Surrender to Sin (Fallen)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Yes?” she said softly when his words trailed off, hope twining around her thudding heart. Say it. Say you don’t want our affair to end, even if this plan works. “You would have to what?”

  “Never mind,” Sin replied, frowning. “Now, let’s get you tidied up.”

  Head bowed because she couldn’t mask her acute disappointment, Grace sat still as he procured a large linen handkerchief and wiped all traces of his seed from her body, then withdrew the jade dildo from her backside and dropped it into a small storage pouch cleverly hidden between the squabs and side of the carriage. No sooner had Sin discarded the handkerchief, the carriage came to a shuddering halt.

  A glance out the window confirmed they had indeed arrived at Vauxhall Gardens, and nerves and sadness twinged in her belly.

  This was it then. The beginning of the end.

  …

  Even though he’d been here countless times, Vauxhall Gardens remained one of Sin’s favorite places in London. It was loud, frenetic, and colorful, as only an open air venue that served thousands of people could be. But the haphazard blend of traditional activities like music and dancing, and fascinatingly modern like gas balloon flights, plus the Palladian, Gothic, and exotic architecture, always soothed his senses for some unknown reason.

  Sin handed two crowns to the lad at the gate to cover the entry fee of three shillings and sixpence each, then tucking Grace’s arm securely through his, continued down the Grand Walk. God knew his senses needed soothing after the heady visit to the toy room and the subsequent carriage ride. Merely the most intense, powerful, exquisite fuck of his life. The way Grace’s wet cunt gripped him while the jade dildo stimulated the underside of his cock through the thinnest of walls…Hell, it was no wonder he’d ejaculated what felt like a half gallon of come onto her stomach.

  What he hadn’t expected was the utter recoil against another man witnessing her post-orgasmic state, or being the reason she lay so flushed and panting and boneless. Which was ridiculous. As soon as they shoved Baxter off the prospective marital cart, Grace would leave and meet someone new. A no doubt bloody perfect, respectable, conservative man of impeccable lineage approved by her family and whom she would love, a man who would marry her, share her bed, fill her over and over until her belly swelled with child…

  Fuck.

  “Oh my word,” Grace breathed, and he looked down with a scowl at the astonishment in her eyes.

  “What? You’ve been here before, surely,” he replied in a too-clipped tone, even more irritated at the idiotic direction his thoughts had taken.

  She shook her head. “No, not ever. Carrington thought it far too vulgar. Especially the fact that it is open to everyone, not just the wellborn. And before that, on the odd occasions my father and stepmother brought me to London, it was only to visit relatives.”

  “Your late husband was a carbuncle on the ass of the world. Much like Baxter. Well then, allow me to be your tour guide for the evening. What would you like to see first? The art gallery has some fine works by Hogarth and Hayman. Or we could stroll by the orchestra and listen to music. Although it might pay to have supper first before everything is devoured. This is your chance to enjoy ham sliced so thin you could read a book through it.”

  Grace smiled. “Supper it is. I must admit, I’d dearly love some sweets—”

  “Sin. Sin, dear boy! Over here!”

  At the familiar raucous and rather slurred hail, he glanced over to the supper boxes and raised a hand in greeting to their future king. But before he could say a word, Grace tugged hard on his arm.

  “That is the Prince of Wales,” she whispered, her eyes like saucers. “You really know him?”

  “I do. Come and meet him.”

  “What? No! We can’t just march into the royal box.”

  “On the contrary, darling. Prinny will think it unpardonably rude if we don’t. Besides, we need the loosest tongue in England on our side tonight, correct?”

  To his surprise, Grace hesitated. “Well…”

  His gut clenched hard. “Are you having second thoughts about the plan? About Baxter?”

  “I, ah,” she whispered, looking away. Then she straightened her shoulders and re-met his gaze. “No. I just panicked at the thought of meeting royalty. I’m sorry, Sin.”

  “You called me Sebastian in the carriage.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes,” he replied, leaning close, unable to stop himself tucking a loose curl behind her ear and stroking her cheek. “When you begged me to fill your pussy because you were so wet and aching you couldn’t bear it anymore. I liked it.”

  Grace shivered. “I like your real name. It’s gallant. Sensual. But solid, too.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Sin glanced back to where Prinny was now impatiently beckoning them to approach. If he stared any longer at the lavender silk barely constraining Grace’s visibly hard nipples, he might shove her up against a pillar, tear her gown, and feast on them before fucking her senseless again. Christ. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He was behaving like a rash young buck on his first night out.

  “Come on. If we don’t hurry, we’ll be in the Prince’s disfavor, and believe me, that is not a place you want to exist. He’s a charming friend, but his grudges hold fast for a very long time, even the petty ones.”

  Guiding her across to the royal box, Sin bowed low, feeling rather than seeing Grace execute a perfect curtsy beside him.

  “You took your time, Sin. Thought you were giving me the cut direct for a while there. Most shabby,” said the Prince of Wales in an ominously petulant tone, when Sin was standing straight again.

  “My fault, your royal highness,” said Grace, blinking up at the prince, her eyes sapphire pools and her smile sweeter than honey. “I was altogether overcome at the thought of meeting you.”

  “Looked more like you were overcome at what Sin was doing. Don’t think you would have minded at all if he’d thrown you over his shoulder and rushed off to one of those darkened walkways, what? Ha! Are you new to the harem?”

  Color streaked across Grace’s cheeks. “I am…not an employee, your royal highness.”

  Prinny’s eyes bulged. “Well. Sin, introduce me at once to your companion. She sounds like a proper lady and dresses like one, too. Yet she stands rather close, and lets you touch her in public. I am most intrigued.”

  This was it.

  Unclenching his jaw, Sin glanced at Grace. The tiniest nod indicated he continue. “Your royal highness. May I present the dowager Countess Carrington. Grace to her dearest friends.”

  The Prince Regent chortled, staring hungrily at her breasts. “Of course! No wonder Carrington kept you to himself. I would also. But the widow has come to town to let down her hair, hmmm? Naughty, naughty Grace. So, tell me. Exactly how well do you know our favorite Sin?”

  “Rather well,” she purred, shooting the prince a heavy-lidded look.

  “One might say,” said Sin, quelling the urge to punch the future king by lifting Grace’s hand to his mouth and kissing each of her knuckles before deliberately curving his hand around her lush backside and squeezing. “We are very, very close friends. But do not tell Lord Baxter!”

  “Oh indeed,” added Grace quickly, “we beg you, sir, do not tell a soul. Lord Baxter is intent on courting me. Imagine if such an upright and morally sound man discovered I wasn’t at all a virtuous widow!”

  The prince’s eyes gleamed. “Virtue is vastly overrated, my dear. But your scandalous little secret is safe with me. Now, I command you both to join me for champagne and sweets. Berry tarts, custards, cheesecake and whatnot, quite good I suppose, but not a patch on Fa…well, you know where.”

  Sin stifled a laugh. He hardly needed confirmation that Prinny was responsible for all the salacious gossip about Fallen’s activities. The man leaked like a rusty bucket. But judging by the malicious smiles and flurry of movement in the royal box, not to mention the boxes on either side, his and Grace’s secret was now moving at the spee
d of a runaway cart from ton member to ton member.

  He’d estimated about an hour for the news to spread across London. It seemed that was entirely too conservative. Baxter would be hailed and informed and consoled by ‘concerned friends’ in half that time.

  By tomorrow evening at most, Grace would be a free woman.

  Who wouldn’t need him any longer.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Five

  Wincing as Nell arranged her hair into the ugliest, plainest, most no-nonsense coiled braid in the history of style, Grace worried her tender lower lip, the recipient of her anxiety for several hours now. “Stop looking at me like that. I hate it as much as you do.”

  Her maid harrumphed. “My eyes are merely encouraging you to tell me what on earth is going on. When your father and stepmother arrived in high dudgeon this morning, I thought for sure the Vauxhall outing had worked a treat and Baxter was no more. But now the four of you are attending a church roof fundraiser?”

  “I don’t understand it myself. The Prince Regent made such a fuss over us last night, and Sebastian—”

  “Sebastian now, is it?” said Nell with raised eyebrows. “My, my.”

  “Oh hush up. Anyway, he told me half the Carlton House set were there and galloping the news to the four corners of the Gardens and beyond, so it is impossible for Lord Baxter not to have heard. I’m going to send Sebastian a note. Ask him to meet me at the fundraiser.”

  Nell nodded as she sank into an unhappy heap on Grace’s bed. “I think that is a good idea. You may need a friend later, especially with the bishop and your stepmother firmly on the side of Lord Baxter.”

  Anger flared again, the foot-stomping, vase-hurling kind, and her fingers clenched around her small jewelry box. She’d asked for two weeks. Just fourteen nights on her own, and her father had again broken a sworn promise, bursting in with vile Edwina in tow. “No need to remind me. I just hope Sebastian doesn’t have a prior engagement.”

  “Indeed. Oh, Lady C, although I truly hope the Vauxhall outing worked, I’m sad you never got to try out some other toys. Or see the pirate room…”

  Grace’s shoulders slumped. “You and me both.”

  Several hours later, she strolled into the parlor of a stately wood and stone London townhouse. Lord Baxter’s grip on her elbow was more gaoler than fiancé. In her heeled slippers she was an inch taller than him, and despite the fact she wore a high-necked gray silk gown adorned with a single, discreet cameo, and her hair in the terrible bun, the wretched man had still tightened his lips and insisted she showed more flesh than appropriate for a respectable lady. Only already running late had prevented him imposing his preference for a complete change in clothing.

  “Ah, Lord Baxter! You are most welcome,” chirped a plump matron clad entirely and rather unfortunately in orange satin. “And who is this fetching…why, it’s Lady Carrington. My dear, I’m so relieved to see you two together! Miles returned from his club late last night with the most frightful tale…but here you are, and his lordship in escort with all proper devotion. How wonderful!”

  “Lady Miles,” Lord Baxter chided coldly. “A refined female pays no heed to the idle gossip of curs and whores. Your husband is most lax in his instruction.”

  Their hostess drooped. “You are right, my lord. I do beg your pardon. Oh, Lady Carrington, how fortunate you are to have gained the affection of a man such as Lord Baxter. So proper. So righteous. I enjoyed tremendously his most recent speech on the evils of lowborn women, the vulgar, shameless harlots who dare put pen to paper and call it writing, who shelter runaways and orphans, who put the world in disorder when they marry above their station. I was truly, truly inspired. Did you hear it?”

  Grace swallowed hard, lest the scream building in her throat unleash itself. “Ah, no. No I have not, Lady Miles. May we sit anywhere in the parlor? I should like to find enough room for my father and stepmother also.”

  “Bishop Lloyd-Gates is here?” said Lady Miles with a gasp. “Oh gracious me. Gracious me! We are twice fortunate. I must share the good news. Do excuse me, and please, take the seats in the first or second row so I might point you all out. The committee will be in transports. Transports!”

  As their hostess bustled away, Grace gritted her teeth and forced a smile upon her face. “I wonder how fundraising is progressing for the church roof.”

  Lord Baxter gave her a small but approving smile. “Very well. I’m going to present the committee with a draft for three hundred pounds this evening. That will take them over and above the remaining amount they needed to restore the building to its former glory.”

  “Most generous of you, my lord.”

  “Lady Carrington,” he replied, his grip tightening further even as one thumb traced a brief circle on the soft skin of her upper arm. “Grace, if I may. I am a generous man. To a quiet, decorous, obedient wife, a true lady who knows her place and endures marital relations without complaint, I would be a very generous husband.”

  Nausea churned. “Oh. I, er—”

  “Carrington’s earldom was laughably new. His lineage weak, diluted with commoners. But our ancient bloodlines together will breed sons to own the country and clergy. Pretty daughters groomed for the palaces of England and Europe. Each time you were brought to childbed, I’d reward you with tasteful trinkets and jewelry. You’ll have all a woman needs.”

  One more word and she was going to be violently ill.

  “Please excuse me, my lord,” she choked out, twisting her arm from his grasp and dipping into the shallowest of curtsys. “My stepmother is calling me over.”

  Fleeing at a near-sprint, uncaring who might see her or what they might think, Grace dashed across the room then veered left and left again down a series of narrow, dark paneled hallways. These houses built in the time of King Henry VIII might be problematic when it came to light and space and ceiling repairs, but they were altogether wonderful when it came to getting oneself thoroughly lost—

  The thought dissolved in a stark flash of terror, as a large, strong hand wrapped around her arm and dragged her into a darkened alcove. Struggling against the iron grip, Grace’s cry for help to rouse the entire city was reduced to nothing more than a muffled squeak when her captor’s other hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Shhh, it’s me, darling,” whispered Sebastian in a rough voice so welcome, she turned and burrowed against his chest in sheer relief. “I came as soon as I got your note. Is it over and done with? Are you free?”

  “No,” she said bitingly. “It seems Lord Baxter heard tales of my behavior from many sources last night, but chooses not to believe them as they come from the mouths of curs and whores.”

  “Damn his bloody priggish hide. Well, I guess we’ll have to make it so he cannot help but see reason.”

  “How?”

  Sebastian smiled at her, a slow, rakish grin that hardened her nipples and caused her clit to throb. “Why, a depraved spectacle right under his nose, of course. If we moved to a more suitable, easily discovered location, do you think you could moan and scream for me loud enough to shake the very foundations of the Miles’s townhouse?”

  “With you there is a strong likelihood of that,” Grace replied with a shiver of anticipation as she went up on tiptoes to brush his mouth with hers, and rub her aching pussy against his cock. “And here you are, helping me again. I…you’re the best of men.”

  “Gracie, it is my pleasure. In all ways.”

  …

  On another occasion the Miles’ townhouse would have been perfect for a secret tryst. The sheer number of alcoves, darkened hallways, and wide window ledges ensured enough possible locations to service an entire bloody regiment. Unfortunately, a place like this was a damned annoyance when you and your lover actually wanted to be found.

  Growling in frustration, Sin turned away from yet another shadowed corner. “Too bloody private.”

  Grace glared at him. “Sebastian! At this rate we’ll be back in the music room fucking while the church ro
of committee fundraises around us.”

  He stilled, unable to stifle a grin. “Did you just say fucking?”

  “I, uh, well…I may have. So what if I did?” she replied defiantly, lifting her chin.

  Giving in to the temptation to touch her, Sin cupped the back of her head with both hands and gently delved under the high neck of her appalling gown to stroke her soft skin with his thumbs. “You must know that when words like fucking and pussy and clit come out of your sweet, ladylike mouth, I get so hard it hurts.”

  “Indeed?” said Grace slowly, stepping closer and rubbing those taut little nipples against his chest again. “In that case…do you know I dreamed of you all night after I got home from the Gardens? My backside was still tender from the dildo, and my pussy and clit swollen from the way you took me so wonderfully hard and deep in the carriage. When I woke up wet this morning, I…I actually reached for you to ease the ache.”

  Sin stared at her heavy-lidded eyes and pink cheeks, speechless with lust. Again the unpleasant thought of how he would ever be able to say a final goodbye to this woman stormed into his mind, and it proved impossible to set aside.

  Angry at his own weakness, hating Baxter even more than before, and all the nameless, faceless, suitable prospective husbands of Grace’s future, he kissed her hungrily. He was probably bruising her soft lips with such brute force, but he was unable to stop, not when her arms twined about his neck and all he could hear were whimpers as she melted against him. Finally he picked her up and set her on a wide, cushioned window ledge, standing between her spread thighs and rucking up her gown.

  “Grace…” he said hoarsely, his control hanging by a thread at the sight of her damp curls, the intoxicating spicy scent of her swollen, pink pussy.

  “Don’t talk. Hurry!”

  “Demanding, imperious, woman,” said Sin, a rusty laugh escaping as he sank two fingers into her drenched slit, her slickness audible as he twisted and stroked. “Hmmm. I’m not sure you are wet enough to take me yet. Should I suck your nipples? Rub your clit? Perhaps finger your tight little ass for a while?”