Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (30 page)

Grace grinned as her fingers flew over the keyboard with ease. “Yes, it is wonderful, because this friendly ghost happens to be my mother.”

Maribeth gasped. “Surely you jest!”

With an indelicate snort, Grace shook her head. “No, Poppet, I do not.”

“Well, give a dog a bone. You’re not going to banish her, are you?”

Grace pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile. Maribeth said some of the funniest things. She would miss her dearly.

“My mother doesn’t wish to leave, so no, I’ll not send her away.”

Her young charge sighed. “Thank goodness. I enjoy her piano playing. Perhaps she’d like to join us in a game of hide-and-seek?”

Grace stopped playing. Surely she’d misheard the child. “Hide-and-seek?” she asked. “That would hardly be fair given my condition and isn’t very sporting of you.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Maribeth said, jumping to her feet and grabbing her hand. “We’ll start in the attic where there are loads of places to hide. I’ll hide first, and every minute I’ll make a peeping noise. Loud at first. And then softer each time you draw nearer. And when you are very close, I won’t make a sound. It’ll be fun. Come, Brother Anselm has blessed the attic many times. It’s quite cozy now.”

What she proposed was a fair compromise, inventive even. This would be their last opportunity to spend quality time together, and she wanted Maribeth to remember it fondly.

“Very well,” Grace said, standing. “But only for an hour or so, and then it’ll be time for us to dress for the ball.”

Maribeth raced up the stairs, and Grace was hard pressed to keep up. When they entered the attic, she had to agree with the girl’s earlier assessment. The room no longer chilled her to the bone, and the door had lost its eerie creak.

Once inside the room, they didn’t waste any time. Placing her hands over her ears, as she was directed, Grace began to count to twenty while Maribeth sought a hiding spot. As she counted slowly, she recalled the many times she’d played hide-and-seek with her mother. It was a beloved pastime for parent and child; one she would never experience for herself. She pushed the thought from her head, lest she fall into a weeping pile on the floor, and concentrated instead on counting.

“Twenty,” Grace said, uncovering her ears. “Where are you, my little precious?”

“Peep.”

Grace shuffled in the direction of the peep, slightly to the left and at least ten paces away. She suddenly felt as if she was taking advantage of the child, because she would easily find her without another peep so long as she didn’t trip on something along the way. Stepping forward with cautious strides, she giggled as she neared her destination.

“You’re cheating,” she called out after her tenth step. Leaning down, she groped around until her hands connected with an arched back, and then she tickled.

Maribeth squealed, her laughter bringing a smile to Grace’s face.

“Why didn’t you peep a second time?” she asked.

“You strode directly to me after a single peep,” Maribeth said, breathless. “I underestimated your skills. Now let me try to find you. I promise to keep my eyes shut.”

Grace smirked and turned away, preparing to seek a hiding spot. “Fine, but count to 100 and plug your ears tightly. I’m sure to stumble around a bit before I find a suitable place to hide.”

“That’s fair,” Maribeth said, her voice already receding. “I’m plugging my ears, and now closing my eyes. One, two, three … ”

Nervous energy built in Grace’s veins as the seconds ticked by. She held out her hands, feeling her way around the room, wanting to put as much distance as she could between them. After ten steps, her thigh connected with something sharp, and she bit back a cry of pain, touching the object gingerly. The corner of a desk or a table. Could she hide underneath? Yes, perhaps.

Getting on her hands and knees, she crawled into the open space below the desk, careful to keep her head down. To her surprise, the desk was quite deep, or perhaps there was simply nothing behind it. She continued forward until she bumped into the wall. Her head bounced back, and she grinned. Not a wall, but a canvas. After following the length of the canvas, she came to the end and shimmied behind it, leaning her back against the wall.

“Forty-one, forty-two … ” said Maribeth, counting at an even pace.

Grace had found a hiding spot with time to spare. She ran her hand over the canvas in front of her, curious to know the subject of such a large painting. Her fingers prickled with an odd sense of energy.

Maribeth’s voice became softer and softer, drifting away. “Fifty-one, fifty-two … ”

Blue sky flickered before Grace’s eyes, and she found herself standing on the edge of a forest, a rich pine scent greeting her. Devil’s Cove Manor stood off in the distance. She twirled around, disoriented. How had she gotten here? Something wasn’t quite right. She turned again, and it hit her. Where was the lake?

A soft breeze caught the bottom of her dress, sending cool air rushing up her legs. The hairs on her forearms prickled, and she whirled around again. A cluster of pine trees beckoned her, and she stepped into the forest, back to her home.

“Yes, my love,” Josephine cooed, appearing from behind the largest of the pine trees. She slithered closer, revealing her naked torso without shame. Her hair was draped over one shoulder, showcasing the long, graceful line of her neck. “You remember our home as it was before the lake.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Grace asked, taking a step back. “What is this? How is this possible?”

Josephine held out her hand in invitation. “Fear not. Come see all that will be ours again.”

Grace’s throat constricted, and she fought for a breath of fresh air. Was she truly destined to live for all eternity in the company of the gatekeeper to Hell? She simply couldn’t imagine such a life, especially living within the forest. The mere thought of it terrified her despite having felt safe with Josephine in her dreams. Odd that she’d never dreamed of their home. With a burning need to satisfy her curiosity, Grace accepted Josephine’s outstretched hand.

After walking a short distance to a cluster of six pine trees, Grace slipped into a narrow opening and gaped in wonder at the circular enclosure. She gazed up, staring at the bright blue sky above. Josephine ushered her beyond a large boulder that marked the beginning of a spiral stone staircase. It led them below the earth until they reached an oak door replete with an ornate brass knocker.

Grace ran her fingers over the two snakes entwined in a circle, their ruby eyes twinkling, and a sense of déjà vu settled over her. Her pulse quickened, and blood throbbed in her veins, making her ache to shove the door wide. The interior was breathtakingly beautiful, she knew. Because she remembered. Biting her lip, she glanced back at Josephine, who smiled and nodded her encouragement to open the door.

With cautious steps, Grace traversed the threshold and swept her gaze over the length of the cavernous living space. Rocks in hues of gray and rose lined the rounded walls and ceiling, giving it a natural aura. A large hearth created an inviting alcove in the far corner and boasted a blazing fire. Light from the flames flickered and danced around the room, which was furnished sparingly with plush throw rugs and pillows, a round wooden table, and a set of leather wing chairs.

“There’s a fire,” she said, dumbfounded.

Josephine nodded. “The chimney is lined with rocks and empties into the hollowed stump of an old maple tree. You’ll find running water, a gas stove in the kitchen, and a glorious four-poster bed in our bedchamber.”

Their home was harmonious and warm, so far beyond anything Grace could ever have imagined. Josephine held her arms wide, and a love so strong and unwavering crashed over Grace. She rushed into Josephine’s embrace, crushing her mouth over her lover’s supple lips. Heat flooded her belly, and within seconds she lost control, ensnared in the sticky web of her lover. She couldn’t wait a few hours, refused to wait. Josephine belonged to her, and she would have her now. The delicate curve of her neck. The soft swell of her breasts.

“Yessss,” Josephine groaned, pressing one erect nipple against Grace’s lips. “You belong to me, and I to you. I love you, Rosalie.”

Rosalie.

Grace pushed out of Josephine’s embrace and stumbled backward, falling onto her bottom as her mind cleared. She scooted away, scrambling to put distance between them. What in God’s name was she doing? The hold Josephine had on her was suffocating and needy—and so completely at odds with Devlin’s magnetic hold. He breathed life into her and gave freely of himself.

She didn't want to let him go after waiting a lifetime to find him. He wouldn't let her go either. Why else did he fall to his knees in the chapel and pray? If Devlin repented, then surely God would see fit to stand by his side against Josephine. Grace had to believe that good would always triumph over evil.

“Devlin isn’t angry anymore,” she said, holding on to the thin shred of hope burgeoning in her heart. Josephine couldn’t prevail without Devlin’s help. “He’ll abandon his need for revenge, and when he does it’ll all be over. No betrayal of his mother’s love, no black magic. Rosalie’s soul will be lost forever.”

Josephine’s sultry chuckle wound its way around Grace’s body, coiling tighter and tighter as it grew in intensity, and when she could bear it no more, it stopped, leaving her breathless.

“Sssssilly girl,” Josephine said. “It was never about Devlin betraying his mother. She doesn’t love him. But you do, and tonight he’ll betray you.”

“You’re wrong.” Grace stared at her and balked at the triumph shining in the demon’s eyes. “There’s nothing he can say or do to betray me.”

Josephine grabbed her chin, forcing Grace to stare into her eyes. “There is
one
thing he promised to declare before all of his guests … and it might very well drive you
insane
. It’s a steep price, but he promised to pay.”

Grace’s knees wobbled, but she held her ground. “No, it cannot be true. He would never—”

Josephine held up her hand, halting her protest. “I’ve never lied to you, but can you say the same for Captain Limmerick?”

Of course she could. “Devlin has
never
lied to me, not a single—”

“Why did he hire you?” the gatekeeper asked with a level stare.

Her throat felt dry all of a sudden as she recalled the true reason Devlin had hired her … to negotiate with Josephine, not exorcise evil spirits. She bit her lip. And then there was the small matter of his true identity, which he’d withheld. Both lies of omission, not outright lies.

Grace turned away from the smug smile tugging at Josephine’s lips and hugged herself. Devlin cared deeply for her, respected her, and protected her. Why would he declare her insane before all of his guests when he’d defended her against Chef Henri’s vile accusations?

Josephine slithered closer and whispered, “Are his actions honorable?”

Horrid, horrid, creature! Must she echo her every thought? A dull ache grew behind her temple as she played the scene over in her head.

I don’t care what others say or think, except for those closest to me.

Devlin had lost his temper—fired the sous-chef—and threatened all of the servants with a similar fate if they maligned her character. Did he repent out of a sense of guilt for what was to come, because he planned to cut her down on a far grander scale? He had warned her not to trust him. His words mocked her, haunted her.

I’m far beyond redemption, you silly chit.

Don’t fool yourself, Grace, or waste your good opinion on me.

That bastard pirate ripped out my soul and left me an empty husk.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. No, it simply couldn’t be true. And, yet, Josephine had never lied. What was the truth? She whirled around to confront Josephine, but the world faded to black.

“No, come back!” She scrambled to her knees and clawed at the canvas before her, desperate to return to the forest, to demand the truth. “Damn you to Hell, Josephine, come back!”

“Grace, where are you? What’s wrong?”

Maribeth’s panicked voice penetrated the fog hovering over Grace’s mind, and she stood abruptly, shoving the painting out of her way. She charged forward and crashed into the table, howling in pain.

“Deep breaths. This can’t be true. Walk to your room. Call for Emma. What will I do? Find Devlin. Tell him the truth. Think of something. I should’ve confessed, I should’ve confessed. I. Should. Have. Confessed!” she shouted, slamming her fist onto the table.

A torrent of hot tears flooded over her cheeks, and she let them flow. It felt good to cry, and it cleansed her muddled brain. After a long time of weeping, her anger deflated and she dropped her head, resting her chin on her chest.

“I’m too late,” she muttered. “I’m too late.”

Maribeth’s hand rubbed gently over Grace’s arm, and though it did not tremble overly much, Grace could sense fear in the child. She mopped away her tears and bitter laughter sprang to her lips. “I’m mumbling incoherently, just like my mother. Have I gone mad, then?”

Maribeth sniffled and wrapped her arms around Grace. Christ almighty, she had made the child cry, the lass who wasn’t afraid of anything.

“I’m scaring you, Poppet,” she said, returning the girl’s warm embrace.

Grace didn’t want to repeat history, but by God, this cross was heavier than she could bear. What had she done in her lifetime to deserve this? Nothing at all! She was always considerate, confessed her sins, helped others in need, did not complain, and accepted her fate. And for what? To be driven to insanity and die at the hands of her father’s murderess. She inhaled once, filling her lungs and diaphragm until she thought she might burst, then she blew it out slowly.

That was a fate she refused to accept.

Devlin couldn’t betray her if she didn’t care about his words. His actions of late had spoken volumes of his true feelings. She’d been declared insane by almost everyone in the village at one point or another. One more time would
not
kill her.

Words are only words and cannot hurt me.