Free Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) by R.C. Matthews Page B

to life in my mind’s eye.”
    “You have to put it back,” Maribeth whispered, her eyes darting to the place on the mantel where it belonged. “He doesn’t like his pipe to be moved.”
    A full chill ran up Devlin’s spine. Maribeth was a jokester, but something told him she was dead serious this time.
    “Why do you say that?” he asked, kneeling before the girl and taking her trembling hand in his.
    “It’s a game I play,” she confessed, staring at their joined hands. “It started as a jest. What if I moved a picture frame from this table to that? Only the first time I tried it, the frame was back to its original location the next day. So I tried it a second time but with the pipe. The moment I touched it, a vase flew across the room and shattered at my feet. I don’t like him.” She looked up, and a weak smile spread across her lips. “Can Grace banish
him
first?”
    Devlin let out his breath. Why hadn’t Maribeth confided in him earlier on the matter? He’d had the impression she was fond of all the ghosts. “Most definitely. Don’t you agree, Grace?”
    She nodded and returned the pipe to its home.
    “She’s right, you know,” Grace said. “The owner doesn’t like his pipe moved, or anything else for that matter. These are all his prized possessions, and he isn’t happy to have visitors. It appears he’s making his feelings known.”
    Maribeth sat upright and curled her feet under her bottom. “Have you always had the sight, Grace?”
    For once, Devlin questioned whether he had failed in her upbringing. When he reclaimed his title, she would never find her place in society with such open curiosity.
    Grace shook her head. “It came to me at the age of seven, after I was blinded. God does, indeed, work in mysterious ways.”
    “Tell me how you lost your sight,” Maribeth said, oblivious to the impropriety of her request.
    “I’m afraid it isn’t a story for young ears.” Grace hesitated, her hands twisting before her. “I shouldn’t care to upset you.”
    Maribeth slashed her hand through the air. “Bother that! I’ve lived on a pirate ship. Got ten lashings of the whip, even, and not a single tear shed,” she boasted. “Would you like to feel the scars on my back?” She hopped to her feet but then seemed to rethink her offer. “I mean … you showed me your glass eyes, and all. You may feel the welts if you wish, or is that too scary?”
    The horrified expression on Grace’s face confirmed she’d jumped to her own conclusions about which murdering scoundrel had doled out the ten lashings. A red-hot fury filled Devlin’s gut. What right did she have to malign his character that way? For Christ’s sake, Maribeth was a child. He might be an unforgiving bastard who doled out deserving punishments to adults without a modicum of remorse, but he didn’t mutilate children. Still, he read the intent on her face.
    Grace was preparing to bolt, and he must put a stop to it. He desperately needed her to unearth the gatekeeper to Hell and negotiate the terms of his deal. Josephine eluded him … but Grace … she could
see
in ways that he could not. She would find the viperous bitch; he just knew it.

Chapter Eight
    Devlin grasped Grace’s shoulders, and she flinched under his touch.
    “It’s not what you think,” he said, holding her firmly in place. “Maribeth was a child slave in the coal mines, but the man in charge sold her for a handsome price to a ship’s captain bound for South Africa. We came upon them unexpectedly and took her on board. You must believe I would never hurt her.”
    Grace held her hand to her mouth, as if she might retch. “Human trafficking? Please tell me … ” Her voice trailed off as she fought to utter the rest of her sentence.
    “You needn’t fret,” Maribeth said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Devlin saved me.”
    Grace took an audible breath. “I think I need to sit for a moment, if you please.”
    He led her to the couch, and she sat on the