The Bride of Devil's Acre (27 page)

Carver turned the lock on the door. “It wouldn’t do for us to have our reunion interrupted.”

“Explain yourself, sir,” Henry said, his voice tight.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Lord John drew back his shoulders and faced the unknown threat.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Carver said, swinging the pistol back and forth between Lord John and the man who must be Mr. Gates. This was the man who thought to take Jacqueline away from him.
 

“He’s the man who raped me,” Jacqueline said softly. He was a living, breathing nightmare; that’s what he was. His hair was slicked back, and his skin had the unhealthy hue of a man who avoided the sun. The scar around his neck was red and jagged, the skin healing in an ugly pucker that was stretched too tight.

Carver ignored Jacqueline and eyed Gates up and down. From the top of his perfectly groomed hair to the tips of his expertly shined shoes, the man appeared soft and, so far, showed very little backbone. “As for what I want”—Carver’s eyes swung to Jacqueline—“I think it’s rather obvious.”

Jacqueline shuddered and jerked at the unexpected feeling of her father’s arm wrapping around her shoulders.

Lord John pulled his daughter close, tucking her into his side. “You’re not taking my daughter!”

“What you fail to understand,” Carver said, his voice almost pleasant as he held the pistol in his hand steady and aimed at the center of Lord John’s chest, “is that she’s not yours anymore. She’s mine. Ours is a connection more intimate than marriage.”

As Carver turned his eyes toward her, Jacqueline saw they were bright with unholy fervor and that he truly believed his own rhetoric. “You’re insane,” she declared, “and I don’t belong to you.”

“You wear my marks.” Carver slid half a step forward, angling his body toward Jacqueline. Excitement hummed along his skin. He couldn’t wait to have her again, to feel her broken and bleeding beneath him. “Do you know how special you are? You are the only woman to be touched by my blade and live.”

Bile rose up in the back of Jacqueline’s throat, and her scars itched. At her sides, her hands curled into fists. She resisted the urge to touch her stomach. She wouldn’t give Carver the satisfaction of seeing the effect his words had on her.
 

Holding his breath, Henry took half a step sideways, releasing it when Carver’s eyes remained fixated on Jacqueline. The man stood between them and the study door. But a set of French doors led onto a small, walled-in garden off to Henry’s right. He knew from previous visits that the doors remained unlocked until servants closed up the house for the night.

Carver held out his hand to Jacqueline. “Come with me, and I will spare their lives.”

Jacqueline eyed Carver’s outstretched hand. Her father shifted beside her, drawing her behind him.

Henry took another step toward the door.

“I won’t let you touch her. You’ll have to kill me first.”

“Fine.” Carver fired.

“
NO!
” Jacqueline screamed.

Lord John writhed and, slowly, he looked down at the front of his shirt where a bright red stain was steadily turning the crisp white of his shirt sanguine.

“Papa!” Jacqueline reached out and caught her father as his legs buckled and he slowly crumpled to the ground. “Papa!”

“Hush, girl,” Lord John said, staring up at his daughter. Strangely enough, there was no pain. “It’s all right, barely a scratch. It doesn’t even hurt.”

Carver stepped toward Jacqueline, intent on collecting what he’d come for. A sudden cold breeze stopped him and, turning, he saw the door leading outside slowly swing back on its hinges. “It would appear Mr. Gates decided not to wait around to see how things end.”

Jacqueline ignored Carver, pressing her hands to her father’s wound. Pistols, even at close range, were notoriously inaccurate. Carver had aimed for her father’s chest, but the bullet had caught him low and in the stomach. “Papa—”

Lord John grabbed his daughter’s hands, squeezing them hard. “Run,” he whispered fiercely. “Go!”

Jacqueline shook her head. “I won’t leave you!”

“Touching,” Carver said. Squatting down beside them, he reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Jacqueline’s ear. “It’s nice to see a parent taking an interest in his child. My own father couldn’t be bothered, my—mother, either, for that matter.”

Jacqueline jerked her face away.

Carver grabbed Jacqueline by the chin, turning her to face him. “You’re lucky to have so many people who want you.”

“I don’t want you.” Jacqueline grimaced as the fingers on her faced tightened, Carver’s fingers digging into the tender skin along her jaw.

“They all think you’re too good for me, don’t they, bitch? But you and I know better.” Carver stood, pulling Jacqueline to her feet by her face.
 

Lord John reached for his daughter. Her fingers, slippery with his blood, slipped from his hands.

“You’re nothing but a whore. All women are whores, and I’ll have you begging before the night is through.”

Jacqueline’s gut twisted. Staring across the small space that separated them, she saw death in Carver’s eyes.
Her
death. He would take her and leave her father to die.
 

Wrapping her hands around the forearm that still held her face, Jacqueline used Carver’s grip for leverage, bringing her knee up hard and fast.
 

Just like Devil had taught her.

Carver gasped, the air exploding from his lungs as pain shot up from between his legs.

Jacqueline jerked her face free, bending down and hauling her father to his feet.

“Go!” Lord John ordered. “Don’t wait for me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Jacqueline said, struggling to get the injured man to the door. There were servants about; someone must have heard the shot. If she could just get them out of the study…

Carver dropped to his knees, his eyes watering as his prey sought to escape. He couldn’t lose her, not again. If she got away now, he might never get another chance.

Nausea boiled in his gut, and he heaved up his stomach’s contents. On any other day, he would have appreciated puking on a rich lord’s expensive Oriental rug.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Carver staggered to his feet. They were almost to the door, Jacqueline moving slowly under the weight of her father. Stupid bitch. She would have been better off leaving the old man to die.

Jacqueline could hear Carver moving behind them. “Hurry, Papa!”

Lord John twisted out of his daughter’s grasped and lunged for the door. His hands slipped as he gripped the lock. His fingers were numb, and he was unable to work the simple mechanism.
 

Later, he would be unable to recount exactly how he managed to get the door open. Not that it mattered.

The door opened, and Jacqueline watched her father fall out into the foyer. One more step.

Carver reached out and caught Devil’s wife by the back of her hair. “Come here, you bitch!”

Jacqueline screamed, her hands going to her hair. Carver spun her around and backhanded her. Pain exploded in Jacqueline’s cheek as she was knocked sideways. Crashing into a table, Jacqueline heard the distant crash of silver and porcelain as vases and knickknacks scattered onto the floor.

Carver, his sac drawn up tight against his body and throbbing with pain, reached down and yanked the bitch up by the hair. “You’ll pay for that,” he hissed, backhanding her again before he could stop himself. “You’ll pay for that and more.”

Jacqueline’s head careened sideways, her temple catching the corner of the table. She landed on the floor, the cool press of wood easing the pain in her cheek.
 

Carver stood over Jacqueline, fists clenched and chest heaving. He would have to take better care, he thought. His lady was a wild one, something he wasn’t used to dealing with. It wouldn’t do to break her too soon, before he had a chance to taste her charms.
 

Jacqueline’s world started to dim. From her place on the floor, she could see beneath the table. Her father’s feet were just outside the study door, his legs still.
 

It was the last thing she saw before the world went black.

Devil arrived to find Lord Edwards’ townhouse in utter chaos. Leaving Dillon to deal with the dead girl, he had decided against wasting time to get Finn.

He was still too late.
 

“Where’s my wife?” Devil demanded, marching past the housekeeper and into the study.

Lord John was stretched out on the couch. His face was ashen, and the hand pressed to his stomach shook. “He took her.”

Devil’s heart stopped beating. “Carver?”

“I never heard his name.” Lord John gasped and grimaced in pain.

“My lord, please, you must remain still,” Benson pleaded. The butler knelt beside his employer of twenty-two years. Downstairs finishing their meal, no one had heard the shot. It wasn’t until one of the maids came to light the fire that Lord John was found. “I sent for the doctor.”

Lord John shook his head. “It’s too late for me. All that matters is finding my daughter.”

Devil wasn’t about to argue with the man. The gunshot was low, and to the side. There was a chance the bullet had missed hitting anything vital, but the man had lost a lot of blood. “Do you have any idea where he may have taken her? Did he say anything?”

“I would think you’re better equipped to guess at his destination than I am,” Lord John said, his characteristic disdain resurfacing. “Why do I get the sense that this is your fault?”

Devil startled at the man’s uncertainty. He’d thought for sure Jacqueline would have told her father everything. “It is my fault,” he said, and left it at that. “But I
will
fix it.”

“She never should have married you.”

“I know.”

The two men considered each other.
 

“As he left, I think I heard him say something about taking her where they wouldn’t be disturbed.”

Devil swore. That could be anywhere. He’d had men looking for Carver for days and with nothing to show for it.
 

“What about Gates?” Devil stepped out of the way as a young maid came running with a bowl of hot water and an armful of towels. “Was he here? Did he hear or see anything?”

Lord John sneered. “Gates ran, the coward. The first chance he got, he took off.”

A commotion near the door to the study cut off Devil’s response.

“Excuse me, but you can’t go in there!”

“I’m with him.” Moose muscled his way past the housekeeper, careful to set her aside on her feet without hurting her. “Devil.”

“Moose?! What the bloody hell…” Devil trailed off. He’d forgotten that he’d sent Moose to watch over Jacqueline. “Tell me you know where she is.”

Moose nodded. “I followed them. He’s got her in an old abandoned slaughterhouse in St. Giles.”

“Thank God.” Lord John’s eyes closed in relief. Devil pretended not to notice the tears leaking from the corner of the other man’s eyes.

The big man never saw Carver go into the house, but he’d seen the young lord climbing over the garden wall. Lords and their ladies had funny ways, but he was pretty sure they used the front door like everyone else.

Still trying to find a way in, Moose had almost missed seeing Carver slip from the back of the house and into the trees, Lady J hanging over his shoulder. By the time Moose reached the tree line, the man was already to his horse.
 

“He’s got himself an old mare. She was moving slow, especially with two riders. Otherwise, I never would have kept up with them.” Moose had followed them back to St. Giles, waiting until Carver stopped before going in search of Devil. He’d lost time looking for him at Purgatory and finally happened upon Dillon, who was still waiting for Canon Andrew.

Devil listened to the tale as the two men headed back into the night. He’d ridden hard to Lord Edwards’ townhouse, and his horse’s sides were still heaving. “Go find Finn. He’s probably with Annie. Bring him with you to the slaughterhouse.”

“You’re not going in there alone, are you, boss?” Moose had a right to be concerned. Devil was good, but Carver had proved himself to be a slippery little sucker.

“I have to,” Devil said, turning his horse toward St. Giles. “I won’t let him hurt her again.”

Moose, one hand holding Devil’s horse, didn’t say what they were both thinking—that it may already be too late.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Devil slowed his horse as he neared the slaughterhouse. It was situated on the edge of St. Giles, near the river. The butchers would throw what little waste there was into the Thames, accounting for some of the river’s smell.

It was getting late and dark, but that didn’t matter in St. Giles.
 

Here men and women crawled through the streets with gin-glazed eyes and sores all over their bodies. Street urchins ran barefoot and sometimes naked through the streets. They each carried a stick, the weapon of choice when fighting the dogs for scraps of rotten meat.

Devil remained detached. He couldn’t save them all. He’d realized that a long time ago. The best he could hope for was to keep the wave of wretched humanity from swarming into Devil’s Acre.

Dismounting from his horse, Devil secured the reins to a nearby post. It was a safe bet someone would try for the stallion.
Let them
, Devil thought. The Bastard, as he affectionately called the horse, liked to bite.

The slaughterhouse stood dark and seemingly empty. There was no candlelight burning, and no sound reached Devil’s ears. He stood silently searching the dark for some sign of life and a way in.

A scream pierced the night. Devil took off running, his feet carrying him down the length of the building and around the corner. But it was too late; he saw the dark shadow step out from the loading dock and the pipe swinging through the air.

His head exploded in pain, and stars burst behind Devil’s eyes as he dropped to the ground with a thud.

“There appears to be no end to your usefulness,” Carver praised.

“I caught him coming in the back.”