“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.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
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.”
“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.
Chapter Twenty-Four
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.
Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) Page 21