Surely Devlin had been mainly concerned about her allowing men into her room.
She walked to the door, aware of the stays—they did not hurt yet, but they weren’t comfortable—and she opened it.
Two pretty women stood on the other side; once she would have thought of them as girls, the girls of Devlin’s harem, but she now was determined to consider them women. Each wore a silk wrapper tied snugly at the waist to contain generous curves. One wore a bronze robe, which went well with her freckled cheeks and auburn hair. This had been the woman who had been shocked—scandalized and furious—to see her arrive with Devlin.
Yet, now she was smiling as she breezed into Grace’s bedroom. “Is Devlin resting?” she asked softly. “I thought Kennedy gave him a good dose of laudanum.”
Grace nodded and the other woman came in and closed the door behind her. She carried a small green velvet sack and she let it drop by the door. Grace recognized her as one of the women who had fought over Rogan St. Clair. This woman was named Bess and she had loose black curls that hung to her waist, along with the drama of long black lashes, black brows, and dark red lips.
“I’m Lucy. You must be tired, Miss,” the auburn-haired girl said in a matter-of-fact voice that was soft and pretty. “What with being attacked on the road and worrying over Devlin.”
Lucy’s slim hands pushed into her back from behind, surprising her. “Come by the mirror, and I’ll help you with your gown.”
Sighing, Grace went. She was tired, it was true. By why should Lucy want to help her?
“What’s your name, Miss?” Lucy asked.
“H—” She stopped. She was tired. Everyone had seen her in this house, but they had no idea what her name was. “Heatley,” she lied.
“Miss Heatley,” said Lucy, “let me get this corset off you.”
Her fingers worked quickly, and soon Grace could draw a long, deep breath. Lucy glanced up into the mirror, from behind the sweep of her gleaming auburn hair, and their gazes met. “He’ll be fine, you know. Devlin. He can survive anything.”
The woman’s casual possessiveness sent a sharp pain to Grace’s heart, one that she tried to will away.
“You have been with Devlin a long time?” Grace tried to make the question sound as though she could hardly care less, but she wondered why she wanted to torture herself.
Lucy paused, her fingers hooked around the laces. A thoughtful smile transformed her—to a woman in love. “Most of my life that has mattered. He rescued me, of course. He’s done that to all of us.”
And he had rescued her, too, Grace thought. She’d fallen in love with him because of that, but she was not the only one. Had he rescued all the women here? She had thought he simply paid them, or they were like the camp followers of the army—women drawn inexorably to gatherings of men. But it appeared there was much more to the connection between Devlin and these women. He rescued women—he had done so with Prudence. He had not been able to rescue his mother, so instead he’d avenged her.
Grace winced at the ice-cold sensation gripping her heart.
And now, Devlin was trying to rescue her again and take her home to her family, where he felt she belonged. Perhaps all she was to him was a woman in need of rescue.
“Has he ever told you that you make him strive to be more?” she asked Lucy.
“What? What more could Devlin do? He’s famous! He’s like Robin Hood.” Lucy helped her step out of the corset. Oh, it felt so good to be free of it.
Grace glanced at Bess. “How did Devlin rescue you?” She should be impressed with his kindness, but her heart felt tight, as though her corset was still in place and squeezing it.
“I was working on the docks—I didn’t even have a room, unless I could coerce a gent to pay for one so I could have a bed. But most wanted me up against the door or the wall before they walked to the next tavern.”
“You’re not really Miss Heatley, are you?” Lucy asked the question. She winked at Bess, who sashayed to the door, her hips a sensual sway beneath her robe. From the sack, Bess drew out two bottles of wine.
“Of course I am.”
Bess deftly pulled out the cork and handed Lucy the bottle, who then turned and, with a generous smile, held it out to Grace. “Here, have a sip.”
Grace slipped her hand around it. She’d never drunk from the bottle, but it seemed fitting in a pirate’s world—it seemed base and primitive and sensual—so she tipped up the bottle.
His wine was certainly superb. Lucy motioned frantically, so Grace let the bottle drop. She resisted the urge to wipe her lips, which would hardly be proper. Just the sips she’d taken left her intoxicated and giggly.
She really should go to bed.
She longed to curl up with Devlin, but he was wounded and she feared hurting him.
Bess gave her the untouched bottle and she took more sips. It tasted so lovely, a testament to Devlin’s exquisite taste in sensual things.
In vino veritas.
She was as hopelessly in love with Devlin as Lucy was, and that made her irritable enough to drink more.
Then she handed the bottle back to Bess, just as Lucy finished the first.
“I’m a bit foxed,” she admitted. “I think I should go to bed.”
Lucy grasped her by the wrists, led her to the bed, and helped her flop down upon it. The four posts began a circling dance as she landed on the mattress. His wine was certainly potent.
“Devlin is quite infatuated with you. If you want to be a part of his world, you will have to learn what he likes best.”
The entire room had begun to revolve and Grace could barely keep her lids open.
Learn what he likes best?
That had her struggling to sit up.
Lucy undid the belt of her robe and let it drop. Her voluptuous body came into view beneath a gossamer-thin shift that tugged across her large breasts. She sinuously twined her curvy form around the ornately carved gilded bedposts. “It is so much fun. Devlin and the other men take care of our every need—we have lovely clothes, delicious food, freedom. And pleasure. So much pleasure. They want us to be sexual all the time. Watch—” She smiled wickedly. “And you will see.”
Bess brought the velvet sack to the edge of the bed. It looked lumpy and heavy, so it clearly held more than just wine. “They have brought us the most intriguing toys from around the world.”
She lifted an object that Grace thought at first was an elephant’s tusk. Then she saw the carved shapes and blushed. It looked like two male phalluses attached at the hilt.
Lucy had fished out a vial of oil and Grace swallowed hard. Her head was spinning and she knew she should send the women away but, as she tried, Lucy shook her head. “It will be fun,” she assured with a sparkling laugh.
Lucy was already spreading one end of the phallus with oil, while Bess dripped oil onto her graceful fingers. As Bess lifted Lucy’s shift and began to massage her privates with oil-slicked fingers, Grace stared in shock. For a start, Lucy was shaved completely.
But she couldn’t help but watch Bess’s fingers sliding around Lucy’s glistening pink lips.
“Ooh, you’re already soaked,” dark-haired Bess cooed.
Laughing, Lucy gripped one end of the ivory phallus and pressed it to her quim. Abruptly she slid it inside, gasping, her face turning red. “Oh, I do love one shoved in quick.”
Bess threw off her wrapper, revealing her naked curves. “But first…” She winked at Grace and took something else out of the sack. She applied some metal type of clamps to her nipples, wincing and moaning as they snapped closed over the erect, brownish lengths.
“The men do love us to play,” Bess laughed as she held up two carved toys, both shaped like teardrops, but each with a base at the bottom. She turned, revealing her generous bottom. And without further ado, she worked one of the enormous toys between her cheeks.
Grace was sure she must be in pain, as she panted and worked the toy in and out—of her rump.
Grace was so astonished, so embarrassed…so aroused, her head was swimming. Her skin felt too tight for her body and almost unbearably sensitive. Left unfulfilled because she’d stopped Devlin’s licking, she was now in erotic agony.
With a cry, Bess popped the toy inside herself, then she danced around, wiggling her bum, while Lucy cheered and clapped.
“Now, you fuck me, Lucy!”
And that was exactly what they did. Bess lay across the end of the bed, the bizarre clamps jutting off her hard nipples, her legs spread wide in welcome. With the other end of the toy sticking out of Lucy’s quim, she had a cock to push inside Bess.
Grace blushed at the wet, slick sounds as Lucy pumped inside her friend. And once Lucy was in to the hilt, she began to thrust hard.
“Slow down,” Bess admonished. “You’ll come too quickly.”
“But I want to,” Lucy cried.
“Not until you’ve made me come!” Bess laughed.
Lucy turned to Grace. “You need a toy. You must be in agony!”
Oh, she was. But she should not be watching this. “I should leave you alone.”
“But we love an audience,” Lucy cried. “You could have one of the toys in your bum.”
“The shape holds it in tight.” Bess winked. “You could have two toys in you at once. It’s almost as fun as having two of Dev’s men in your bed at the same time. Though not quite as fun as having four of them there.”
Lucy laughed at that, and Grace saw them straining toward their orgasms as they bounced together.
Oh, she was on fire.
She so dearly wished Devlin wasn’t injured.
With a bevy of pretty feminine squeals, Lucy and Bess came.
And she was left to frustration.
“So she’s no more a Miss Heatley than I am,” Lucy muttered. Devlin’s woman had been very adept at keeping her real name a secret, even after all that wine. Even after the intimacies of watching two women have sex. Lucy had hoped that would make Grace feel secure, like a friend, and she would let her guard down.
It only made the proper lady more guarded.
But then she’d had an inspiration.
Devlin was drugged with laudanum! It had taken a while to wake him enough that he could hear her, and she’d had to be clever, but Lucy had finally tricked him into whispering the name of his lady love.
Grace Hamilton.
Now, all she had to do was send the name to Rogan.
S
omething rough slid around her wrists.
Grace squirmed on her bed. She’d been yanked from her dream, but her skin was hot beneath the sheets, her breathing was fast, and her quim felt ready to explode.
And now Devlin wanted to tie her up.
“Yes,” she whispered. Just his touch was going to make her come. She’d been dreaming of him, dreaming of being on his ship. In the misty dream world, she’d stood at the helm, at the wheel, overseeing the endless sea, with the world at her feet. She had been the one to guide the ship, which had had her almost on the brink of climax, and Devlin had lifted her skirts, had skimmed his hands up her inner thighs and teased her soaking wet pussy.
It had been the most erotic game—her trying to stand up while he stroked her clitoris and her wet nether lips. And, of course, she’d had to keep control of the ship, even while he relentlessly rubbed her and her legs almost melted beneath her. But she had had to stay in control and she had never been so daring before.
He’d brushed his large, thick cock against her nether lips in the dream, and she’d parted her legs wider, needing him inside.
And then she’d awoken, and she needed just a little bit of teasing, just a little more caressing and she would—
“Silence,” a harsh voice warned. Her lashes swept up and she parted her lips, but then a hand clamped hard down on her mouth. This was not Devlin. He’d never be so brutal—
Her mind was whirling in madness. Her captor had waited for long heartbeats with his hand over her mouth. Waiting to see how hard she’d struggle? Or listening for sounds from Devlin’s room?
She clawed blindly at the hand clamped over her mouth. She strained to see in the pitch black, but she couldn’t. She had no idea who her captor was.
How far under the influence of the drug was Devlin? If she could scream, would he hear it?
Her desperate flailing, twisting, and kicking had no effect.
“Easy now, love,” murmured the voice of the man with his hand at her mouth. A putrid stink neared her nose and her eyes watered.
Instinct had her recoiling away, but his knee banged down on her chest and she was pinned.
A wet cloth slid across her cheek and, with one breath, she felt the pungent smell fill her senses and turn her brains to cotton wool. Fear gave her a burst of desperate power and she punched out at the man above her. Her nails scratched hopelessly at his clothing.
The cloth slammed down on her nose and mouth. Her muffled screams escaped out the sides for a few moments, but then she breathed in hard, the cloth filled her mouth, and her head swam.
She reached out, desperately trying to stop her fall into the blackness.
But it rushed in around her and swallowed her up.
His head was still dazed from the laudanum and his entire left side ached. His half brother Wesley had been aiming for his heart. Had he not thrown that dagger, he would be dead.
Christ, Grace would have been left at Wesley’s mercy.
Devlin brushed his tangled hair out of his eyes and leaned against the doorway connecting his room to Grace’s. Still unsteady, his legs wobbled beneath him, not yet ready to bear his weight. He slumped harder against the frame to prop himself upright.
Where was she?
If she’d already awoken, why hadn’t she come into his room?
A soft footstep in the hallway had him stiffening, listening in absolute stillness. Could it be Grace? Unease prickled down his spine as the footsteps moved lightly toward his door.
He doubted Grace would be creeping in, but someone was.
So what had happened to Grace?
Shoving off from the doorframe, he rolled backward along the wall. Moving as silently as he could, he then braced his arms against the wall and maneuvered beside his closed door. His legs didn’t feel as shaky, and he risked letting them support him.
Success.
He glanced down at the doorknob.
Damn, he’d locked his door. Slowly, he turned the key. He kept his house in good maintenance, and he let out a gentle groan to cover the sound of it opening.
Hopefully whoever planned to slip into his room would think he was muttering in his drug-induced sleep. The knob turned slowly, giving only a soft click; then the door whispered over the floor. A shaft of light fell in from the hallway. Slim fingers came into view first, along with the hem of a green gown.
Devlin waited to spring. Lucy’s gaze was locked on the disordered bed—he’d thrown the covers back over before leaving it, so it was not obvious at first that he’d left his bed. She stepped completely into the room and he had his moment.
Shock held Lucy in place as his hand clamped over her mouth. He dragged her forward on weak legs as he pushed the door shut with his foot. Something fluttered from her grasp. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the white cloth and his nose detected the smell of a drug intended to knock him out cold.
“Sweetheart,” he muttered to Lucy as he dragged her to his bed, “I thought you were in love with me.”
She wasn’t fighting, which surprised him and made him uneasy. Lucy was not the sort of woman to surrender so easily.
He tossed her on the bed. “Don’t scream, Lucy. Don’t waste your breath. I doubt anyone would come running to save you from me.”
She tipped up her chin, her auburn curls framing her defiant face. Obviously she believed someone might rescue her.
He softened his voice and leaned against the bedpost. Her gaze darted from him to the door, but she had to know she would never make it. He was shaking, shaking with pain, anger, and fear, and he crossed his arms over his chest to hide it.
“What did you do to Grace, Lucy?” He fought to keep his voice controlled. Control was what had made him a successful pirate, the quality that had kept his neck out of a noose.
But he’d never known his body to shake like this; he’d never felt his heart pound so hard; he’d never known what it felt like to have such icy cold rage running through him.
Lucy smiled.
“Witch!” He roared it and jumped onto the bed so his body bracketed hers. Pain shot through his body. Real fear screamed from her widened eyes. “You are only useful to me because you know where Grace is. If you don’t intend to tell me, I’m more than happy to take out my rage on you.”
“You w-wouldn’t, Devlin. You’ve never hit a woman.”
He felt his lips draw back in a feral snarl. “I’ve never had anyone I truly loved at risk. I don’t care whether you are a woman, Lucy.” He lowered until his mouth was close to hers. “All I see is evil, and I want to throttle you in retribution.”
“Dev! No!”
“Where is she?” He shifted so he was on his knees with his legs splayed on either side of trembling Lucy. He slipped his hands around her neck. His hands were so big and her neck so small it would be an easy business to kill her.
He’d killed Prudence’s lover, and it had been easy. It had been necessary and his victim had been the sick sort of bastard who’d preyed on young girls, so it had been a simple matter to turn off his conscience. It had been expedient. He’d killed many men during his pirating years.
And not one of those men had ever done to him what Lucy had—taken away his life, his soul, his light—hell, his reason for waking and facing the day.
That was what Grace had become.
“Where is she?” He tightened his grasp, enough to bruise, enough to scare her.
“I don’t know!”
“No games, Lucy. Do not waste my time.”
She grasped his wrists and pulled uselessly at his arms. “I don’t know!” she cried again, and Devlin was apt to believe her. But he knew he had to be patient. He relaxed his grip enough for her to suck in a desperate breath.
“You have to know, Lucy. I can see in your eyes that you’re hiding things from me.”
She began shaking her head, so, with a grunt of frustration, he began to tighten his grip on her throat. His motions became mechanical; a cold, inhuman sense of inevitability took over. Lucy was a damned fool, a cruel and senseless witch, and if she wanted to welcome death, he’d provide her with the means.
Something flared in her terrified eyes, as though she’d finally come to the realization he did not plan to stop.
“She’s with Rogan,” she gasped. “He didn’t tell me where he’d taken her—after all I’ve done for him, he said he wouldn’t trust me unless I helped him get you.”
“So—” Damn, he had misplayed this hand. “Rogan was here to get me after you drugged me.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“You think so.” Was there any point in hunting for Rogan? He doubted it—Rogan had likely overheard part of this through the door. Or had Rogan simply set Lucy up? Had this little performance been intended to make him enraged, to make him tear off on a hunt?
He released Lucy from his strangling grip. “Are any of my men helping him?”
“No. He couldn’t trust them, so he found his own. I don’t know any of them.”
His heart ached as he watched Lucy wince as she touched her throat. Tears spilled, but they were likely for herself. Still, he hated having to hurt a woman whom he had once considered a friend. A playful lover, a charming companion, a woman with a passionate heart—he’d always liked Lucy.
His breath escaped his chest in a long whoosh. Given how valuable Rogan believed Grace to be, his former lieutenant wouldn’t harm her. Not yet, at least.
“So what is his plan?” Devlin asked. “To ransom her back to me?”
“Oh no, he plans to ransom her back to her family. He says you were a blasted fool for not doing it.”
He rolled off Lucy and jumped off the bed. “Christ Jesus, how could you agree to that?”
“I wanted rid of her! She came between us and—”
“There was nothing between us, Lucy. Why do you think I’ve let you bed most of the other men here? You’re part of my family, but I don’t love you like that.”
She began to sob and a lot of hysterical, self-pitying tears were the last thing he needed.
“Are you going to turn me out?” she whimpered. “Are you g-going to kill me?”
“No, Lucy, you silly little fool, I’m not going to kill you and I’m not going to throw you out onto the road with nothing but the clothes on your back. Even though you betrayed me, I can’t bring myself to do that to you. Unless—”
He let the threat hang in the air and Lucy’s fingers strayed back to her bruised neck.
“But you aren’t going anywhere until I have Grace back, safe and sound.”
She reached out and laid her hand on his arm, a damned bold move considering how he was fighting to keep a leash on his temper.
“I’m so sorry, Devlin,” she purred.
“You aren’t, Lucy, love. I can see you calculating even now.” And he could. She was hoping that Grace would be gone, that she could heal things between them somehow.
Devlin charged over to his breeches, each step pure agony. His side screamed with pain. Throwing Lucy on the bed had done nothing to help his injuries. He had to get to Grace and rescue her. Rogan had a coward’s streak—what if his intention was to kill Grace once he had the money? He’d be afraid she could identify him.
Rogan would never hurt Grace if he planned to ransom her to Devlin. But Devlin could guess Rogan’s plan. Get the blunt for Grace and have her family believe it was Devlin Sharpe who had been her kidnapper and killer. Devlin had no doubt that if Grace’s family thought he had hurt her, they would hunt him down and blow him away.
That had to be Rogan’s plan. Get the ransom and get rid of him so he could command the gang.
Which mean Grace’s life was in danger.
And he had to find out where in hell Rogan was.
“You need to drink some water, angel. I can’t have you dying on me, now can I?”
Amused, smug, mocking, the voice made Grace shiver as she forced her eyes open. Rogan St. Clair, naked but for a pair of trousers, held a cup of water close to her lips. Blearily, she saw the clear surface ripple and her throat seemed to clench with need.
She knew she should drink; her lips were cracked with thirst, her throat parched. She was weak from lack of food and drink. But she didn’t want to go near the brute’s hands.
Strangely, her gaze riveted on the chips on the edge of the cup and the dark cracks in the porcelain. Light filtered into her room through boards nailed on the window and her body ached from the cold damp seeping in through the plank floor. Her nose crinkled at the smells—the stomach-churning stink of wet ground, animal dung, and the strong ammonia smell of her urine.
The cup looked so small and fragile, as though he could crush it by mistake. His hands neared. Long hands, graceful hands—but he’d been so cruel with his hands. Her cheeks still stung from his slaps. Her temple throbbed with a painful bruise. Her dry lips had readily cracked under his blows and given him blood.
It had been hours—probably days—since he had hit her.
“Take the water,” he snapped, “Or I’ll force it down your throat.”
She wanted to take the water, but her wrists were still bound and her ankles were shackled to rings on the wall; her body was too weak to move her weight, to pull against the drag of the chains and put her lips to the cup.
Her lashes were almost lowered—she couldn’t stand to look at this man. It frightened her to meet his eyes. She didn’t know what he would do. He’d not touched her since he’d beat her.
It had been so horrifying.
The first smack of his palm across her face had stunned her. Not just with the pain and the force of it. She hadn’t understood why he’d done it. He just seemed to go mad.
The second blow came, splitting her lip, and she’d thought she was going to die.
She’d tried to run but he’d taken her down with his boot to her legs, and then he’d hit her over and over. All at her face.
Then he’d crossed his arms and had smiled down at her.
Smiled.
Her one lid had already been swelling; her lips and nose poured blood. And he’d nodded his head. “That should do it. And now, you need to rest,” he’d remarked cheerfully.
That had been the most terrifying.
She’d been prepared to die from the beating. But his sudden change to kindness as he carried her to a cot and fussed while tucking a blanket over her had made her feel that she’d fallen into madness.