Surrender to Sin (Fallen)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Don’t,” he said in a strangled tone as the burn grew worse, and his breath came in short, choppy pants.

  Her lips brushed his ear. “Sara’s death wasn’t your fault.”

  “Of course it was my fucking fault. I took too fucking long to get there. A carriage. Who takes a carriage? I should have ridden. Changed horses and ridden the whole way. It wasn’t that cold, just some rain. Because I was a fucking milksop, I was too late. He knew I hated him. And he smiled. He fucking smiled when he told me the news. If that happened to you, I couldn’t…I couldn’t b-bear it.”

  Horrified at the sound of his voice cracking, and his blurred vision, Sin attempted to wrench away. But instead she forced his head into the crook of her neck, stroking and smoothing his hair, and he shuddered as moisture dampened his skin and hers.

  Exactly how long they sat like that, he couldn’t say. But eventually Grace leaned back and looked at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. “It won’t happen to me. We won’t let it. I have the start of an idea, but I need your help.”

  “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Whatever it is.”

  “We were gossiped about at the Gardens, but did nothing truly shocking. We partially broke the rules at the fundraiser, but Baxter’s cronies won’t speak for fear of retribution. What if we shattered the rules…here at Fallen? Tonight?”

  Sin sat up so fast he nearly sent Grace sprawling onto the floor. “Of course! It’s our annual pirate ship extravaganza. The scandal sheets call it the most decadent and downright immoral event in England. To attend is risqué enough, but—”

  “I could take part!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining with hope. “Except…how would they know it was me?”

  He rubbed a hand over his face, hating the thing he was about to advocate. “If you weren’t wearing a mask, everyone would know who you were. See you practically naked, being touched and fucked. And when I say everyone, I mean the most important men and women in the country, including Prinny. Do you know how many anonymous notes are delivered to the press in the early hours of the morning following one of our events? Hell, nowadays lads are employed to stay and sort and check them, because they know they’ll sell ten times the copies if a Fallen scandal is included.”

  “That’s it!” she said excitedly. “Lord Baxter would hate that beyond all. Especially if it were you with me.”

  “Wait. Wait. This is no small thing. Your reputation would be destroyed.”

  Grace chewed her lip, her face the portrait of grave consideration. “It would be, wouldn’t it? Then I should like our…display…to be no half measure. A man is one matter, but surely making love to another lady is infinitely more scandalous.”

  Sin choked on a laugh. Minx. “You really are determined to experience that, aren’t you? With a redhead, by chance?”

  “Do you have red-haired ladies who are members?”

  “As a matter of fact, we do. And a few of them love nothing more than devouring the wet pussy and swollen nipples of a beautiful woman. But fair is fair, you’d have to return the favor. Knowing all this, do you agree?”

  “I do,” she said with wide eyes and ruby red cheeks, but her reply was so quick and firm, he did laugh this time.

  “Then our next task will be taking you to Madame Alice and fitting a costume.”

  Bloody hell. This crazy plan might actually have a chance.

  …

  She’d never seen anything like Madame Alice’s.

  Rather than being situated in the heart of Mayfair like most other modistes and milliners catering to the wealthy, the large red brick warehouse was tucked away in a bustling corner of Blackfriars.

  But inside, it was a whole other world.

  Bolts of fabric—satin, silk, cambric, linen, twill, muslin, and velvet—were arranged in hundreds of colored rows. Cards of Brussels lace, ribbons, silk flowers, semi-precious stones, and dyed feathers rested in large, glass-fronted cabinets. Bulky, fearsome-looking footmen with pistols tucked into their belts stood guard at regular intervals around the perimeter, while two dozen neatly dressed, smiling women chatted, measured, fitted, and showed fashion plates to well-heeled customers.

  “Ah! My beloved Sin,” called a very stout, silver-haired woman with a warm smile as she hurried toward them. “You need something else for the ball?”

  “Hello again, Alice,” said Sebastian, taking her hands and kissing each of the woman’s apple cheeks. “I need a special favor.”

  “Anything for you.”

  “My very dear friend, Lady Carrington here, requires a pirate costume. Can you help?”

  Madame Alice pursed her lips. “To whom do you think you are speaking to, young man?”

  “The second mother who changed my small cloths, fed me strained pears, and ensured I was fashionably attired long before I knew what the words meant,” said Sebastian with an audible sigh, and Grace couldn’t muffle a giggle.

  “That is correct. Now, my lady, let me look at you. Hmmm. Adequate posture, elegant neck, large breasts, ample hips…all hidden under the most ghastly and offensive sack ever seen in London. Who created that lilac monstrosity? Tell me at once!”

  Grace tried not to flinch under the woman’s furious gaze. “Er, I’m not sure, Madame Alice. My late husband ordered my clothing and it was delivered ready-made to the country.”

  “Bah. Well, dearie, you’ve come to the right place. I’ve been creating costumes for Fallen since it first opened its doors, and I’m going to sew you something spectacular. Now, tell me who you would like to be this evening.”

  “Be?” she replied, confused.

  Sebastian grinned. “Indeed, darling. Is it your wish to attend as a bold pirate queen? An innocent princess taken captive? A siren or mermaid luring men to their ruin?”

  “Ohhh. Then I want to be a princess from a foreign land. A woman forced across oceans for an unwanted political marriage to an evil tyrant, when the ship is attacked and she is stolen by a reckless and courageous pirate who falls in love at first sight and introduces her to all manner of lustful acts.”

  As Grace took a breath, silence rushed to greet her. But before she could flee in mortification, Sebastian began applauding. “Bravo! Single best costume story I’ve ever heard.”

  “Most certainly,” said Madame Alice, her lips twitching. “That was marvelously specific. I think I know just the pattern. Now trot along, Sin, there are cheroots, decanters of brandy, and today’s newspapers waiting in your usual spot.”

  “No. I believe I’ll stay and supervise.”

  The modiste’s eyebrows nearly flew into her hairline, but after a moment she nodded and beckoned Grace and Sebastian to follow her to a section of the warehouse separated out by a heavy black curtain.

  “All right,” Madame Alice said briskly. “Lady Carrington, let’s get that insult of a gown off you. Good, good. Now, dearie, hop up onto that low stool and I will take some measurements. Sin, my boy, if you get in the way, I will stab you with a hat pin.”

  Sebastian looked up from where he now lay sprawled on a velvet chaise, and held up both hands in surrender. A gesture utterly undone by a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Alice my sweet.”

  The older woman harrumphed, but her gaze was tender as she turned back to Grace with a thin length of measuring tape. “That man. Stole my heart on the day we met, and somehow I’ve never wanted it back.”

  Grace bit her lip before she blurted something foolish, like she knew the feeling. But she couldn’t stop glancing in his direction, both wanting new garments to make his jaw drop, and wishing Madame Alice would give them some privacy so they could hold each other again like they had in his parlor.

  Never had she felt so safe. So cared for. But at the same time, so needed and free to be herself rather than a bloodline or pretty face. Still though, she couldn’t help yearning for more than this evening’s plan—listening to a lunatic part of her mind that whispered another way to ensure Lord Baxter would never be her husband was for Sebastian to marry her himself
.

  “Ungrateful idiot,” she muttered under her breath. Lord Sebastian St. John had done more for her than anyone on earth apart from Nell. Not to mention he’d made his thoughts on marriage very clear, even if he did care for her.

  “Lady Carrington. Lady Carrington! Yoohoo!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly to Madame Alice, heat scorching across her cheekbones. “You were saying?”

  “I asked if you had a preference for cut. You know, anything you want to show off or keep hidden.”

  “Um, of course I bow to your expertise. But I need something outrageous that emphasizes my bust and legs. Like a corset but far more comfortable. And a train that swishes when I walk.”

  Madame Alice winked at her. “Well I never. You do have plans for the evening, don’t you dearie! Reminds me of all my wonderful years on the stage. Now, one last question. What color would you like your princess costume? Lavender and gray are banned as options.”

  Pure longing curled her toes as she thought of tearing up all her wretched mourning gowns for the gorgeous fabrics and colors in the warehouse. Ruby red? A golden buttercup yellow? Hunter green or chocolate brown?

  “I’m not sure. Sebastian?”

  “Sapphire blue to match your eyes. Satin bodice, silver trim and crystals,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. The modiste inclined her head and ducked under the curtain, her retreating footsteps echoing on the stone floor as she clapped her hands and yelled for several seamstresses.

  “I haven’t worn blue in forever,” said Grace softly. “Carrington didn’t like it.”

  “Criminal waste,” replied Sebastian, getting up from the chaise and prowling around her like a hungry lion. “Can’t wait to see you in something other than half-mourning, although I admit, naked will forever be my favorite.”

  “I must concur when it comes to you, my lord.”

  His eyes glittered, and she took a shaky breath as he slid one hand under her chemise and trailed his fingers along her inner thigh, higher and higher until he brushed her mound. “Tonight is so very far away.”

  As his fingers deftly circled her clit, Grace closed her eyes and moaned, unsure whether in ecstasy or despair. The evening didn’t seem so far away at all, but surging toward her like a tidal wave. If the third attempt, by far the boldest and most wicked plan yet, succeeded, Sebastian’s promise was finally fulfilled and their time together ended. If the plan failed, she became Lady Baxter.

  Either way, she lost.

  …

  Returning to Fallen was like stepping into a tavern brawl.

  As soon as he and Grace walked through the front door, laden down with boxes, string-wrapped parcels, and drawstring purses near to bursting with spare crystals, paste jewels, and ribbons for the harem, a swarm of frazzled honey bees descended upon them.

  “Sin! Vice is being a right bastard and won’t stop shouting.”

  “Sin! That new valet tried to steal tonight’s apple tarts. Cook brained him with a bag of flour, and now the valet says he’s goin’ straight to the scandal sheets to complain.”

  “Sin! The four girls and footmen who play pranks on each other…well it got out of hand. Devil found in favor of the footmen, so the girls took him hostage. A list of demands got passed under the door, but they’ll only talk to you.”

  Handing his and Grace’s packages to Diaz and two other footmen, Sin took a deep breath. “Ladies. Ladies! Firstly, I’ll speak to Vice, but do remember he is the public face of the evening, and he just wants it to run smoothly and successfully. Secondly, the valet’s contract forbids him speaking to the press, and if he does he will find himself in all sorts of serious financial and legal trouble. Thirdly…where the hell is Devil trapped?”

  “His office,” piped up a young parlor maid. “Poor, sweet man did accounts all night and fell asleep at his desk again, so they tied him to his chair with their dressing gown sashes, gagged him with an empty money purse, and inked his whole face blue!”

  “My word,” said Grace in a solemn voice, although her eyes were twinkling. “They do mean business. What are their demands?”

  “Not very smart things, ma’am. A unicorn to ride into the House of Lords. Cook’s secret recipe for syllabub. Embroidery thread that never tangles, and, er…oh, yes, a Viking broadsword.”

  “I see. Perhaps, Sebastian, I could try negotiating with Lord Grayson’s captors while you talk to Lord Vissen?”

  Sin blinked, hoping his jaw hitting the floor hadn’t made too loud a crash. “You want to help?”

  Grace frowned at him in a manner usually attributed to Alice. “Well of course I do. You cannot attend to everything at once, and I daresay there is much to be done before the extravaganza begins.”

  Warmth suffused him, right to the tips of his toes.

  Curling an arm around Grace’s waist, he pulled her close for a fierce kiss, tangling his tongue with hers, until she sighed and melted against him.

  “Very well then,” Sin eventually murmured in her ear, ignoring the symphony of applause, catcalls, and whistles going on behind him. “Until later, my captive princess.”

  She shivered, and he couldn’t resist a nip of her lower lip, the urge to mark her overwhelming. Finally he let her go and left the foyer, deliberately not looking back lest he give in to the strong temptation of putting all staffing issues to one side, dragging Grace to a chamber, and fucking her until they both couldn’t move.

  A thought he’d had almost continuously since the day they met. Except it was far more than that now. Like when he’d shared the story about Sara and chosen to stay while Alice pinned and draped. He’d never done either with any woman, never wanted to, but with Grace it just felt right. Hell, everything with her felt right. On several occasions when he lay alone in his oversized bed, for he’d barely looked at another woman since meeting her, he found himself wondering what it might be like if Grace were curled up beside him. Not as his lover or mistress, but his wife.

  Abruptly, double doors were flung open in front of him, and Vice appeared like an apparition from the underworld.

  “Sin, you lovesick bastard. If you can remember how to bloody think, I need your opinion on the improved pirate ship. Extra construction is done, just have to fit the last of it, and we’re running out of time.”

  Alarmed, he flashed his longtime friend a soothing smile. Usually immaculately attired no matter what the occasion or exertion, today the burly Scot looked like he’d taken a leaf from Devil’s ledger and slept under a bridge. His red hair hung loose from its queue, stubble darkened his jaw, his shirt and trousers were torn and coated with wood shavings, and his fiery temper clearly hung on by the thinnest of threads.

  “Firstly,” Sin replied, “go fuck yourself. My thought process remains superior and intact. Secondly, by all means show me your masterpiece.”

  Vice grunted and waved him into the ballroom.

  Bloody hell.

  One third of the room was tiered in wooden seats lined with black velvet and dotted with miniature tables for food and drinks. But the other two thirds had been transformed from the usual basic pirate ship to something out of a painting; the structure boasting soaring masts and rigs, a single painted railing, a large wooden wheel, numerous padded benches, two dangling iron cages, painted ceramic cannons, a silk Jolly Roger flag suspended from the stern, and the carved outline of a beautiful, naked woman decorated the bow.

  “Well?” said Vice irritably, tapping his foot. “What do you think?”

  Sin let out a low whistle. “I didn’t think you could better last year’s effort, but you have. And then some. It’s magnificent.”

  “Had to hire dozens of extra laborers, but I wanted to make everything sturdier, especially the cages. They have to bear the weight of several people, nobody likes to be distracted by ominous creaking. Same for the masts. I added little knee pads so the pirate queen can use them for her floggings and whippings.”

  “And a role play captive,” Sin said casually. “Say, a pr
incess. Where might she be?”

  “Depends on the circumstances,” Vice replied, giving him an unsaid ‘you stupid Sassenach’ eye roll. “Is the delectable Lady Carrington for everyone to share, to sample, or just to be seen?”

  Sin gritted his teeth. “Under no circumstances is she to be shared. Sampled yes, but only by me and the lady of her choice. Since a failed finishing school experiment, she’s always wanted to try another woman, you see.”

  “Interesting,” said Vice, clearly struggling to suppress a laugh. “So definitely to be seen then.”

  “Yes. By as many gossips as possible. I want the loosest tongues, say Prinny and co, seated closest to the pirate ship…for the moment Grace takes off her mask.”

  “Wait. What? Are you three sheets to the bloody wind? Nobody takes off their mask here. It’s the golden rule. Complete anonymity, remember?”

  Heaving a sigh, Sin rattled off the situation in the calmest, most non-emotional voice he could muster, a slight victory considering he felt anything but composed. “And that,” he finished, “is why she cannot remain anonymous. Not tonight. Everyone has to know.”

  “Jesus,” breathed Vice, rubbing an absent hand across his jaw as he slowly nodded in agreement. “Baxter and her father both need a damned good thrashing. Men like that give Englishmen a bad name.”

  Sin snorted. “But all Scots are perfect.”

  “That we are. Why don’t I have Diaz draw up a one-off evening pass inviting Baxter to come and see the star attraction: his fiancée? He doesn’t have to witness everything, perhaps just the grand finale.”

  “That is actually not a stupid idea. If the bastard explodes at the sight of all the ladies freely enjoying themselves, that will be a great load off my mind.”

  Vice clapped him on the shoulder. “Consider it done.”

  As he watched his friend walk back to the construction area and bark instructions at the laborers, Sin exhaled slowly. Just a few more hours and this whole godawful mess would be behind him and Grace.

  Then they could have a quite different discussion—about the future.