Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls)

by R. C. Matthews

  You owe me this one small favor.

  She owed him so much more than he asked of her. Her gratitude. Her forgiveness. Her life. All of it she owed to him. What did it matter anymore if she arranged for a meeting with Josephine? Grace had nothing left worth living for. Her parents were dead. Devlin detested her. And she was a burden to Brother Anselm, had always been a burden.

  She stood, straightened her shoulders, and walked to the parlor door, ignoring the dead mass of muscle nestled in her chest cavity. For once she was grateful for her blindness, for she could not have borne the loathing that must exude from Devlin.

  “I’ll arrange a meeting for you with Josephine this afternoon and then stay out of your sight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Grace ambled up the staircase toward her bedroom, her mind swept away in a whirlwind of activity. Where would she begin her search for Josephine? Perhaps she should ask Emma to draw another bath. But no, Grace didn’t care to meet again under such circumstances where she felt exposed. Besides, she could ill afford to drag others into her plans. Josephine may cherish Grace so long as her soul remained intertwined with that of Josephine’s first love, but she couldn’t trust the creature to treat others with equal respect. Praying at the chapel wouldn’t do any good under the circumstances, and she couldn’t wait for her dreams, for they were not real.

  At the top of the stairs, she paused, halted by low murmurs drifting up from the foyer. Hatchet’s gruff voice reached her as the front door opened and a gust of wind swept into the mansion.

  “Good day, Lady Beaufort,” he said curtly. “Your carriage awaits.”

  The lady’s rose-scented perfume curled beneath Grace’s nostrils. She pressed the knuckle of her forefinger between her lips, stifling a sharp cry. Why hadn’t she noticed the familiar odor earlier? The fragrance was everywhere, assaulting her the first time she’d stepped into the mansion, lingering on her sheets the first time she’d dreamed of her lover, clinging to the moist air radiating off her bath during Josephine’s first visit.

  She must be going mad to draw a connection between Lady Beaufort and Josephine. Yet she couldn’t shake the odd sensation rippling across her skin. Something about the morning’s visit wasn’t quite right. Perhaps it was the way she’d felt compelled to answer Lady Beaufort’s never-ending questions before Devlin’s arrival. But it was impossible! Grace would have recognized her voice. Besides, Josephine was half-serpent and would have sent the staff running for their lives, screaming.

  Grace shook her head and stumbled toward her bedroom. She barged inside and retrieved her wool cloak. A walk by the lake would clear her mind and allow her to think through her predicament. With a little luck she would avoid Devlin on her way out the door. As far as she knew, he still lingered in the parlor. Taking the stairs as quickly as she dared, Grace rushed out the front door and onto the gravel pathway, turning left toward the lake.

  The crisp morning air seeped into the neckline of her cloak and inched its way down her spine, but she wouldn’t be deterred. The chill kept her alert. Her strides lengthened with her resolve to find Josephine and put the nasty task of negotiations behind her. The earthen scent of the forest wafted over her, bringing with it a sigh of relief. Of course, that was it! Josephine lived within the depths of the forest. Hadn’t she implied as much in the ballroom?

  I’ll be waiting for you at the edge of the forest, near Neptune.

  Grace paused, her heartbeat thumping an erratic beat. Did she dare to go into the forest without an escort? She must if she was to fulfill her promise to Devlin. Involving others in this affair was out of the question, and, in her heart, she knew Josephine would see her safely returned to the mansion.

  Before she could change her mind, Grace pushed forward and drew forth a mental image of the lake and the forest looming beyond. She had traversed the grounds countless times in her dreams. This would be no different. A sense of adventure filled her breast, and she strode with confidence along the path, instinctively curving around the edge of the lake until the odor of pine and damp leaves overpowered her senses.

  This was it, the point of no return. Her first steps into the forest were tentative, her hands outstretched to avoid planting her face into a tree.

  “Come to me, my love,” a sultry voice whispered on the wind. “Follow your heart.”

  Grace swallowed her cry of relief. Josephine was waiting for her, and in that moment, the world around her came into sharp focus. Sunshine flooded the forest floor, reflecting off the russet and gold hues of the leaves. The trees stood tall and proud, beckoning the forest dwellers to climb their heights and discover the treasures they offered.

  Conscious thought evaded her as Grace quickened her pace and began to run through the forest with sure strides. Her lungs filled with fresh air and burned with the exhilaration found only through invigorating exercise. Laughter bubbled out of her as she soared over fallen logs and crunched through piles of leaves.

  This was home; this was her destiny.

  The terrifying thought halted her in her tracks, and she bent over, heaving in great gulps of air. The longing to return to the forest and Josephine was intense, ingrained in every fiber of her being. Josephine’s soul mate was strong, and her will to reunite a powerful force that threatened to overtake Grace’s free will.

  Instead, she stood upright, clenching her hands into fists. She wouldn’t give in so easily to the temptation. Could not allow it. How had she found herself in the midst of this paradox? Though Grace no longer cared about her own fate, she cared about Devlin’s. He would get the meeting he demanded with Josephine.

  “Welcome home, Grace.”

  She whirled around, coming face to face with Josephine in human form.

  Her body came alive with a vibrant energy, sending tingles of pleasure radiating through her extremities. Josephine was magnificent, with lustrous black hair falling seductively over her shoulders and piercing red eyes that beckoned Grace closer. The woman possessed a wild air about her that was both thrilling and terrifying, as if nothing or no one could keep her from realizing her every desire. Grace stretched out her hand and wrapped a lock of Josephine’s hair around her forefinger.

  “Why do I feel as if I can truly see you?” Grace asked. The silky strands bent to her will, catching the rays of sunlight permeating the canopy of trees. The color was so dark, so pure, it gave off hints of midnight-blue tones. “This isn’t a vision, is it?”

  A serene smile spread over Josephine’s lips. “No, my love, it isn’t a vision. With me by your side, you shall have the world at your disposal. There is nothing I cannot give you. You need only ask.”

  Tears blurred Grace’s vision, turning Josephine hazy for a brief moment. It wasn’t a lie; she was seeing everything before her. Oh, to see the world again! An intense pressure weighed against her heart, and she whirled around, feasting on the breathtaking scenery. A chestnut-colored squirrel gathering nuts at the base of a nearby tree, a lone blue jay chirping from a nest high above the ground, and the pine trees interspersed with oaks, maples, and other rich foliage. She bent to grab a handful of dirt, crushing it in her hand and laughing as bits crumbled and slid through her fingers, back to the earth.

  She wanted to see Devlin, Maribeth … Brother Anselm. Through all the years in his care, she had never laid eyes on him in her visions. The muscles in her throat tightened, and she closed her eyes to the cruel reality of her situation. This wasn’t real; it would fade the moment she left the forest.

  “We must talk,” she said, shoring up all her strength to turn and face Josephine again. “You were right about Devlin’s motives. He wants to meet with you in person to negotiate the terms of your assistance. I beg you to grant his wish. Please. I owe him as much.”

  Josephine’s lip curled in an unsightly snarl. “You owe him nothing. His mother was bent on ruining him long before he saved your life. Don’t think I don’t know his past, or yours.”

  Grace stared at her, unable to fathom this n
ew revelation. What did she mean?

  “Do you think his mother could’ve orchestrated his demise within a week of your accident?” Josephine asked, her eyebrows arching high. “The Butcher would not race to shore at the beck and call of a mere woman. No, my love. The negotiations between his mother and the pirate had been completed long before Devlin beat Willie to a bloody pulp. But I’m willing to concede that the event likely spared his mother a sense of remorse.”

  Even if what Josephine claimed were true, it didn’t matter. Devlin had saved Grace’s life, and in doing so, he had earned this one boon.

  “I would still ask you to meet with him,” Grace said, her gaze unwavering. “As a favor to me.”

  Josephine rubbed her chin thoughtfully while she began to circle Grace. Her strides were long, her gait elegant. The folds of her full skirt rippled about her, reminding Grace of a picture she’d once seen of a band of gypsies. Confident. Alluring. Secretive. What was she thinking, feeling, contriving in that moment as she surveyed her from head to toe?

  “Even favors come at a price. What will you give me in exchange for meeting with the captain?”

  Gooseflesh pebbled along Grace’s arms. She was willing to give anything but to admit as much would be insane. Searching the memories of her dreams, Grace sought to identify a fair price. Josephine wouldn’t concede easily. But there was little she could propose that would interest her lover. Except …

  “One passionate kiss bestowed willingly, here and now,” Grace said, blurting the offer before she lost her nerve. Her traitorous heart pounded in rapt anticipation, and she glanced over her shoulder to catch Josephine’s eyes.

  Josephine stopped her perusal and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Accepted.”

  Closing her eyes, Grace concentrated on drawing in a fresh breath of air as the gatekeeper continued circling her, a hand trailing on her waist. How many times had the woman caressed her bare skin in her dreams? Josephine stepped closer; Grace felt the heat of her breath on her lips. A quiver of lust traveled through her, and she threaded her fingers through Josephine’s hair as their lips clashed in a rapturous kiss. The flames of desire coursed through Grace’s body, and she let go of her fear, let go of her worries, let go of herself, allowing Josephine’s soul mate free rein to revel in the brief reunion with her lover.

  Josephine devoured her mouth, tasting her lips and tongue with unabashed frenzy. Her ardor matched Devlin’s stroke for stroke, sending Grace spiraling out of control. She became overwhelmed with the need to breathe and pulled back, sucking in a gasp of air. Josephine’s eyes glowed molten red, the heat of her desire searing in its intensity.

  “Rosalie,” Josephine whispered, running her hands up and down Grace’s cloaked arms.

  Grace shook her head. Had she imagined the siren’s call? Rosalie … the name was so beautiful … so familiar. A wave of longing washed over her, and she tensed. Could it be her soul mate’s name?

  “What did you say?” she asked, searching for Josephine’s reaction.

  A flicker of despair flashed in her eyes, but Josephine recovered, and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Nothing, my sweet. I thank you for the kiss. It far exceeded my expectations. Tell me you cannot deny the attraction any longer.”

  To deny the animal magnetism between them would be a lie, nay, more than that, it would rip her heart out. Grace felt the last pieces of herself fading into the recesses of her mind and suppressed the urge to struggle.

  “No, I cannot deny it.”

  “Come along.” Josephine held out her hand. “We’ll walk back together, and you can inform Captain Limmerick that I await him in the ballroom. I always deliver on my promises.”

  Why must they meet in the ballroom, of all places? Grace froze midstride, shoving the mental picture of her father’s mangled body from her mind.

  “Please don’t hurt him,” she whispered. “He has suffered enough for one lifetime.”

  “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 h
er 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.