Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (16 page)

But what if it is true?

Rosemary tea sluiced over her head, and she relaxed under Emma’s care, turning her head in each direction until the soap was rinsed out. Then she sat by the fire as Emma toweled it to a semidry state before beginning to meticulously brush it. It would take more than an hour to dry.

She couldn’t wait that long. Couldn’t wait another moment. Reaching for the brush, she stayed Emma’s hand and stood. “I need to dress and find Devlin. There is a pressing matter I must discuss with him.”

“Are you well?”

“Yes, very well,” Grace said, heading in the direction of the armoire. “Please help me dress quickly, Emma.”

Her friend did not question her further, bless her soul, but rather assisted her into her undergarments and then tugged a gown over her head, fastening the buttons with efficient fingers. At her bidding, Emma coiled Grace’s hair at the nape and secured it with several pins.

Smoothing her hands over her skirt, she heaved in a breath. Her nerves were in a tangled mess. She was insane to believe Devlin would conspire to murder his mother. He would laugh in her face and send her off to the mental institution, and rightly so. What was she thinking?

“Take me to him, Emma,” Grace said.

“But he’s still in his private quarters.”

“I don’t care!”

“What’s gotten into you?” Emma asked, grasping her upper arms firmly. “Tell me now, or I’ll summon Brother Anselm to drag it out of you.”

Grace’s shoulders slumped, and she embraced her friend. She shouldn’t see Devlin in this agitated state. “My apologies, Emma. I promise to speak with Brother Anselm after breakfast, but I must speak with Devlin first. I beg you to take me to him.”

She held her breath and waited.

Emma sighed. “Very well.”

They entered the hallway and turned right, leading them farther from the staircase. Grace counted the steps as they walked. She wouldn’t accuse him outright but rather probe gently. Yes, that was the best course to take. He hadn’t questioned her sanity to date, and he would not start now. She would tell him of Josephine’s visit and laugh at the absurdity of her claims. When they reached sixteen steps, Emma paused.

“What is it?” Grace asked, her brow furrowing.

“We’re here.”

That couldn’t be, could it? Devlin resided in the master suite. She nibbled on her bottom lip, suddenly recalling how quickly he’d stormed into her room the first night after she’d screamed. Had he come through her main doorway? She couldn’t recall, the drama of the events having rattled her so thoroughly.

“Emma, is there an adjoining door in my bedroom?”

The lingering silence was enough to answer her question. But why had Devlin placed her in the bedroom intended for the mistress of the house? Perhaps for her protection?

“Never mind,” Grace said, patting her friend’s arm. “It doesn’t matter. Off with you now. I’ll handle it from here. Tell Abigail she can expect me down for breakfast. I won’t be long.”

Gathering her courage, she tapped her knuckles against the door. The door swung open almost as soon as her hands returned to her sides.

“Miss Grace,” Victor said, his high-pitched tone announcing his shock. “What can I do for you?”

Grace tilted her head, “I’m sorry, I thought this was the captain’s quarters.”

“It is.” Victor cleared his throat. “I’m his valet while on shore.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips. This wasn’t part of her plan. Still, she wouldn’t be deterred. “Well … That is … I must have a word with the captain at once.”

And nothing would bar her from completing the dreadful task that lay ahead of her, least of all Devlin’s valet.

Victor lowered his voice. “Now isn’t—”

“Let her come in,” Devlin said, a tinge of humor lacing his words. “You heard the lady, she needs to speak with me at once. You can take your leave now, Victor.”

Victor grunted, and Grace squared her shoulders, brushing past him. She charged into the room knowing that the longer she waited to get this over with, the worse it would be. The door shut behind her, and she stopped, suddenly aware of the fact she had no idea what lay before her and she must look quite foolish.

A splash of water sounded nearby, and she stood stock-still, assessing her surroundings. Sandalwood hung heavy in the air, tickling her nose and playing havoc on her trembling belly. Goodness, had she caught him in the middle of a bath? Victor should’ve been more adamant in his warning. Was Devlin standing naked before her, staring at her gaping mouth? Memories of her body’s wicked response to her lover’s touch assailed her, and a thin sheen of sweat broke out over her forehead. Always it was Devlin she imagined in her dreams, and though she never saw his face, in her heart it was he. She swallowed past the painful lump forming in her throat.

“Excuse me,” she said, turning to retrace her steps. Heat flamed in her cheeks. “I didn’t realize—”

Devlin captured her shoulders and tugged her back against his solid frame. “Don’t go.”

Warmth radiated from his body and wrapped around her like steam rising from a hot spring. The robe he wore must be thin for her to feel his body heat. A torturous ache pooled in her nether region. It took a great deal of strength to suppress the moan of pleasure simmering inside her. His lips nuzzled her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“Where is that courage you display so often when in the company of spirits?” he whispered.

Where, indeed?

He kissed the crook of her neck and inhaled. “You’re fresh from your bath as well. I hope it eased your sore muscles.”

She melted against him, overcome with a need to feel him, to drown out the memory of Josephine and prove her body craved only one touch. Devlin’s. Her mind and body were one with him. “Yes, it relieved the ache, thank you.”

His hands skimmed down her arms to rest on the swell of her hips, and her body quaked. How quickly she fell under his spell. This would not do. She needed to speak with him about Josephine.

“I’m glad you enjoyed your bath,” he said, his voice low and sultry.

“Not entirely.” She flinched and seized the opportunity. “I had an unwelcomed visitor.”

His entire body went rigid. “What do you mean? None of my staff would dare enter your bedroom uninvited.”

“It wasn’t one of your staff,” she said, twirling in his embrace. “Josephine called on me this morning.”

Her cheeks flushed red-hot, and she leaned her forehead against his chest, praying he wouldn’t push too hard for details. She could not share
all
of the particulars with him, lest she combust in a blaze of shame.

He pulled her hard to him and smiled against her hair. “You jest.”

Oh, how she wished that were true, that the whole morning had been but a sick figment of her imagination, a joke. “I’m serious, Devlin.”

The strong beating of his heart accelerated, and he held her an arm’s length away. She noted an almost imperceptible trembling in his hands. “Thank God, you’re still alive.”

Of all the things she had expected him to say, that wasn’t it. He didn’t cry out in triumph or demand to be taken to Josephine immediately. No, far from it. He worried for her safety, he cared. A tear slipped over her cheek, and she wiped it away. What a fool she was to have ever doubted him, to fall for Josephine’s treachery.

“Grace—” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, cooing in her ear. “Why are you crying? Did she frighten you? Harm you?”

“No.” She pressed her sleeve over her eyes. “Yes.” She nodded, then shook her head. “I m-m-mean no, she d-d-didn’t hurt me, but yes, I’m frightened.”

“You didn’t seem frightened when you arrived in my bedroom demanding to speak with me. Come, let’s sit, and you can tell me what happened.”

He pulled her by the hand a short distance before pushing her down onto a settee. The weight of his body settled next to hers, and his arm came to rest behind her shoulders.

“Start at the beginning,” he said.

She started with Emma leaving her bedroom to fetch rosemary tea for rinsing her hair. Best to skip over her dreams. “I was preparing to ba—”

Oh, dear. She couldn’t tell him
that
. What would he think if she provided a detailed recounting of her bath? A smile twitched on her lips. She would very much like to hear a recounting of Devlin lounging in a steamy tub and rubbing a soapy cloth over his well-muscled form, but she couldn’t reciprocate.

“I was waiting for Emma to return when the door opened, and a woman offered her assistance. When I begged her to leave, she introduced herself.”

Devlin grasped her forearm. “What did she want?”

Grace licked her lips, but her tongue felt pasty and dry. It would be best if she divulged the truth, but with the moment at hand, she found she couldn’t confess all of it. “She came to negotiate.”

“Pardon me?”

Her lip quivered, and she blew out a breath. She hated laying Josephine’s charges at his feet, but there was no help for it. This was his home, and he needed to know what dangers lay within the walls.

“She claims to be drawn to the darkness in my soul.” Pressing her lips into a thin line, she steeled herself before revealing the final element. “Just as you are. And that you knew she would be unable to resist me. A-a-and that’s why you h-h-hired me. To draw her out.”

“Extraordinary,” he whispered. “Did she say why?”

Extraordinary?
He’d spoken with awe lingering on each syllable. There was nothing extraordinary about it; terrifying, nauseating, and insane, yes, those words came to mind. But never extraordinary. He ought to be outraged, or shocked at the very least. Shouldn’t he?

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she searched her mind for Josephine’s exact words. “Mind you, I don’t believe a word of it, but she said I’m a pawn in a dangerous game you play. That you would see your mother burn in Hell for eternity, and you’ll go to any length to achieve your goal. You need me to negotiate with Josephine.”

Dead silence greeted her. He didn’t say a single word, didn’t catch his breath, or touch her in any way. The silence built a mounting wall between them, every second lending more and more credence to Josephine’s claims. Why didn’t he say something? Anything. She worried at her bottom lip, and an ache burned in her gut, fanning out to her chest and throat.

Oh, God. It is true.

She drew in a ragged breath and stood, pacing before him, the sound of her slippers shuffling against the wood floor. Devlin wanted to negotiate with the gatekeeper to Hell, not to send a villainous heathen into the eternal flames of Hades but his mother. How had she misjudged his character so horribly? There was nothing she wouldn’t give to have her own mother back in her life, nothing she wouldn’t forgive with time.

She rounded on him and scrunched her hands into tight fists, fighting the urge to shout. “You cannot mean to send your mother to Hell. Say it isn’t so!”

“Grace, you don’t understand.” His voice carried a hard edge, unyielding in its intensity.

“There’s nothing to understand!” she bellowed. “She is your
mother,
for goodness sake; the woman who loved you from birth, mended your scraped knees, and read bedtime stories to you each night. What kind of monster have you become that you would consider this course of action? It’s immoral!”

“Do not dare to judge me, madam!” Her arms were wrenched from her sides, and he shook her once. “You glare at me with those sightless eyes and roam about my mansion speaking to spirits like a nutter, and you nearly fainted dead at my feet. My staff is almost as terrified of you as they are of the resident ghosts, and yet, in all this time, I have
never once
judged you. I saved your life when the townsfolk would have hauled you away and locked you in a mental institution for God only knows how long. And this is how you thank me?”

He shoved her away, panting. The weight of his accusation bore down on her, pressing the air from her lungs, because he was right. Never once had he made her feel inferior or foolish. He was kind and generous. Nothing made sense anymore. She could not fathom how a man who saved little girls from wicked men and championed the village medium also wished to see his mother tortured for an eternity.

“Please, Devlin,” she said, stepping toward the sound of his harsh breathing. She bumped into his hard chest and righted herself, then groped for his tense hands. Taking one, she pressed it to her cheek. “You’re right to be angry. I shouldn’t judge, but whatever it is your mother has done to displease you, you must find it in your heart to forgive her. Revenge will not give you peace in the end. You’ll perish in Hell yourself if you do this. You must know that!”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

His leaden voice cut deep into her chest, piercing her heart.
He’ll go to any length to achieve his goal.
The truth of those words frightened her more than anything else, because despite the goodness she’d seen within him, he harbored a depraved side as well. Good and evil could not coexist indefinitely; it would eventually rip his heart to shreds. She wouldn’t allow him to wallow in immorality and damn his soul, not without a fight.

Cradling his face, she took a steadying breath and kissed him, long and tender, her mouth melting on his. His lips remained taut and unaffected.

 “You’re important to me,” she said, holding him close. “Important to Maribeth. Victor. Hatchet. We all care—”

“Cease!” He stiffened in her embrace and then stalked away. “You will not move me with your tender words. Do you hear me? I’m far beyond redemption, you silly chit. Have you any idea the things I’ve done in my lifetime, the number of men I’ve killed? You’d quake in your boots if you only knew. Josephine exists!” His voice was exultant, vibrating with triumph. “Everything is coming together, and I’ll not waste this opportunity. Not for you. Not for anyone! I’m paying you 100 pounds to do my bidding, so you call to her, however you need to accomplish it, and you negotiate for me.”

A cry of anguish ripped through her. “I don’t care what you’ve done in the past; I’m sure you had good reasons. You’re a good man. I’ve seen it. Your staff respects you. Maribeth loves you. Confess your sins to Brother Anselm. Forgive your mother. Repent.”