Surrender to the Devil

by Lorraine Heath

But a time would come when even his title would gain him nothing. She would have no interest in him, then. No woman would want him. Hadn’t his father shouted the truth of that loudly enough?

  It was the reason his father had opposed Sterling traveling the world, had insisted that Sterling see to the matter of taking a wife first. But he couldn’t explore the world—and women—as he wanted with a wife in hand. He had every intention of remaining faithful to his wife, although he doubted she would grant him the same consideration when she learned the truth of his circumstance. And he had learned the hard way that it was best to keep his failings a secret as long as possible. Lady Angelina had scorned him, had taught him that love was an illusion easily shattered by the truth.

  He’d not make that mistake again. He’d hold his secrets until after he had a wife. But before he began to seriously pursue marriage, he wanted one last night of unbridled passion. And for that, only one woman would do.

  Frannie Darling.

  He could still taste her on his lips. He longed to release every button that denied him a view of her skin. Based on the smooth complexion of her face, he had little doubt that she was exquisite perfection beneath her clothes. Her breasts would fit nicely in the palm of his hand; her nipples would harden beneath the slow stroke of his tongue. He wanted to trail his mouth along—

  “More brandy, sir?”

  The unexpected voice should have startled him, but lost in thoughts of Miss Darling along with the abundance of brandy he’d swallowed had made him lethargic. He was almost floating, knew he should refuse, because he hadn’t even heard his servant enter the room, but that wasn’t unusual. His servants always exhibited the utmost in decorum and glided along without a sound, as though their feet never touched the floor.

  In answer to the question, Sterling held the glass up slightly, in the mood to get completely foxed. Maybe then he would be able to shut Miss Darling out of his mind so that he could sleep. Or maybe it would be better to entice her into his dreams, where she would desire him as much as he—

  The brandy spilled over the rim of his glass, onto his thigh, and splashed onto his shirt. “Dammit, man!”

  Unsteadily, he lurched out of the chair and spun around—

  To discover a servant hadn’t entered his sanctuary. No indeed. It had been violated by Jack Dodger and James Swindler. He supposed he should count his blessings that only two and not four of the ruffians had sneaked in on him.

  Swindler set the decanter back on the table with incredible delicacy for a man so large.

  “How did you get in here?” Sterling asked, wishing his words didn’t sound quite so slurred. He was having more difficulty than usual bringing his shadowed world into focus. Damnation, why hadn’t he lit more lamps or poured himself fewer snifters of brandy?

  “Not important,” Jack Dodger said. “What is important is for you to realize that you can do nothing to keep us out if we decide we want in.”

  “I would threaten to call around for a constable, but I suppose that would do me little good considering an inspector has broken into my residence.”

  “It’ll do you no good at all, Your Grace.” Swindler’s sneer left no doubt as to where he stood regarding Sterling’s title. He apparently considered it as worthless as he did Sterling.

  “Could I offer you gentlemen a drink?”

  “You’re to stay away from Frannie,” Swindler stated succinctly.

  No, then, to the drink.

  “Or what?” Sterling asked.

  “I can make you disappear.”

  Ah, nothing like an unveiled threat to make matters perfectly clear. Unfortunately, Sterling didn’t appreciate threats. If anything, they only served to make him more stubborn and determined to have his way. “Indeed? And are your superiors aware of this unusual skill you’ve apparently honed?”

  “Frannie is special to us, Greystone,” Jack Dodger said. “We have no intention of seeing her hurt.”

  “Well, that makes three of us, as I have no intentions of harming her.”

  “You may not intend it, but if you make her your mistress, that’ll be the result.”

  As a muscle in his jaw tightened, Sterling narrowed his eyes. Had he been that obvious?

  “She told us,” Dodger said, as though a question had been asked. “She’s that innocent.”

  “She doesn’t kiss as though she’s innocent.”

  His meaty hands balled into fists, Swindler took a step toward him. Dodger grabbed him by the back of his jacket. “Hold up, Swindler.”

  The delivery of the words carried enough authority to halt Swindler, but it was obvious he didn’t appreciate the interference. Sterling, on the other hand, did appreciate it. If it came to fisticuffs, Sterling knew he would give it his best, but he wouldn’t stand a chance. Not that he was in the habit of fighting, but Swindler looked as though he was. It also appeared he was in the habit of winning.

  Dodger stepped in front of him, putting himself between Swindler and Sterling, but Swindler was tall enough that Sterling could still see the fury in his green eyes. Of the two, he was undoubtedly the more dangerous, although Sterling wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate Jack Dodger.

  “The thing of it is, Greystone,” Dodger began, “Swindler, Graves, Claybourne, and I consider ourselves to be her brothers. Each of us would willingly go to the gallows for her.”

  “I’ve heard you’re protective of what’s yours.”

  “I am. I fear I’ve had to terminate your membership at Dodger’s. You’ll need to seek your pleasures elsewhere.”

  “Gentlemen, if I truly want something, you do not have it within your power to stop me from obtaining it.”

  The pain that ricocheted through his face was almost as fierce as the pain bouncing through his skull when he hit the floor. He hadn’t seen Swindler move, and he certainly hadn’t seen his fist coming at him from the side—his Achilles’ heel. Swindler was suddenly kneeling beside him. With his mammoth hand latched on to Sterling’s shirt, he jerked him upright until he was almost sitting.

  “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

  “I appreciate a man who doesn’t mince words.”

  Swindler released his hold, and Sterling once again made painful contact with the floor. Swindler stood up and stormed from the room, the tread of his heavy footsteps reverberating through the floor.

  Dodger knelt beside Sterling. “Greystone, you have to understand we come from the streets. When Frannie was a young girl, we weren’t able to stop someone from hurting her very badly. The four of us swore an oath that we’d die before we let anyone harm her again. It’s a vow we will keep.”

  Sterling lay where he was long after Dodger left. He had been correct about one thing: they did love her.

  Unfortunately, he found little consolation in being correct, but he was more determined than ever to have her.

  Chapter 4

  After making the last needed notation in the ledger, Frannie blew softly on the ink to hasten its drying. The numbers were astonishing. Having been in Jack Dodger’s employ for ten years now—and his partner for five—she should be accustomed to how much money men frittered away on games of chance.

  “The house always wins in the end, Frannie,” Jack had told her when she’d initially questioned his wisdom in opening a gambling establishment. “And the end is all that matters.”

  With a sigh, she set aside her gold-nibbed pen—a gift from Jack, who enjoyed fine things and knew she’d never spend so senselessly on herself—and carefully closed the book so as not to smear the ink. Jack liked everything neat and tidy. But then, so did she. She was fairly certain it was because they’d grown up in squalor.

  Her office was sparsely decorated. The desk, a couple of chairs, a couch where she sometimes took a quick rest, and shelves that housed the ledgers that provided a history of the establishment.

  It was almost two in the morning. Although she was tired, the late hours worked well for her. Working on the accounts at night left her free to s
ee after the children’s home she planned to open soon. The furniture was scheduled to arrive early the next week. Now all she needed was to hire employees. But that was a task for tomorrow. For tonight she had a few more matters to attend to before she could retire.

  Opening the ledger with member accounts, she began making notations regarding whose memberships were coming due. When her lower back began to ache, she straightened, yawned, and stretched—

  A large figure loomed in the doorway.

  With a self-conscious laugh, she assumed a more decorous position.

  “Don’t let me stop you from relaxing,” Jim said as he took a step into the room. His brown jacket wasn’t fancy, but it suited his unassuming demeanor. His dark brown hair was thick, his eyes green. From appearances, he seemed non-threatening and in many ways simple. In truth, she considered him far cleverer and more dangerous than any of them.

  “I was simply taking a moment before I studied the customer accounts,” she said.

  “You do keep odd hours.”

  “No more odd than you. Are you working now?”

  “Jack had asked me to check on some personal matters for him regarding this inheritance he’s come into. I was just reporting what I found. Thought while I was here that I’d stop by to see how you were doing.”

  “I’m doing well, Jim.”

  Nodding, he stuck his hands in his coat pockets, then took them out. “Has anyone been bothering you?”

  That’s an odd question.

  “Were you thinking of someone in particular?” she asked.

  “No, simply curious.” He took a step forward, and then as though concerned that he might frighten her, he took a step back. “I just wanted you to know that I’m available if you need anything.”

  “I may need some help rounding up orphans when the time comes.”

  “That goes without saying. I’ve been keeping a list of boys going into prison, when they’ll be getting out. The younger ones, the ones who can be turned around, I’ll be picking up. I’ll bring them to you.”

  She gave him a soft smile. “That means everything to me, Jim. The furniture should arrive next week. Will you be free to help?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you. I’m feeling a tad guilty that on the streets are children who need a home, and I have the means to provide one, but am still arranging matters.”

  “It’s a lot you’re taking on, Frannie.”

  “But it’s something I want to do—terribly. I’ve thought about it for so long, planned it, and now it’s about to happen at last. I’ll send a missive ’round to your flat when I have the day and time.”

  “Splendid.” He smiled brightly—which was something Jim rarely did. “I look forward to helping you.” He made a motion to tip his hat, must have realized he wasn’t wearing one, and gave an awkward sort of slight bow. “See you soon, then.”

  He exited with a quickness that astonished her. She didn’t know why he was sometimes awkward around her when he wasn’t with the others. Perhaps because he was two years younger, and she’d mothered him more than most. She remembered the day Luke and Jack had brought him to Feagan’s. It was immediately following the hanging of Jim’s father. He’d been so quiet that she’d feared he’d never again speak. The shock of it all, she supposed. That night, after they’d all gone to bed, she’d heard his quiet whimpers and she’d left the comfort of Luke’s embrace and gone to hold Jim while he wept. Even then she understood the pain of loss.

  And among Feagan’s brood, they’d all lost something valuable. Some, she suspected, were still searching for it. Not Luke. She gave a slight smile. She’d never known him to be quite so happy since he’d taken a wife. And thinking of Catherine led Frannie to thinking about her brother.

  It had been a little over a week since the wedding, and to her everlasting irritation, Greystone often occupied her thoughts. Through a back stairway, not accessible to customers, she and Jack had access to a few shadowy balconies that allowed them, without being seen, to look out over various areas where their customers were entertained. Twice she’d searched for Greystone and not seen him. Not that she was certain what she’d do if she did see him, but she couldn’t deny the disappointment that she’d not caught a glimpse of him. Was he as handsome as she remembered? Was he as darkly dangerous?

  Was he anxiously waiting for her to respond to his proposal? Would he know that the answer was no if he never heard from her? Should she tell him when he was here one night? Should she send him a letter? Should she simply remain silent?

  She debated the methods as often as she debated her answer. She knew Jack was correct, knew the answer she should give was a resounding no, but Greystone intrigued her. She had no logical explanation for that. They couldn’t be more opposite. But why, with everyone else in Luke’s drawing room, was he the one who had drawn her attention, and more important—in spite of her best efforts not to be noticed—why had she drawn his?

  And why was it acceptable for men to seek the pleasures of numerous women, while women were to know only one? Certainly in the area of London where they’d grown up, girls attached themselves to one boy for a while and then moved on to another. Her friend Nancy had done just that and no one ostracized her for it. But Frannie supposed the price for being accepted by polite society was to embrace their rules for proper behavior, and ladies were supposed to value their chastity. A bit difficult for her to accomplish when she no longer possessed it.

  It had been nearly eighteen years. Over the years, the nightmares regarding that night had faded, although she knew they would never leave her completely. But she didn’t fear men. She knew the passion and the tenderness that could pass between a man and a woman.

  Several years ago, Jim had shown her. Dodger’s had a viewing room where the lords who wished to demonstrate their prowess would perform with a lady of their choice while the patrons observed from darkened corners and through discreet peepholes. Jim had invited her to watch while he made love to one of the girls. Made love. The precise words he’d used. He wanted her to know what it could be like. That night he’d given her an amazing gift. The encounter had been sensual, erotic.

  Frannie had always known that what she’d experienced at the age of twelve was not the way it should have been—and that night, watching Jim with Prudence, she’d lost some of her hesitancy at the thought of being with a man. But still, she’d never known a man she wanted to be with in that way…not until she’d crossed paths with Greystone, a duke, the very last man she should want.

  Perhaps it was a touch of the forbidden that drew her to him. Or was it something more?

  She might very well drive herself insane thinking about all of this. She had records to verify, memberships coming due—

  Her gaze fell on a notation scribbled in Jack’s almost indecipherable handwriting. Blast him!

  Snatching up the ledger, she charged out of her office and into his. He, too, kept late hours. He was sitting behind his desk, studying a ledger.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” she asked tartly, holding up her own ledger.

  With brow furrowed, his dark eyes serious, he looked up. “Of what?”

  She slapped the book down on top of his. “It says here that Greystone’s membership has been terminated.”

  Reaching back, Jack grabbed one of several bottles he kept within easy reach and refilled the glass on his desk. “I decided I didn’t like him.”

  “Jack—”

  “Frannie.” He downed his whiskey and started to pour again. She snatched the glass away.

  “Dammit, Frannie!” He scooted back, grabbed a piece of paper, and tried to blot up the spill. “That’s my best liquor. Why waste it?”

  “All your spirits are your best. I’m going to reestablish his membership.”

  He stopped his frantic movements, looked up at her, and glared. “I’ll just undo it.”

  “You can’t cancel the membership of every man who expresses an interest in me.” Not that anyone had ev
er expressed an interest in her before, but she was striving to make a point.

  “He did more than express an interest.”

  “I know you’re trying to protect me—and I love you for it. But this isn’t right. I can handle myself.”

  He studied her for a moment, and she knew he wanted to argue further. Instead, he snapped his fingers. “Give me back my glass.”

  She handed it over. She knew he’d never admit to being wrong on this matter, but as he’d shifted the conversation, she was going to mark it as a win in her favor. Besides, she knew he now had more important matters on his mind. One of Jack’s customers, the Duke of Lovingdon, had left Jack all his non-entailed properties. And Jack, in typical Jack fashion, didn’t trust his good fortune, so he was scrutinizing every aspect of the arrangement.

  “Will you send a missive to Greystone or shall I?” she asked.

  He gave her a pointed glare.

  “I suppose I should do it,” she said. “He’d never be able to read what you wrote. You didn’t do anything else to him, did you?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Swear to me.”

  “God, Frannie, I said I didn’t, and I didn’t.” He studied her for a moment. “You still carry the dagger I gave you?”

  She patted her hip. She kept it in a scabbard hidden inside her skirt. “Always.”

  “It’s been a while since we’ve practiced. Maybe we should, tomorrow. Make sure you still know how to use it.”

  “I know how to use it.”

  “Remember, the object is not to wound, but to kill. And don’t worry about him being a blasted lord. Jim will handle any inquiries.”

  So now he was suggesting she should kill Greystone? Lovely. “I think if he was going to take advantage, he would have done it in the library when he…” She realized just in time that she was traveling down a path she shouldn’t go with him.

  “Luke’s library? What did he do?”

  “Talked.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That I was interesting.” She took back her ledger and cradled it against her chest. “Shall I interrogate you regarding your encounter with the young Duchess of Lovingdon?”