Devil of a Duke by Kathleen Ayers
27
Nick surveyed the three ships from where he stood, assured that the harbormaster would allow none of them to leave port without his express permission. He had searched two of them personally. Colin and Rowan were now searching the third, but Nick doubted they would find anything. The Corbetts were aboard none of them, though he did find a seedy man of the cloth, torn bible in hand, attempting to escape unseen from the deck of one of the ships bound for Bermuda. A silk purse was found in his pocket. After questioning the minister, Nick knew only that Augustus Corbett had hired him to perform a marriage ceremony on board ship. After assuring himself that the man did not know where Jem was, Nick released him.
His sixth sense insisted stubbornly that Jem was here amongst the dilapidated buildings on the dock. “Where are you love?” He’d never been more terrified in all his life.
The feather light touch of a small hand against his coin purse startled Nick out of his thoughts. Immediately, he reached out to grab his would be assailant.
“Ow. Lemme go.” A grimy-faced boy, no more than nine or ten and dressed in rags wiggled on the end of Nick's hand like a fish on a hook.
“Trying to rob me? Don't you know who I am?” Nick snarled, shaking the boy.
The boy screamed for his friends as he caught a good look at Nick's eyes. “The Devil's got me! Help! Help!”
A group of equally dirty lads, watching from the far dock, scattered, running into dark corners and alleys like cockroaches, abandoning their friend without a backward glance.
“Let me go. I beg you.” The pickpocket kicked, his legs swinging wildly in his attempts to get away. “Oh, God. I didn't know it was you. Let me go Devil.”
“Yes, I’m the Devil.” Nick warmed to the task. He did not intend to hurt the boy, but the thought occurred to him that the lad might be of service in finding Jem. The boy ’s profession, that of a pickpocket, meant he noticed everyone on the docks. “Now if you wish to leave with your soul intact, you'll do me a small favor.” He lowered his voice to a growl.
The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Anything. Whatever you want. Just don't send me to hell. Don’t take my soul.”
Nick smiled, confident he’d be obeyed. “I am looking for a woman. Likely about your mother's age.” He peered into the lad’s face.
“I’ve got no mum.” The boy apologized sadly, suddenly looking bewildered. “She died last winter from the consumption.”
“Neither do I,” Nick said lightly, feeling a surge of pity for the small thief.
The boy cocked his head and some of the fear left his eyes. “Did she die of the consumption too?” Then he bit his lip. “Beggin’ your pardon, but I didn’t think the Devil had a mum.”
“You’ve been misinformed.” He shook the boy again. “An older woman then. Her hair is a faded red, like a copper pot that's been used poorly, and she looks as if she's eaten one too many tarts.”
“I think I seen her.” He smiled, showing several missing teeth. Nodding eagerly, he said, “I know I’ve seen her.”
The boy was in dire need of a bath, it was all Nick could do not to drop the lad and cover his nose. “You're not lying, are you?” Nick raised a brow. “We'll leave for hell right now if you are. What is your name?”
“Teddy Mac. And, I'd not lie to the Devil of Dunbar.” The boy's eyes, a light blue, regarded Nick solemnly. “If I was to lie, you'd find me again,” the boy reasoned. “I’ve heard—”
Nick shook his head in irritation. “Never mind that. What about the woman with red hair, Teddy Mac?” The boy had seen Lady Corbett, Nick was sure of it.
“Do you mean to take her to Hell?” Teddy Mac no longer seemed terrified, merely curious. “She's not a nice lady, that's why I’m askin’.”
“I grow weary of this conversation.” He peered at the little thief. “Would you rather we head down to the flames, Teddy Mac?”
The boy shook his head, swallowing so hard his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. “Miss Devine, she owns the house over there.” He pointed to a large three-story building with peeling gray paint and a general air of neglect. The sound of piano playing met Nick’s ears just as a couple of sailors stumbled out of the establishment, slapping each other on the shoulder.
“Sometimes, if I run an errand for her, Miss Devine feeds me a bit of meat pie or sausage in the kitchen. It's warm and the ladies that live there sometimes bring me a sweet.” He swallowed again. “They was talking about a lady who came to Miss Devine and rented a room. Miss Devine thought the lady wished one of the girls to come to her room, but it wasn't like that.”
“What was it like?” Nick murmured as he studied the brothel.
“She just wanted the room. The girls were talking that maybe the red-haired lady might want to consort with a sailor or such—”
“Do you even know what that word means?” Nick queried.
“—And that's why she wanted the room. The girls said the red-haired lady called them all whores. Leggy Lucy said there weren’t no man who’d want to consort with that woman.”
“Indeed?” Jem was in that brothel with Lady Corbett and Augie. Nick would bet his life on it.
Slowly he eased his hold on Teddy Mac but still held tight to the lad's shirt. “I’ll give you my purse if you find out which room the red-haired lady rents.”
“Your purse?” The boy's face took on a look of wonderment. “All of it? And you won't damn me? Won't take my soul?”
“What would I do with a pickpocket’s soul?” Nick scoffed, letting go of Teddy Mac. “Show me,” he commanded, “and I’ll not only give you my purse but a place to sleep and plenty to eat.” Peabody would find a spot at Dunbar House for the boy. He could work in the stables or sweep up the soot from the fireplace. Anything would be better than waiting to be hung for stealing a gentleman’s purse.
“Truly?” the boy said, astonishment visible under the layers of grime that coated his face.
“You have my oath.” Nick glanced at the wharf, but there was no sign of Colin or Rowan. “Once you show me, you’re to come back out here and wait until you see a golden-haired man with a scar on his face. You tell him where I’ve gone, and you’ll sleep with a full belly tonight.”
Teddy Mac nodded in agreement as one small, filthy hand pulled at Nick's sleeve and led him into Miss Devine's.
* * *
“I loved your father.”
Jemma's breath came in shallow gasps as she opened her eyes. A rat scurried under the bed and through a hole in the wall. The piano player downstairs played in earnest while the drunken laughter of men and women floated up through the floorboards. “I didn’t suspect.” She kept her voice soothing, hoping that she could still possibly talk some sense into Lady Corbett. She looked at the gun held loosely in the woman’s fingers. If I could just get my other hand free.
“Yes," Lady Corbett said, her face wrinkling mournfully. “I thought William a delightful man. Just delightful. That was why I had to get rid of your mother,” she said with conviction. “I thought William would turn to me, you see, and we could dispose of that toad, George. But he didn’t turn to me.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the door. Even with the noise from downstairs, Jemma could clearly make out the heavy tread of a large man. Nick. It had to be Nick. She kept her eyes on Lady Corbett and the pistol. The Governor’s wife seemed lost in her memories of the past and didn’t appear to hear the footsteps coming towards the room.
“My father spoke fondly of you, and often. He held you in high regard.” She choked out the words. Please, let it be Nick.
The footsteps came closer.
“Did he?” Lady Corbett smiled. “Well, then I suppose I should have made those cakes for George rather than your father.” The pistol dangled from her hand, and she aimed it directly at Jemma’s heart. Lady Corbett regarded her with unabashed glee. “But I’m still going to shoot you, you little tart.”
The door shuddered and broke on its hinges, bursting open in a spray of splinters and peeling paint. A dark shadow hovered in the hall.
Startled, Lady Corbett dropped the pistol and the weapon slid across the floor.
Jemma immediately stretched her fingers to reach the pistol, wanting to scream with fear and frustration when she couldn’t quite reach it.
“If you're looking for one of Miss Devine's girls,” Lady Corbett addressed the large form blocking the doorway, “you've got the wrong room. The only whore in here isn't for sale."
“I’ll thank you not to call the future Duchess of Dunbar a whore,” a gravelly voice replied matter-of-factly.
Jemma nearly shook with relief. Nick. It was Nick.
From her place on the floor, Jemma watched as Lady Corbett sidled over to Nick, giving him a flirtatious smile. “Well, if it isn't my erstwhile house guest, Mr. Shepherd, or should I say Your Grace?” Lady Corbett stepped over the pistol until it was hidden beneath her skirts.
“Jem? Are you all right?” He never once looked away from Lady Corbett.
“I’m fine.” Her words faltered as Lady Corbett suddenly bent at the waist. “A pistol, she has a pistol.”
Lady Corbett lifted her head and smiled slyly at Nick. She was still smiling as Nick's fist made contact with the side of her head. Her plump frame lifted up for a moment, then collapsed into a heap on the floor.
Nick stepped over Lady Corbett as if she were a bit of trash and came to Jemma’s side. “Jem. Thank God." He turned to free her from the chair, growling at the sight of her bloodied wrists. A large hand cupped her face as he pulled her to stand next to him. “Jem.”
“I found you to be an insolent houseguest, Mr. Shepherd. You never did write that introduction for Dorthea to the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne,” Lady Corbett spat. “And I so wanted to have tea with her.” She shoved herself against the bed for support as she came to her feet. Her hand shook as she pointed the pistol at Nick.
“Nick.” Jemma said softly in warning.
He calmly turned towards Lady Corbett with not a shred of fear. “Do you really think you can shoot me?”
“I shall.” Lady Corbett shook her head back and forth, swatting at her cheek as if a fly tormented her. “I will. You deserve it,” she cried as Nick reached for the gun. “But maybe I'll just shoot her instead.” She turned the weapon towards Jemma.
The pistol went off, sounding like a thunderclap in the small room
“No!” Nick cried out as a burst of pure fire licked against Jemma’s shoulder and she fell, the rough wood of the floor scrapping against her cheek. The pain was intense, as if someone had pushed a hot poker into her shoulder. The room swam about her and she grabbed at her shoulder, staring at amazement at her bloodied fingers.
An unearthly growl erupted beside her along with the sound of kindling being broken. Rowan’s shouts reached her ears as Nick's worried face swam before her eyes.
“Jem.”
