cart Grace off to Waverly Hills. I can’t allow that.”

“Not if you retract your statement,” Josephine said, gliding around him. “Your title will be restored. A marquess holds a great deal of power. You can protect her, even if you cannot have her.” She leaned in, her lips touching his earlobe. “Do it, Devlin. Grace wants you to reclaim your life.”

“If I do this,” he began, running his hand across his jaw, “what assurance do I have that you’ll not massacre the guests as you did before? I want my pound of flesh but not at the cost of a roomful of innocent people.”

“You have my word.” Josephine held out her hand. “Other than your mother, I promise not to harm or kill another soul. All I want is to witness Eveline’s humiliation at the hands of the love of her life. I’m betting you can make her love you, and it will rip her heart out when you proclaim her insane. Prove me wrong, if you dare.”

 He stared at her outstretched hand, beckoning him with a siren’s call. No one had to die, except his mother. His former life would be restored, and Devlin Limmerick would finally go down in flames, buried with his final ignoble deed. If he did this, he would be gambling with Grace’s heart and respect. If he did not, his soul would surely shrivel and die.

“Our bargain remains between us,” Josephine said. “Sealed with a handshake. If you divulge the particulars to
anyone
, our agreement will be null and void and you will earn my wrath.” She raised her brow. “Do we have a deal, Captain Limmerick?”

He clasped her hand and shook once. “We have a deal.”

Without another backward glance, he strode from the room and sought the one place he swore he’d never step foot in again. The chapel.

Kneeling in the second pew, Grace made the sign of the cross and bowed her head in prayer, seeking peace of mind. The moment Devlin had disappeared into the mansion, she’d wished to call him back and tell him the truth about everything. But that felt incredibly selfish. He had endured unspeakable torture and lived with a daily reminder of the man who’d caused him so much anguish. Devlin deserved to have his good name restored. To be free of his demons. So, instead of chasing after him and begging him to choose her, she’d come to the one place where she always found solace: the chapel. She would believe in the power of God to offer a solution to her plight.

When she’d finished her prayers, she knocked on the door to Brother Anselm’s living quarters. As his footsteps shuffled closer, Grace’s stomach growled, reminding her that she had not broken her fast.

“Grace,” he said, grasping her elbow. “Come in, come in. Have a seat by the fire while I bring tea with a little bread and jam. I was about to seek you in the manor to discuss an important matter.”

She enjoyed the warmth of the fire while Brother Anselm retrieved the pot of tea along with saucers and the promised sustenance. As Grace plied her bread with butter and jam, Brother Anselm prepared her tea. Another grumble emitted from her belly.

“My apologies, Brother. I missed the morning meal. Thank you for this treat.”

“It’s nothing at all, my child,” he said, taking his seat. “Please eat.”

They ate in pleasurable silence, except for the occasional slurping of tea. With her belly sated, Grace turned her attention to Brother Anselm.

“What did you wish to speak to me about, Brother?”

The dishes clattered as he cleared them from the table and carried them to the sink. “I’ve been reading extensively,” he said, “and I’m wondering if there is another alternative to waiting out Josephine’s black magic.”

Grace lifted her brow. She had wracked her brain and come up empty. “What sort of alternative?”

“Exorcism,” he offered, as if it were no more consequential than changing into nightclothes.

Gripping the handrails of her chair, Grace sought to ground her fluttering heart. Had she heard him right? Brother Anselm wished to perform an exorcism on her to banish Rosalie from her body. Despite the fact that she had executed countless exorcisms with him, the thought of casting Rosalie out of her own body terrified her. Could one even do that?

“Oh.” She licked her lips. “I’m not sure exorcism would be effective in my case. Rosalie isn’t a demon. As far as I know, she isn’t even an evil spirit.”

“Rosalie?” Brother Anselm asked.

Graced rubbed her arms, chasing away the chill that had taken over her. “I believe that is the name of Josephine’s soul mate.”

“A sweet name. Certainly not one I would ascribe to a demon. You have no outwardly signs of possession. Do you sense the presence of her soul at all?”

“For the most part, her soul resides peacefully within me, though I feel her strong longing for Josephine. What if our souls are intertwined through the black magic, as my mother suspects? I’m not certain that can be undone through exorcism. We’ve never encountered anything of this nature.”

Brother Anselm patted her hand. “I share your concern, but you mistake me, because I wish to explore a peaceful reconciliation of Rosalie’s spirit with God.”

Her jaw dropped, so great was her surprise at his suggestion.

“But … I don’t … How?” she asked. “I can’t communicate with her.”

“Have you tried?”

“Well, no,” she said, reaching for the cross on her necklace. She worried it between her fingers and swallowed. “Is it even possible?”

“Maybe. I don’t know for sure. But isn’t the essence of Rosalie’s soul essentially the same as her spirit? Instead of her spirit residing on another plane of existence within a home, or forest, or ship, it resides in you. Rosalie was human and died a human death. If the wives’ tales are to be believed, Satan handpicked Rosalie to be Josephine’s soul mate. It wasn’t Rosalie’s choice. God will grant her mercy if she seeks His loving grace, and then she’ll be free, as will you.”

Grace shot to her feet and paced before the hearth, her mind awhirl with this new possibility. Brother Anselm made it sound so easy. Rosalie may not have chosen her fate, but she had fallen in love with Josephine. Still, it wasn’t Rosalie’s choice to aid and abet evil forces in this world, so if given the choice, would Rosalie repent and choose Heaven over Hell?

“How do we start, Brother?” A smile curved her lips for the first time that morning. “I wish to at least try. But we haven’t anything belonging to Rosalie. Nothing from which I can tap into her spirit.”

“That’s my greatest concern as well. We’re entering new territory, my dear,” the monk said. “But it doesn’t mean we won’t succeed. Let’s begin tomorrow with prayer. Today I wish to consult several more books and formulate a plan.”

She harbored no illusions. Odds were not in her favor, but a spark of hope was far better than nothing at all. Still, Father Time raced against her, so she’d make the best of what precious minutes, hours, or days she had left.

• • •

Devlin opened the door to Grace’s bedroom and peeked inside, anxious to speak with her. The door creaked, startling Grace from her slumber. She raised herself up on one forearm.

“Emma, is that you?” she asked, her silhouette illuminated by the crackling fire.

“No, it’s Devlin.” He stepped inside the room and strode cautiously to her bedside.

She relaxed again, curling her hands under her cheek on the pillow. “How did you know you’d find me here?”

He settled his large frame on the cushioned chair beside her bed, unsure of his welcome. “I discovered Brother Anselm in the chapel. He told me you were resting.”

“The chapel, you say?” She sat up, and her eyebrows knitted at the top of her nose. “You knelt before God. Does that mean your negotiations with Josephine fell through, and you’ve chosen to repent, after all?”

She looked so earnest, and he hated to disappoint her, though this would not be the last time he did so.

“No,” he said, caressing her cheek. “I believed I would find you there, and I couldn’t wait another moment to be with you.”

Her lips twitched, and she shook her head. “Wishful thinking on my part, I suppose. You haven’t a remorseful bone in your body.”

“I’m afraid not.” He sat on the edge of the bed, encouraged by her playful banter. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. However, I did offer up a small prayer. For you.”

She squeezed his hand. “Am I so very bad that I need your prayers as well as mine?”

“Not at all,” Devlin replied, turning his hand face up and entwining his fingers with hers. “I prayed that you can forgive a beast like me and give me another chance.”

“
That
is a prayer for your own benefit, not mine. You
have
turned a new leaf.” She scooted over on the bed and patted the empty space. “I’ll consider forgiving you if you wrap your arms around me and hold me close for a long while. As you can see, I have a most handsome fire. Combined with your embrace, I can only conclude I shall soon be in Heaven.”

Her voice faltered, but she offered a tremulous smile. He narrowed his gaze on the empty spot beside her, wary of her thinly veiled attempt at seduction, for he had no doubt that’s what it was. His stomach clenched. Why was she inviting him into her bed? She was chaste and strong of faith. Admittedly, he’d lain there before, but only to soothe her frazzled nerves on the night of her arrival, and again after she’d nearly died in the ballroom. Both had been extreme circumstances.

“Why would you have me hold you?” He was charged with seducing
her
, and yet she’d turned the tables on him. It made no sense; he must know the reason. “Tell me why, Grace.”

“Must I have a reason?” Her chin turned at a defiant angle. “It’s been a trying day. Is it so wrong of me to want to feel safe for a short while, to seek comfort?”

He wasn’t convinced she spoke the truth, but arguing over the point seemed futile when it furthered his agenda. The thought soured in his gut. He wanted Grace with a fierce passion, but not under this guise of deceit.

As soon as he stretched out on the bed, she snuggled up next to him with her cheek pressed to his chest and her womanly curves molding against his body. His manhood stirred to life, and he shifted, conscious of her proximity to his aroused state. He didn’t wish to terrify her when all she sought was comfort.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, draping his arm around her back.

“Quite, thank you.”

She grabbed his hand and homed in on the missing digit, smoothing her fingers over it rhythmically. How she managed to explore his scars without recoiling still baffled him. But even more than that, he struggled to comprehend why all thoughts of the Butcher fled his mind when she did so. Her touch was feather light, and he craved the feel of her fingers on his bare chest, around his biceps, and down his back to his buttocks.

She sighed contentedly. “Have you concluded your negotiations with Josephine? I trust she has agreed to help you.”

Her question yanked him out of his fantasy. He settled his chin on her head and grinned. She really was innocent, and so wholly unaffected by his nearness. He didn’t care to speak of Josephine at the moment, but it was inevitable.

“Yes, she agreed,” he said, the words sharper than he’d intended.

“Is something amiss?” Grace asked.