The Devil is French: A Whipping Society Novel

by Delilah Marvelle

  Dunning, who fingered his wooden racket, eyed the razored lettering. “That there is true devotion, sir. I have never seen a man do that to himself.”

  He liked this boy. He offered his mind freely. Few did.

  Ridley tapped at the lettering with the leather ball. “Women don’t always appreciate the length men go through in their name. Not even spelling it out to them is enough.”

  “She didn’t like it?”

  “She accused me of being a loon.”

  Dunning turned the racket but said nothing.

  Ridley pointed at the boy’s head. “You are thinking it, too. Aren’t you?”

  Shaking his head violently, Dunning blurted, “I would….no. I would never, sir.”

  Veering in and towering over the boy, he bit out, “You fold your hands at cards too quickly. Don’t ever let me or others intimidate you or…guess what?” Ridley shoved him hard, sending the boy stumbling backward. “You lose. Every. Fucking. Time.”

  Dunning stiffened, his fingers and knuckles whitening against the racket he held.

  Ridley veered in again close. “Are you going to stand there? You have a weapon. It’s called a racket and it’s in your hand. Make use of your environment.” He thudded that shoulder. “Do you have a sister?”

  Dunning stumbled and eyed him. “Four.”

  “Any brothers?”

  “No.”

  “Any male cousins?”

  “Only female ones.”

  “Who are you closest to? Your father or your mother?”

  He hesitated. “My mother.”

  Ridley sighed. “That explains everything.” He thudded his shoulder again. “Learn to be soft when it matters most, but never always. Always isn’t going to protect you. Who cares if you offend the world? The world doesn’t care if it offends you.” Ridley shoved him. “Swing at me.”

  Dunning’s features wavered.

  “I’m the tennis ball, Dunning. Swing. Let that racket fly and hit me. You have permission.”

  The youth hesitated then whipped back his arm and swung.

  Catching his arm hard, Ridley effortlessly held it in place. “Try again. Use the racket despite me holding it. Use it.”

  Dunning gritted his teeth and wrestled against him, trying to move the racket. “I…I’m trying to— You won’t let me!” He flopped his arm. “I’m not good at this.”

  Keeping that arm and racket between them, Ridley held his gaze. “You give up too easily. Just because you’re weaker, Dunning, doesn’t mean you can’t outsmart me. We only have these next few hours and it isn’t much time to give you much of anything, but it’s enough to get you started. After we finish, I’m leaving you to continue with one-on-one special training I arranged with Brigadier Brinkworth. He will ensure you push through the ranks within a few months.”

  Dunning’s lips parted. “Brigadier Brinkworth is a legend.”

  “Damn right. I’m hiring him to train you and in return, you can peer in on Jemdanee for me. Keep her out of trouble. I already have things in place for her, but an extra skull is always nice. Will you do that for me?”

  Searching his face, Dunning hesitated. “Is she not leaving with you?”

  Ridley released his arm. “If she does, she could end up dead. An ax straight through her. And if you think I’m exaggerating, I can show you some facsimiles of what could happen to her.”

  Dunning eyed him. “You don’t have to say anything more, sir. I’ll look after her as best I can.”

  He knew he liked this boy. “Your contract was reduced to a year by the Field Marshal.”

  Dunning choked. “He…reduced it for me?”

  “You have four sisters and a mother. You have other wars to fight.” Turning, Ridley muscled the leather ball against the wall, thudding it. “Go up against that wall.”

  “Yes, sir!” Dunning jogged over to the wall and faced him.

  Ridley pointed. “That wall behind you is your future. It will always be there even once you leave this tennis court. That wall is the woman you love. That wall is everything you ever believed in. What are you going to do to protect it knowing I plan to destroy it?”

  Glancing toward it, Dunning whirled the racket and squinted. “Pummel anything that comes near it.”

  “Bravo.” Ridley picked up another leather ball and whipped it.

  Dunning roared and swung at the ball with the racket, missing the leather ball.

  It thudded the wall behind him.

  Dunning eyed it. “Does this mean I have no future?”

  Ridley tsked. “Wait until Brinkworth is done with you. That wall behind you will become a reality and you will learn to protect that reality without a racket.” He pointed. “Again.”

  Dunning whirled the racket.

  Picking up another ball, Ridley gritted his teeth at the thought of Jemdanee and whipped it so hard, the leather seam popped when it hit the wall.

  Dunning eyed him. “Am I going to live through this?”

  “Barely.” He tossed up another ball. “Again.”

  Chapter 13

  8:37 p.m. - Spence’s Hotel

  The coach was waiting.

  Her trunks and a massive medicinal chest was already strapped within that coach.

  Perusing the room one last time, Jemdanee paused.

  Something gleamed against the light of the diya. Drifting toward it, she dragged aside the green netting of the four poster bed and peered at a necklace set with a dark green stone speckled with red. It had been set on her pillow, announcing Ridley had visited the room in the past hour without her knowing.

  She could smell his cologne.

  She gathered the weight of the necklace, her lips parting.

  It was unusual in its gleam and red inclusions.

  She’d never seen anything like it.

  Slowly, she pulled it over her head and set it around her throat, its weight reminding her of the association she would always share with him. Heavy. Weighing. Refusing to let her breathe. Much like the black diamond ring that weighed her finger.

  She clung to the pendant, kissing it hard.

  It was time to step off the cliff and forget there was a bottom.

  Her man needed her.

  Peering into the mirror one last time, she smoothed her moonstone sari against her curves, and eased out a shaky breath, deciding to keep her hair in a braid.

  It was a rope.

  Steadying her mind, she quietly left Spence’s and crossed the dirt road past the gates to enter the grounds of the Government House where she once again used the key in a nearby pot to access the kitchens.

  She entered the back servant corridors, veering into the massive kitchens.

  She decided to bring a peace offering in the guise of food.

  With a stack of mangoes she peeled and sliced by the light of a single candle in the silence of the kitchen, she sucked the stickiness from her fingers and then carried the bowl of peeled and sliced mangoes outside into the darkness of the warm night.

  Trying to even her breathing, she made her way through the torch-lit grounds shrouded by night.

  In the far distance, toward the Banyan tree grove just past her greenhouse whose glass gleamed from surrounding torches, she spotted the old massive banyan tree.

  A flickering lantern illuminated the silhouette of Ridley with a satchel and a stack of books beside him. He sat, casually propped against the trunk. His good knee was bent to allow for his muscled arm to drape it as he continued to read a book, his gaze intent.

  It meant he was thinking.

  When wasn’t he?

  She was beginning to realize that was his problem.

  Weaving her way through the low hanging branches of the banyan, she seated herself beside him on the ground and nestled close. She set the bowl of mangoes between them to create a very visible line neither of them were allowed to cross. “A peace offering.”

  Ridley continued reading. “You are late.”

  “By a minute.”

  �
��By seven.” He didn’t look up from the book. “Where were you?”

  At least he was talking to her. She didn’t even expect that much. “I was peeling mangoes.” She tapped at the bowl. “Did you want one?”

  “No.”

  She sighed and tilted over to read the gold lettering on the leather bound book. The title was longer than the book. “Experimenta circa effectum conflictus elecrici in acum magneticam?” She eyed him. “Whatever are you reading?”

  “I am studying electromagnetism.”

  “Dear Kali. Why?”

  “It’s a branch of physics that will one day rule the world.”

  She wasn’t even going to try to understand his mind.

  He continued to read.

  She blamed herself for their argument. She shouldn’t have left his bed last night. Nor should she have brought up his former wife. It had slipped out like an eel.

  The tongue, the tongue, always the tongue. “I wish to apologize for the words I said.”

  “It won’t give us back the night you took from us.”

  Her throat tightened knowing he hadn’t looked at her once. “The necklace is beautiful.”

  His voice grew distant. “Heliotrope. I bought for you in Bombay.”

  “Does it hold any meaning?”

  He turned a page and continued reading for a long moment. “It has a long history. The red inclusions, however, gives it the name it’s most known for: bloodstone. I thought it fitting. I am the stone and you are the one attempting to squeeze the blood out of me.”

  She heaved out a breath. “Is this what our remaining moments will be? You angry?”

  “I’m not angry with you, Jemdanee. I was last night and throughout most of the day, but not in this moment. I’m far angrier with what life has given me. One would think I would be used to it by now, but it never hurts any less.” Without meeting her gaze, he gestured to the pile of books. “Pick one. Read.”

  She nudged the pile of books. “I prefer to talk.”

  He flipped a page hard. “I know about the coach, Kumar. Having it sit in front of the hotel all day is anything but discreet.”

  “I am not attempting to be discreet. The moment you leave, I leave.”

  “The moment your little foot touches the floor of that coach, you will regret it.” He picked up a book and set it on her knee, tapping it. “It’s a translation of Les Bijoux Indiscrets by Diderot.”

  Picking up the book, she paged through it. “I am bored with it already.”

  “It will fetch you a price of four hundred pounds. Don’t take any less for it and only sell it if you need more than what is in the satchel.”

  She noted its rather slim spine in disbelief. “Four hundred? For this? Why?”

  “Its popularity has remained constant. It’s the story of a sultan who possesses a magic ring which makes the genitals of his ladies at court speak.”

  She rolled her head toward him. “What level of absurdity do you think I would believe in?”

  “Page forty, bottom sentence going into page forty one.”

  Realizing he was serious, she quickly flipped to forty and read, “His ring was instantly leveled at her…” Her brows went up. “…Panting for breath was heard…Ah! Ah! Pray stop…you melt me excessively…” She slapped the book shut. “Why do you even have this book?”

  “What book don’t I have? Despite its level of absurdity, it is exactly what you and I have reduced ourselves to intellectually in the name of passion. It’s quite fitting.”

  She tsked, imagining him as a boy of nine sternly seated at the table and pointing at his parents to sit down. “Did you raise your parents or did they raise you?”

  He returned to reading. “Try not to dig for compliments in our last moments together. If you get bored, feel free to leave anytime. I won’t keep you from boarding your coach, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. You will be under close surveillance from this night forth.”

  Jemdanee eyed him, the shadows of the lantern light illuminated his rugged features, blurring his dark hair into the darkness that surrounded them. It was obvious he was attempting to dominate and muscle her into submitting to what he wanted.

  Setting aside the bowl of mangoes on the other side of herself, she scooted closer to him, nestling knee to knee beside him. She propped her chin against his muscled arm and nudged him in the hopes of softening him. “Read to me.”

  He shifted his jaw and tapped at the page. “It’s in Latin.”

  Of course it was.

  She dragged her bare foot gently against his trouser-clad leg. His injured one. “I love you.”

  He paused, his rugged features softening. “Do you?” He gripped her foot tightly, his thumb tracing it.

  She smiled. It was amazing how three seemingly simple words could soften a gruff man with a million. She smoothed a hand down his muscled calf, her fingers grazing the marred knots of skin beneath the fabric of his trousers. “I love you very much.”

  “Whilst I am enjoying this,” he rumbled out, “don’t think I’m about to change my mind because you’re purring.”

  She nestled closer. “What happened between us last night is not the end, but the beginning. I am asking you to believe that. Take me with you.”

  He said nothing.

  “Your life is worth far more than the price you are putting on it.” Tossing the book from his hand, she grabbed up a sliced mango from the wooden bowl and wedged it past those lips until her finger slid it against the side of his cheek. “With this mango, I thee wed.”

  In between the slowest chews she had ever seen any human take, he stared at the bowl between them. He dug through the entire bowl, crushing each and every one until not even juice remain before tossing it.

  She veered her gaze to the bowl, watching him crush and throw out more and more as if it were his right. She gave him a withering look.

  He held up a hand, the mango juice dripping. “With all of these, I thee wed. Why the hell didn’t you marry me? Hm? What was the point of being stubborn?”

  She softened her voice. “I will marry you when you choose to live for love, not die for it.”

  He tossed his wrist, sending the juice and stickiness away from himself.

  She grabbed his hand and using the end of her sari, wiped it. “You see? I am useful.”

  A ragged breath escaped him. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead into hers.

  She smoothed his face, trying to remain calm. “Do not let this loon take what is ours.”

  “He already has,” he rasped, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t make him regret it.” Dragging over the wooden bowl, he tilted it. He held up one of the few mangoes remaining and brought it to her lips. “We say adieu, my love.”

  Tears overwhelmed her. “I will not chew to that.”

  “Yes, you will. Honor me by keeping yourself safe. That is all I ask.” He slid the mango past her lips hard until his large finger wedged it against the side of her cheek. “The moment you’re done chewing, I leave.”

  Jemdanee let the sweetness of that mango soak in her mouth, shifting it to sit stubbornly against the inside her cheek. “You have put too much power into my mouth.” She waggled the mango. “I will not chew or swallow. Which means you will never be able to leave.”

  She waggled the mango at him again.

  He smoothed her cheek. “Stop making me regret what I cannot change.”

  She chewed the mango grudgingly.

  He leaned in and pressed his masculine lips gently to hers, lingering with his velvet heat but not doing more.

  In angst, she focused on every half breath of that moment knowing it was one they would both have to make last.

  His lips traced hers.

  After the way they had parted last night, they needed a better ending.

  She swallowed and whispered, “Make love to me. Make us both believe it will last.”

  Something intense flared through his entrancement. “As you wish.” With the grit of teeth, he gripped her sar
i at the hem and ripped the fabric to her navel with the jerk of muscles.

  She choked, the mango falling out of her mouth and flopping off to the side.

  Capturing her mouth hard, he shoved her between the gnarled roots of the ground.

  The world splashed away as if she had been submerged into a molten river as his digging mouth and his rigid tongue pushed against hers faster.

  Ridley flung her ripped sari apart, his calloused fingers digging into her legs, her skin. “I worship your need to be with me.” He tongued her until she could barely hold him or breathe. “I worship your strength in wanting to be with me.”

  Pushing open her exposed thighs, he brought the coolness of a mango to her nub.

  She choked, gasped, giggled and writhed as he flicked the ripened fruit against her. “What are you—”

  “Who worships you?” he breathed against her throat.

  “The mango,” she gargled out with a laugh.

  He bit her shoulder in reprimand. “No. I do.”

  She gasped and clung to him in exasperation woven with mind erasing ecstasy, digging her nails into his broad shoulders to return the deliverance of his punishment.

  “Who worships you?” he insisted, frigging the mango faster against her nub.

  “You do,” she choked out, unable to think.

  Blinding bliss was beginning to take over the last of her body and mind, rippling sensations through every inch of her. The swaying of the banyan branches against the cooling wind above them matched the trembling of her heated, straining her thighs as he frantically masturbated her and bit her throat hard.

  Her eyes almost rolled back with her.

  Holding up the mango between them, he guided it to her mouth.

  She shoved it away, snapping back to reality. “Do not feed that to me.”

  He held her gaze and slowly inserted it into his own mouth. “Mmmmm.”

  Cringing, she pushed at his face. “Salla.”

  “And you think you’re ready to be my hero?” he breathed. “You’re too squeamish.” He quickly straddled her and undid the buttons on his trousers, letting his erection fall into his hand as he positioned himself between her thighs. “I’m not holding back. You’re going to take it.”