The Bride of Devil's Acre (21 page)

No one threw Carver away, and lived.

His mother had thrown him away. A whore, she’d squeezed him out and left him in a pile of garbage behind a slaughterhouse to die. Carver’s father, or the man he’d come to know as such, found him and took him home.
 

The man hadn’t given much thought to raising a babe, but his wife had always wanted one, and Carver was the answer to her prayers. Carver had grown up knowing he’d started life in the trash. His “parents” had told him often enough, making sure he knew the kind of life—and death—they’d saved him from.
 

His whore of a mother had considered him too much trouble to bother strangling. But he’d made her pay. Oh, yes he had. Carver smiled at the memory. He’d spent years searching for the woman who had given birth behind the slaughterhouse, leaving her young to die. It didn’t take long, and one look at those gin-glazed eyes and Carver had known she was his mother.
 

She’d known it, too. By the end, she was spitting curses at him, the light leaving her eyes as her blood spilled onto the ground behind the same slaughterhouse.

It was the same thing Carver planned to do to Devil, that traitorous bastard! No way he got away with slitting Carver’s throat and lived. That was unacceptable. No, that kind of insult had to be answered and responded to in kind.
 

The slaughterhouse was abandoned now, and Carver had visions of hanging Devil from a hook. Those expensive clothes would fall away under Carver’s knife, revealing the man’s white belly. At that point, all men became cowards, and Devil would start to beg.
 

Standing in the shadows, Carver’s breath came quick as the vision opened up. He could smell the stale scent of blood that not even time could erase from the slaughterhouse and see the stains marring the ground. He’d slip his blade in slow and enjoy penetrating Devil like a lover. A practiced tug of his wrist would separate skin, and he’d make sure Devil watched as his innards slithered out onto the ground.

Devil would have only minutes to live, but a lifetime of misery while he died.

Speaking of…

A hack rolled to a stop. Carver reached for his blades, silently cursing Devil’s foresight at taking the twin knives he always carried with him. He had yet to replace them, and he mourned the loss the way a mother might mourn a child.
 

Another thing to make Devil pay for.

Carver eyed the hack, reaching into his boot for the spare blade he kept with him. The world tilted sharply, and Carver reached out a hand, steadying himself against a tree.

He’d lost a lot of blood, the doctor warning him it would take time for his humors to regain balance.
 

Time was something Carver didn’t have.
 

The hack rolled away without releasing its passenger, unknowingly passing by Carver hidden in the trees and giving him a good look inside.

That bitch!

Carver would recognize Devil’s wife anywhere. He’d heard the rumors that Devil had married and that the lady had fallen from London to land in Devil’s Acre. It hadn’t taken Carver long to put the pieces together and realize Devil had married the woman responsible for nearly getting him killed.
 

Pleasure swept up Carver’s spine, and he stirred in his trousers as he slipped back into the shadows. He’d come here for Devil, but Carver was an opportunist at heart, and this was one he couldn’t pass up.

The old gray mare was waiting right where he left her, her head hanging placidly. The horse belonged to one of the public stables. Too old to be of any use, she’d been left in a stall unattended, easy picking for a man like him.
 

Marking the hack’s progress, Carver followed it out of Devil’s Acre to a sprawling townhouse in the middle of London. The driver disembarked, inquiring at the front door before returning to his fare. A few quickly exchanged words and Devil’s wife sailed up the stairs and through the front door.
 

Carver absently rubbed himself through his trousers. He could still remember the sweet taste of the bitch’s flesh and the way her skin quivered beneath his blade. She had been a delight, the first high-born woman to come under his blade. She was a treat he never thought to have again.
 

She was also the only woman wearing his mark, alive.

It made her his. She belonged to him. Theirs was a connection forged in blood and commemorated in flesh.
 

Carver watched the hack pull away, heading back to Devil’s Acre empty. Interesting. His eyes went back to the townhouse. It wouldn’t take much to discover who owned the place, and the relationship to his girl.

His girl
. Carver stroked faster, his release tightening his sac and threatening to rush up his shaft.
Not yet
. Carver forced his hand away. He would save it until he had the bitch beneath him once again.

And he would have her again. Only this time he’d make Devil watch.

“Jacqueline! What are you doing here?” Marcus came out of his study, alerted to Jacqueline’s presence by his butler.
 

Jacqueline burst into tears. She couldn’t help it. And the entire story came pouring out, right there in Marcus’ foyer.
 

Marcus stood frozen, certain he couldn’t be hearing correctly. He’d heard the rumors surrounding Jacqueline’s ruin. The story circulating through the
ton
suggested that the kidnapping was a poorly contrived excuse for an unsuccessful elopement.

“I’m sorry,” Jacqueline said, wiping at her cheeks. “But I have nowhere to go.”

“You’ll stay here. There’s no question about that.” Marcus strode across the foyer, wrapping his arm around Jacqueline’s shoulder and guiding her into his study. She was small and slight against him, tucking her head under his chin. “It will do wonders for your reputation, I assure you.”

Jacqueline smiled at the bit of humor. “It will certainly round things out.”

Marcus left Jacqueline on the couch and went to fetch them each a drink. The bottle of brandy was already open on his desk. As promised, the announcement of Philip’s engagement had appeared in the paper, and Marcus had spent the better part of the day toasting to his friend’s happiness, alone.

“Drink this.”

Jacqueline looked up to find a glass hovering in front of her face. “It’s a bit early for whiskey.”

“It’s brandy, and it’s never too early.”

Jacqueline’s eyes darted to Marcus’ face. His features were strained and not from the news of her husband’s betrayal. “I’ve come at a bad time.”

“Your timing is perfect,” Marcus said, seriously, and dropped down onto the couch beside her. “I could use a distraction.”

They drank in silence, both of them sipping slowly. Late afternoon was shifting into early evening. A maid appeared, unobtrusively lighting the fire and several candles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jacqueline asked, curious.
 

Marcus considered his drink. Strangely enough, he did. “A friend of mine is getting married.”

Jacqueline waited, but Marcus didn’t explain further. “And you don’t care for his fiancée?”

“I don’t know her,” Marcus said, swirling the last of his brandy. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Miss. O’Brian exactly once. Once was enough,” he muttered, tossing back the last of his drink.

“I don’t understand…”

“No, I don’t expect you would.” No gently bred lady would ever consider the possibility of two men in love, and he did love Philip.
 

“Then explain it to me.” Jacqueline turned to Marcus. “Please, Marcus, I’ve shared my secret with you.”

“Quid pro quo, is it?”

“No, just two friends being there for each other.”
 

Silently, Marcus rose, aware of Jacqueline watching him. Walking to his desk, he returned and set the brandy on the table in front of them. “We’re going to need more brandy.”

Jacqueline nodded, lifting her glass and offering it to Marcus.

“I’ve known Philip since I was a boy,” he said.

“Philip is the friend engaged to be married?”

Marcus’ hand trembled, and he made his drink a double. “We were at Eton together, of an age that we shared everything. Philip is a third son, but his father believed all men should begin life with an education.”

“Very forward thinking of him.” Third sons were often left on their own.

“Yes, well, not forward enough.” Marcus waved that cryptic statement away and left it for another time. “As a third son, Philip had considerable freedom and was just as likely to vacation in Chesham with me as go home, especially after my father’s death.”

“You two were close,” Jacqueline said.

“Very close,” Marcus stressed. He watched Jacqueline’s face. She was a pretty woman, the strain of the past several hours adding a depth to her features that hadn’t been there when they first met. “Do you understand my meaning?”

Jacqueline tipped her head. “Philip was your best friend, a close confidant. I can understand why it would be hard to see him married. I know from my own experience how much that changes a friendship.”

“It is true. I told Philip things I’ve never shared with anyone before or since.” The circumstances surrounding his father’s death, for one. “But it’s more than that. He and I…”

Jacqueline felt the first stirrings of understanding.

“We were more than just friends.”

Jacqueline blinked, her mouth forming a silent
oh
.

“Have I shocked you?” Marcus asked quietly. Shock he could deal with. What he feared was her disgust.

“No, I…I’m just surprised.” That was putting it mildly. “I mean, your reputation…” Jacqueline flushed.
 

“Which reputation would that be?” Marcus purred, slipping on the mask he showed the world. “My reputation as a gambler or as a rake?”

Jacqueline didn’t smile. She’d been given a glimpse of the man beneath the mask, and she wouldn’t let him retreat now. “It’s said you prefer your ladies married.”

“I do.”

“And Philip?”

“I prefer him unmarried.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jacqueline huffed.
 

“I know, but that doesn’t change the fact.”

“I mean, how does your…relationship with Philip work?”

“Do you want the mechanics, or is a broad overview sufficient?”

Jacqueline resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “Marcus…”

“I’m sorry. It seems now that this particular skeleton is out of the closet, I am reluctant to discuss the matter.” Every breath was a reminder that he was facing a lifetime without Philip. “As for your question, Philip and I both enjoy women, oftentimes taking a lover together.”

Jacqueline’s cheeks heated.

“But for me, it always came back to Philip.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I’m just trying to understand.”
 

“I know, but it’s wasted effort and really quite simple. I’m in love with a man engaged to be married.”

Jacqueline felt Marcus’ hopelessness alongside her own. “Does he love you?”

“I don’t know.”

Marcus answer came back quick, too quick.

“Yes, you do.”
 

Marcus sighed. “Yes, I suppose I do. There is something there between us, but Philip is ashamed and so bloody determined to do the right thing.”

“According to who?”

“According to his father.” The viscount was not a bad sort—old and set in his ways, for sure, but that was to be expected. Marcus’ one complaint (and admittedly, it was a rather significant complaint) was the insidious suspicion that having learned of his son’s…preferences, the viscount had bought Philip a commission and sent him off to die.

“Have you told Philip how you feel?”

“It’s rather obvious.” Marcus thought back to his last visit with Philip. He could still feel the unfamiliar brush of Philip’s mustache. The moment had held all the familiarity of longtime lovers and the excitement of time spent apart.
 

“What are you going to do?” Jacqueline could ask herself that same question.

“There is nothing to do,” Marcus said, carefully setting aside his glass. Philip had made his feelings known, and his choice was clear. “Come, let’s get you settled.”

“I don’t have very much.” Jacqueline had left Devil’s office, taking nothing with her as she fled Devil’s Acre except for the dresses she’d bought while shopping.
 

“Compose a note. I’ll send one of my footmen to fetch your maid. She can bring your things.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind my being here?” Jacqueline accepted ink and paper, sitting down at Marcus’ desk to write. “I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

“I’m sure we can put our heads together and come up with something. And if nothing else, you are considered married now.” Standing at her elbow, Marcus sent Jacqueline a smoldering look that was completely wasted on her.
 

“Marcus…” Jacqueline rolled her eyes. The man was incorrigible.
 

“You owe him no loyalty,” Marcus said, speaking of Jacqueline’s husband.

“I know. But falling into your arms would solve nothing.”

Marcus bent his head to Jacqueline’s ear, catching her crisp, clean feminine scent. “It would make for an extremely pleasant distraction, I assure you.”
 

Jacqueline turned, coming nose to nose with Marcus. Blue eyes regarded her without heat, and his brandy-scented breath was warm against her cheek. “I’ll be your friend, Marcus, but I will not be your lover.”

Marcus searched her face, his eyes dropping to her mouth before moving to caress the tops of her breasts with his gaze. He was going to kiss her, she thought, and all her brave words aside, she wasn’t sure she would refuse him.

A slow smile spread across Marcus’ face.

He knew, she realized, and she felt the flush start in her breasts.

“A pity,” Marcus said, his voice suddenly serious.

Standing beside Jacqueline, Marcus realized he could flirt with her, but the idea of using her to appease his loneliness, and perhaps punish Philip, left an extremely bad taste in his mouth.