Surrender to Sin (Fallen)

by Nicola Davidson

  Exhausted and boneless, she wanted to curl up and rest. But now was the moment to free herself from an unwanted destiny forever. Taking Sebastian’s outstretched hand, Grace rose to her feet and climbed up onto the first rung of the pirate ship railing, giving the audience a clear view of her sated smile and well-pleasured body.

  Then she searched the crowd until she found Lord Baxter.

  And tore off her mask.

  Shocked gasps echoed around the ballroom, swiftly followed by the dull roar of confused, incredulous, and fascinated patrons as they grasped the rebellion of the act. Several hundred pairs of eyes stared in hunger, waiting, gleefully anticipating an angry melee the likes of which they’d never seen.

  Instead, a man at the front got to his feet, lifting his mask for a moment to give her a wink. Prinny! “Jolly fine show, my dear Grace,” the prince bellowed, applauding. “Jolly fine indeed!”

  Seconds later the entire audience joined in, the clapping and cheering and whistling thunderous enough to shake the foundations of Fallen.

  Laughing, she waved, then turned and kissed Sebastian fiercely on the mouth. “Thank you, my love,” she said, nearly having to shout as the applause grew louder.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Grace Carrington!” called Lord Vissen, as he appeared beside her, curving a hand under her arm and assisting her down from the railing. “Now, the princess is going to briefly rest in my cabin, but she will be back to greet you later. Isn’t she a talented, bold, and very wicked lady?”

  The crowd roared, and she bobbed a quick curtsy before two footmen escorted her to a small, darkened cabin at the stern of the ship. Temporarily alone while she waited for Sebastian, she took a deep breath, wanting to twirl and shriek with disbelief at what she’d just done. And yet she had no regrets. Not one.

  “Lady Carrington.”

  Grace froze, every tiny hair on the back of her neck rising both at the words, and the cold hatred in the tone. Taking a deep breath, she turned around.

  “Lord Baxter. How did you get in here?”

  “It is madness out there,” he said, his pale blue eyes fixed on her through his mask, and entire body still apart from a long jet and gold cane swinging from one hand. “And I did have to attend to a footman in the hallway. But here I am.”

  “To end our engagement? Excellent. About time.”

  As if she hadn’t spoken, he gazed around the small room. “You know, I didn’t believe Vissen’s note at first. After my warning at the fundraiser, I felt sure you would conduct yourself in the manner I expect. Yet here you are, nearly naked, sticky with another man’s leavings. And a woman’s, for that matter. You enjoyed yourself out there.”

  “Every second,” Grace spat, but regretted her lapse in calm when the cane whipped down in a lightning fast movement and sharp, burning pain flashed along her upper arm. “And every second in future I won’t see you. There will be no marriage now, this tale will be told and retold across the country for days to come.”

  Lord Baxter smiled like a viper might, and before she could flee, a blow to the abdomen left her doubled over. “Indeed. While it grieves me to lose your bloodline and close connection to a duke and a bishop, my wife must be a madonna, not a whore. And you insulted me several times with your willful depravity, a slight I cannot allow. So we will take a little trip, you and I, and I will show you where whores belong.”

  “No!” she yelled, stumbling for the door. But he grabbed a handful of her hair, twisting her around, and vicious pain exploded across the side of her head.

  Nauseating, suffocating darkness enveloped her, and she knew no more.

  Chapter Eight

  He was so damned proud of Grace.

  They way she’d embraced her sensuality and tried a new experience. Well, not just tried it but participated fully in front of a crowd including bloody Baxter, took daring and courage. And the way she’d laughed her glorious laugh and bobbed an impudent curtsy afterward, not to mention that loving, rather possessive kiss on his mouth…fuck. Actually, of all people, he owed Prinny a brandy, too, for starting the applause.

  Shaking his head, Sin rubbed a hand over his face and grinned as he was finally able to politely leave a group of captives. It would probably take a chisel to remove the expression. And more than a lifetime to stop wanting Grace. He liked women, always had, and it brought him a great deal of satisfaction to assist them. But what he felt for Grace went way beyond that. Damnation, he loved being inside her just for the connection. And rather than being indifferent or against the idea, the thought of someday making her belly swell with child, hell, it was exhilarating. No doubt about it, he was smitten. And not the temporary kind, but bloody well happily hooked forever like his father had been with his mother.

  Another two giggling captives stepped into his path, but he directed them to another pirate and marched toward the makeshift cabin. They’d won—Baxter had slunk for the door after Vice escorted Grace away.

  Ducking around a heavy black curtain, Sin blinked in the shadowy darkness. “Humblest apologies, darling, I was unavoidably detained…”

  His voice trailed off. He was alone in the tiny room. Confusion turned to unease when he saw the discreet maid’s door wide open instead of latched shut. But when his gaze dropped to the wooden floor, unease became terror.

  A scrap of torn silver muslin. Two spots of blood. A temporary pass to Fallen.

  “Fool,” he spat, hating himself for being so damned stupid and cocky. Baxter was as cold and cunning as a sewer rat, not some idiot dandy. And now he had Grace.

  With a bellow of rage, Sin shouldered his way through the maid’s door and barreled down the hallway. The shattering of an urn and two vases registered faintly in his mind, but he didn’t slow.

  “Sin! What the bloody hell are you doing?”

  Devil’s voice was loud in his ear, and he clawed shirt and skin in an attempt to shove past him. “Not now,” he snarled. “Baxter has Grace. He stole her…blood on the floor…I’m going to fucking kill him.”

  “Hell,” said Devil, his expression horrified. “Baxter is…hell. Which way did they go?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to look outside.”

  “All right. I’ll fetch reinforcements. We’ll get her back, Sin. I promise.”

  Bursting out the side entrance door, Sin looked left and right, searching frantically for any sign they had come this way. A sapphire blue slipper lying on the graveled path was his first clue. A groaning footman clutching his bleeding shoulder the second.

  “Where did they go, lad?” he barked.

  “The street. I saw your lady friend and she looked ill, all floppy and such, so I tried to stop them. Got in one punch, but the bugger stuck me with his cane tip! I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault. Get inside and have that shoulder seen to, and tell them to bring around a carriage at once.”

  The footman bowed and staggered away. Sin sprinted down the lamp-lit path toward the street. Every scrape and chuff of his boots against the gravel made him wince, but he quickly reached the solid brick wall, flattened his back against the edge, then stole a glance around it.

  Tonight the moon was his friend, and he clenched his fists in fury and relief at the sight of Baxter about thirty feet away, half-walking, half-dragging Grace toward a town carriage. About to chase after them, Sin stumbled when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around.

  “What the bloody hell is going on, Sin?” hissed a curt voice. “Where is Grace?”

  The tall man wore a club-issued mask, but in the shadow of the wall Sin couldn’t read its number. A pirate costume, tricorn hat, and wig didn’t help with identification, either.

  “Not your business, sir. Just go back inside,” Sin snapped.

  “Like hell it isn’t.” An outraged female appeared beside the man, also dressed as a pirate. “She’s our niece!”

  Sin choked on a cough when the pair ripped off their masks and hats: The powerful Duke and Duchess of Waverly. Though fury c
onsumed shock when a glance over his shoulder proved Baxter had reached the carriage and opened the door. “She’s over there, being abducted by that bastard. And you two are preventing me from rescuing her!”

  The duke cursed, smacking his palm against the wall. “Come on.”

  The trio ran out onto the street. But even as they made good ground, Sin could only watch as Baxter shoved a limp Grace into the carriage, swung himself inside, and slammed the door shut. A whip crack echoed through the still night, and with a clatter of horse hooves and creak of lacquered wood, the carriage departed with gut-churning haste.

  “No,” screamed the duchess. “Grace!”

  Before he could reply, the sweetest of sights arrived—Devil and Diaz atop Dev’s latest investment, a curricle with the comfort of a carriage, but designed and shaped for speed and agility.

  “Get in,” yelled Dev, as the curricle came to a grinding halt. “What are we following?”

  “Baxter’s town carriage,” said Sin, as he, the duke, and the duchess scrambled onto the leather seats. The curricle charged smoothly forward, the air cool as the conveyance had only a roof, no walls or door, but that was the least of his worries. They had to catch Baxter before he hurt Grace further. Had to.

  “Right,” said the duke. “Explain to me what the hell is going on. Why has Baxter taken Grace? Why would he think for a moment he could?”

  Sin glared at the older man. “Don’t you dare pretend ignorance. You are the head of the family and approved the fucking match. Christ. Carrington was a cold fool, but now you and Grace’s goddamned father hand her over to someone ten times worse? Men like you should be horsewhipped.”

  “Grace and Lord Baxter?” gasped the duchess, gripping her husband’s arm as they rounded a sharp corner at great pace. “Oh no. Charles would never sanction that.”

  “Damned right I wouldn’t. Don’t like the cut of his jib. Never have.”

  Sin scowled at the duo. “Are you trying to tell me you have no knowledge of the marriage your dear brother the bishop is forcing on Grace tomorrow at eleven o’clock?”

  Waverly grimaced. “What Harold says and the truth is not necessarily the same thing. How could we know when we’ve been in bloody Vienna for the past two months? Only got back yesterday, because Anne informed me if we missed the pirate ball my life wouldn’t be worth a farthing. Hell and damnation. My brother has gone too far this time. And as for that bounder Baxter—”

  All three groaned as the curricle jerked left, then right, one wheel lifting almost completely off the street as they raced around a slow-moving cart loaded with barrels of ale.

  “No. He’s mine to deal with,” said Sin, trying to ignore his roiling gut as he stared defiantly at two pillars of society. Even if they did enjoy the odd naked pirate orgy. “I adore Grace, and if she’ll have me I’m going to marry her.”

  Duchess Anne patted his knee and murmured “lovely” before swiftly pressing her fingers to her mouth. Clearly her stomach was enjoying the journey as much as his.

  “I know you’re of decent stock,” said Waverly. “Your father and mother were both good people. Financials?”

  Sin almost smiled. “No debt, substantial incomes from Fallen and various estates, also a few shipping interests.”

  “And you’ll treat her and any children well?”

  “Always. I swear.”

  “Good,” said the duke grimly, as he gestured ahead of them. “Here’s the chance to prove yourself.”

  …

  Pain. Bad pain. And the world wouldn’t stop swaying and jolting.

  Inching open one eyelid, Grace struggled to get her bearings. She was lying down, and her head, stomach, and arm throbbed. But why did she feel so ill and dizzy? Groggily, she peered around the gloomy, lamp-lit space. It was still night, that much was clear.

  “You are in my carriage, Lady Carrington.”

  “Baxter,” she hissed, bracing one arm on the window as she swung her legs down into a sitting position. The movement caused her head to pound, and for one awful moment her stomach threatened to erupt at the sight of the revolting man sitting across from her. “What have you done?”

  “Foolish woman. You had the opportunity to become my wife. To create a dynasty and know true power. But you are weak. Tainted. Just like the rest of them.”

  “You’re mad,” she said, not bothering to hide her contempt.

  “I am not!” he barked.

  “Bedlamite.”

  “Silence, whore! We’ll be in the Rookeries soon enough. You like to be taken with an audience, well those vermin criminals won’t hesitate, and I will enjoy watching them bite and tear as they break you with the punishment you deserve. You’ll be sorry for crossing me. And St. John loses again…damnation, what now?”

  Grace stilled, hope surging as the carriage hit several bumps then slowed to a crawl, and Lord Baxter frantically rubbed his hand over the fogged window to discover the reason. If she could just get to the door and lift the latch, she could hurl herself out. Anything was better than this madman’s plan.

  “Ohhhh,” she groaned, shuddering as she slid closer to the side of the carriage. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “So very sick,” Grace repeated, throwing herself at the door, her fingers scrabbling for the latch. Nearly there…

  “No!” screamed Baxter, grabbing her arm in a cruel grip and yanking her toward him, before jamming his cane hard against her throat and making her cough.

  “Sebastian will kill you,” she choked out, her arms flailing as she tried to ease the pressure.

  He chuckled. “Stupid whore. St. John has never bested me. I enjoyed breaking his spirited little Sara, but I will enjoy breaking you far more. Even the thought of your cleansing, that creamy skin bloody and welted and bruised—”

  The carriage hit another stomach-churning bump, lurched to one side and came to a grinding halt. On the floor and gasping for breath, Grace glanced out the window, but the shabby wooden houses, unpruned trees, and damaged cobblestones could have been anywhere.

  A fist pounded on the outside of the carriage.

  “Get out,” said a muffled male voice. “We have your driver. And four pistols trained on you. We have no desire to dismantle your carriage, but will do so if need be.”

  Lord Baxter’s eyes gleamed. “Or,” he called back, “I could kill Lady Carrington right now.”

  Glass shattered, and a cocked pistol appeared where the side window had been. “You were asked nicely. Now I’m going to put a bullet in you for each minute you delay further.”

  Almost sobbing at the achingly familiar voice, Grace reached back for the door latch. “Sebastian! I’m here!”

  Before she could push the door open, Lord Baxter’s hand encircled her wrist, and his cane made a swishing sound as the blade extended.

  “We are going to exit the carriage, Lady Carrington, but in a very orderly manner. If you attempt to run again, or fight me, I will bury this blade in your back. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good,” he replied, nudging the door open with his foot, twisting her arm painfully high behind her back, and prodding her forward.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Grace eased out of the carriage, the night air icy on her bare skin. The whole time she could feel Lord Baxter’s breath on her neck, and the tip of the cane blade nicking her shoulder, the combination making her want to vomit.

  “Grace. You have bruises,” said another familiar male voice to her right, and she sagged in relief.

  “I’m all right, Uncle. Just…don’t do anything rash.”

  “Waverly,” snapped Lord Baxter. “What the devil are you wearing?”

  “I would have thought that quite obvious. A pirate costume.”

  “No. No. Your bloodline…your brother is a bishop!”

  “My brother is a damned fool to be in cohorts with you. Do not think for a moment I will allow a marriage between you and my niece to go ahead.”
<
br />   Lord Baxter shook with rage, and Grace winced as the blade pricked her skin in two more places. “I don’t want to wed this trollop anymore. But she must be punished for her indiscretions!”

  As loud as fireworks, two pistols discharged. Lord Baxter let out a bloodcurdling yelp, and all at once her arm was free, and the pressure of the blade gone. Instead, the man was a deadweight against her back, and she twisted sideways so he fell to the ground, two separate bullet holes decorating the shoulder of his pale gray jacket. Seconds later Diaz and Lord Grayson were on either side of Baxter, roughly binding his wrists and knees with rope.

  Her legs buckled, but Sebastian’s strong, warm arms closed around her, lifting and cradling her against his massive chest. “Grace. I thought…I thought I’d lost you. Hell, your temple, your cheek…shoulder shots weren’t enough. I am going to kill him.”

  “No, I am,” said her uncle, scowling fiercely at Lord Baxter’s inert body.

  “Both incorrect,” said a stern female voice. “I will end the rotten bastard’s existence.”

  Grace blinked in shock, grateful for Sebastian’s strength as the combined sickening throb of her head, cheekbone, stomach, and shoulder made her dizzy. “Aunt Anne, why are you here…dressed as a pirate?”

  “Same reason you are dressed as a captive, young lady. Or should I say, Princess Grace.”

  Hot color flooded her cheeks. Oh God. Her own aunt and uncle had been at the club! “I, ah, um…are you well?”

  Anne Lloyd-Gates grinned. “Remarkably so. Your uncle and I wish to apologize, though. We’ve been away in Vienna on diplomatic business the last few months and only collected our correspondence this morning. Otherwise we would have put a stop to all this Baxter nonsense long ago.”