Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls)

by R. C. Matthews

  “She isn’t safe here,” Victor said, glaring at Devlin after absorbing everything he’d divulged. “You have to tell her the truth about why she’s here and let her decide her path.”

  Devlin strode to the window, turning his back on his lifelong friend. He couldn’t bear to look at Victor with that expression of disappointment written so eloquently on his face.

  “She isn’t safe anywhere,” Devlin shot back. “Or have you forgotten that Willie Jackson eagerly awaits her return to the village? I’ll tell her as soon as she has cleared the mansion of spirits.”

  “Since when are you such a coward?” Victor asked, hopping off the couch and striding to his side. “After she entrusted you with her secrets, you should tell her now. I’ve seen the way you look at her, man. Don’t ruin it.”

  “Enough!” Devlin bellowed, turning a steely gaze on his first mate. “I’ll tell her when the time is right, and that time is not now. If thrashing Charles Mitchell turns your stomach, tell me, and I’ll do it myself. I have no qualms over my decision.”

  He was not a bloody coward. Victor knew damn well Grace would balk at the true reason he’d hired her, and she’d likely storm out of the mansion. And then where would she be? In a mental institution. She was beginning to trust him, even develop feelings for him. That morning, in a battle of wills with Brother Anselm over the ballroom, Grace had sided with him, not her mentor. It was an encouraging sign. He needed more time alone with her. Soon he would have her exactly where he needed her, and she would not fail him. Of that he was certain.

  Besides, hadn’t he kept her safe thus far? Nobody would touch her while under his care.

  Victor scrubbed his hands over his face. “Very well, we’ll do it. But know this, you’re a bloody fool. You have a chance at something greater than vengeance, and you’re throwing it away. She’ll not forgive you for entrapping her. Someday you’ll regret it, and that black heart of yours will shrivel and die.”

  Hatchet nodded in agreement, and the study door slammed shut. Devlin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Victor was right. He could make Grace love him if he concealed the beast within, the part of his black soul that would stop at nothing to see his mother dead. But how could he live with himself if he hid the truth of who he was from her? How was that fair?

  No, he would eventually tell her the full truth. She deserved nothing less. Perhaps he was a coward, after all, because he dreaded the moment of reckoning.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her body was on fire again, the flames fanned by the moist lips of her lover. She writhed and dug her hands into his thick mane of hair, pushing his head lower, and lower still, reveling in the heat of his wet tongue on her belly. She throbbed with need, wanting to return to that place where the world exploded in a stunning array of colors and all she felt was the tingling relief of surrender. What they shared was beautiful. Magical. Beyond anything she’d ever dreamed existed. This was love. Pure and primitive. Her heart swelled to near bursting as the hot breath of her lover’s mouth clasped over that secret place between her thighs, and a low, guttural moan swept through her.

  “Wake up!”

  A violent storm wracked Grace’s body, and she heaved a breath through her lungs, fighting desperately to hold on to the images in her mind. She didn’t want to leave him, wanted to stay wrapped in the cocoon of his love, feeling cherished.

  “Grace, wake up!”

  Frantic wailing penetrated her foggy brain as hands dug into her shoulders. She slapped the hands away as the voice registered in her mind. “I’m awake, Emma. Please, stop shaking me. I’m awake.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Emma cried.

  The rocking stopped, and Grace focused on the heavy breathing of her companion as she ran a hand through the tangled mess of her hair. She’d been thrashing in her bed again last night.

  “You were groaning so loudly I thought you were going to die in your sleep.” Emma wiped a cool cloth over Grace’s face, and she sighed. “Do you always suffer from nightmares, Grace?”

  A strangled laugh ripped out of her throat, and she sat up. Nightmares? Heaven help her, if these were nightmares then she hoped to suffer them all the nights of her life. Her dreams were becoming more vivid, more real, more … everything.

  “I’m sorry if I alarmed you,” Grace said, tossing her legs over the edge of the bed. “You needn’t fuss over me. I’m fine; I promise.”

  Emma placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve prepared a nice bath for you. The captain thought it might soothe your aching muscles. Perhaps the hot water will bring some of the color back into your cheeks. You’re still awfully pale. Let me help you in the tub, and then I’ll return in a while with your breakfast. How does that sound?”

  Grace stood, and this time the groan that erupted from her was a result of the pain coursing through her. Every muscle in her body burned from the simple movement, as if she had exercised for hours on end the day before.

  “That would be lovely,” she said, allowing Emma to pull her nightgown over her head and lead her to the bathtub.

  Grace slipped her toe into the water and sighed, then followed with her entire body. The moment she settled against the back, a waft of lavender filled her nostrils. A bar of soap was thrust into her left hand and a cloth into her right.

  “You can wash at your leisure,” Emma said, the sound of her feet bustling around the room. “And I’ll bring rosemary tea to rinse out your hair.”

  The door snapped shut, and Grace relaxed her shoulders, letting the hot water seep into her sore muscles. Every minute or so, she stretched out her legs and enjoyed the waves of hot water rippling over her skin. When the ache in her muscles subsided, she rubbed the bar of soap into the washcloth and ran it along the length of her arm.

  The doorknob rattled, startling Grace. “Back so soon, Emma? I haven’t even washed yet.”

  “Would you care for help?” a woman asked, her voice close and oddly familiar.

  Grace pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Excuse me, but who are you?” The undeniable scent of rosewater permeated the air, reminding her of the first morning, when she’d sniffed the warm sheets. And against her will, the smell aroused evocative feelings in her that were better left to her dreams. Shame flooded her chest, and she buried her face against her shoulder. “Please ask Emma to return.”

  A light scraping sounded against the wooden floor, back and forth, back and forth. She recognized it immediately, and chills raced up her spine, despite the warmth of the water surrounding her. She clasped her hands even tighter about her legs, drawing into herself.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the woman said, her words a soft hiss. “My name is Josephine. I won’t hurt you, my sweet.”

  Grace’s stomach lurched as she fought to control the trembling spreading through her limbs. Good Lord, she was going to die. She wanted to scream, but she found herself incapable, held in a trancelike state of ineptitude.

  Josephine brushed the damp tendrils of hair away from her neck, and she could feel the woman’s hot breath. A warm tongue glided along Grace’s neck, sending ripples of pleasure through her. She recoiled and covered her neck with her hands. That was no ordinary tongue. It was long and thin, and it made her want to scream. She was finally losing her mind.

  “You’re far too precious to me,” Josephine cooed while dipping her hand into the water and retrieving the soap and cloth abandoned at the bottom of the tub. She laved soap into the cloth and rubbed it over Grace’s back. “I know you can sense the truth in my words.”

  Grace turned her head away from the gatekeeper to Hell, wanting to deny everything she said. Everything she felt. But Josephine’s words rang true. It wasn’t fear trembling through her body. No, it was something far more powerful and scary. It was raw desire. How could she be attracted to this demon? A strangled burst of fear gurgled in her throat.

  “Shhh … ” Josephine lifted her face by the chin and placed a chaste kiss
on her cheek. “Don’t fight it, the way you feel. Embrace it, and I promise the world will be yours to claim. You possess a tantalizing darkness in your soul, and it draws me to you. Do you feel the attraction?”

  Josephine pushed her against the back of the bathtub, and Grace was powerless to stop her. She floated back and relaxed her legs. The soapy cloth roamed languidly over Grace’s breasts, and she quivered with a need so strong it was almost painful. Disgust washed over her. She was a child of God, and Josephine a wretched demon. Why could she not move, not react? She wanted to push Josephine away, jump out of the bathtub, and cover herself and the shame that filled her to the core.

  Her tormenter chuckled and dipped the cloth lower, rubbing in slow, circular motions over the most private part between her thighs. She swallowed back a gruff moan and then shattered into a thousand pieces, the orgasm as potent and elongated as every single one from her dreams. Tears streamed over her cheeks, and she hated herself for giving in to the rapturous passion thrumming through her—for succumbing to the wiles of Satan’s demon against her will. What kind of depraved monster had she become? All these years she had fought against the accusations thrust her way, only now to find they were true. She was evil to the core.

  “Don’t cry, my love,” Josephine said, brushing away her tears. “Come to me, be with me.”

  Anger raged in her gut, and Grace found the strength to push through the formidable hold Josephine had on her. She would fight against the darkness longing to overcome her. “No! I’ll never go with you.”

  “You belong to me.” Josephine held Grace’s hands in her steely grip and rubbed them over her bare breasts, taut with desire, and then snaked them down to her scaly torso.

  Appalled, Grace jumped to her feet and fell backward, out of the tub and onto the wooden floor with a crash. Her heart raced and clawed at her rib cage. “What are you? You’re not a human. You’re a … a … ”

  And then as quickly as the fear had overtaken her, it subsided. She was floating on a bed of clouds. Comfortable. Secure. Unafraid.

  “I’m your soul mate,” Josephine said, running her hand along Grace’s jawline. “You call passionately to me as you dream, and I cannot resist. Just as Devlin knew I could not, for he too senses the darkness in your soul. You feel it, too.”

  Grace shook her head frantically. “It can’t be true. I’m attracted to another.”

  “You love me,” Josephine hissed.

  Grace refused to listen, refused to accept the longing she felt to draw Josephine close to her, to kiss her. She caught a flash of black, lustrous hair and red eyes from her dreams, buried deep in the recesses of her mind. Clutching her temples, she shook her head to rid herself of the memory, but it crashed into her with the force of a tidal wave. Had Josephine invaded her dreams every night? No, she was drawn to another, a man as dark and formidable and beautiful.

  “No,” she whispered. “I want Devlin.”

  Josephine laughed, a sound so rich and husky it resonated within Grace, filling her with a sense of longing, as if she’d heard the beautiful laughter many times in her life and wished it repeated a thousandfold.

  “Devlin does not deserve your regard,” Josephine said, her voice rising with anger. “He doesn’t care about you. You’re nothing but a pawn in a dangerous game he plays.”

  A chill coursed through her, and a second later, Grace was wrapped in the warmth of a large towel, held captive by Josephine’s embrace. She stilled and listened to her own harsh breathing. “You’re wrong. Devlin cares; I know he does.”

  Josephine kissed her neck and sighed. “Then why hasn’t he told you why you’re here?”

  Doubt crept into Grace, and she cringed. She was being baited, yet she could not stop herself from asking the question burning a path to her tongue. “Why am I here?”

  “To negotiate with me.” Josephine loosened her hold and rubbed the towel over Grace’s arms and back. “Devlin would see his mother burn in Hell for eternity. And he’ll go to any length to achieve his goal. He needs you to get to me.”

  Devlin would kill his own mother? No, that couldn’t be true. Grace tossed the accusation aside. She was here to rid the mansion of spirits so the staff could live peacefully. Josephine was evil and twisted and wanted her own revenge.

  “If I’m anyone’s pawn, it’s yours,” Grace said, yanking herself free from the towel and stepping back a pace. “I don’t believe you!”

  “Oh, but you will, my sssssssweet,” Josephine hissed. Her body coiled around Grace in a soft embrace, the scales cold and smooth on her skin. “Go to him now, and see what he has to say. I’ll be waiting for you. Today. Tomorrow. Always.”

  The moment Josephine released her, she ran to the bellpull and tugged with all her strength. Then the door shut, and she was alone again. She paced the floor, her head clearing more and more with every step, her body overcome with trembles as the reality of what had happened settled in.

  Why had Josephine not killed her?

  Emma entered the room and clucked her tongue. “What are you doing out of the bath, Grace?” She wrapped a cotton robe about Grace’s shoulders. “You’ll catch a cold walking about naked. What has gotten into you? And your hair—you haven’t washed your hair. Come with me.”

  Emma guided her back to the bathtub and bade her to lean over the edge as she poured water over her scalp and then massaged soap into the long tresses. Grace allowed her mind to wander, deciding on the best course of action. Did she dare confront Devlin and accuse him of such treachery? He was a proud man and would not tolerate her questioning his honor. Perhaps it was all part of Josephine’s plan … Feed Grace with false information and lure her away from the mansion, where should would torture her.

  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 furro
wing.

  “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.

  Chapter Fifteen

  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.