Surrender to the Devil

by Lorraine Heath

  “It’s very different. The widow is not looking to take advantage of me.”

  She nodded. Strange thing was, she hadn’t been under the impression that Greystone wanted to take advantage either. Rather he wanted to give and receive something that might have been very pleasant for them both.

  “Good night, Jack.” She turned on her heel—

  “My heart was in the right place, Frannie,” he called after her.

  It was so difficult to stay angry at the lads. “I know.”

  She returned to her office and wrote eight letters to Greystone until she finally wrote one that didn’t say too much or too little, that gave nothing away regarding her own feelings on the situation. It reflected nothing except business. It would do.

  She rose from her desk and strolled across the room. She snatched the cloak hanging near the door and draped it around her shoulders before walking out of her office and into the hallway that never was quiet enough. The exuberant activities that took place beyond the closed door at the end of the hall leading into the gaming area always echoed through the building. She’d grown accustomed to it and barely heard it any longer. On the other side of the hall was the door that led outside.

  She unlocked it and stepped out onto the stoop, where a lantern cast a ghostly glow around the dark alley. Quickly she locked the door. She didn’t take the lantern because she knew this area as well as she knew the back of her hand and was comfortable in the shadows. Her room was up the stairs to the left. At her door, she inserted another key. Jack’s apartment was next to hers, but he seldom stayed there anymore, not since he’d inherited a fancy residence in St. James.

  Closing and locking her door behind her, she walked over to a nearby table and lit the lamp. With a sigh, she hung up her cloak and began to undress as she made her way across the apartment to the area where she slept. Her small rooms were as sparsely furnished as her office. A sofa, a bed, a vanity, a few odd chairs, a couple of small tables. She didn’t require much in the way of possessions for her happiness.

  After she’d washed up and slipped into her nightgown, she sat at her vanity and began to brush her hair. She detested its shade and the abundant curls that made it so difficult to manage. She wondered if Greystone had found it unattractive. She leaned toward the mirror. Her green eyes were her best feature. She remembered how often he’d gazed directly into them. Could he become lost in them? Was there something she could do to ensure that he did?

  But she wanted him to become lost in more than her eyes. She wanted him to become lost in her. What a dangerous, dangerous desire.

  With a moan, she got up and carried the lamp to the table beside her bed. After crawling beneath the sheets, she extinguished the flame in the lamp and stared into the darkness above her. With very little effort, she imagined Greystone rising over her. He would come to her unclothed and every bit of skin that she could reach would be sun bronzed.

  Releasing a groan, she rolled over to her side. When she finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed that she’d sent him a very different sort of letter than the one she’d written earlier. One that had contained a single word.

  Yes.

  Chapter 5

  As Catherine sat in what had been her father’s—and was now her brother’s—library, she noted the changes in Sterling one by one as he stood at the window, his profile to her as he gazed out, slowly sipping his brandy while the late afternoon sunlight cast a faint glow around him. His once golden hair had darkened considerably, which made him appear older than his twenty-eight years. His shoulders had broadened as though he—rather than servants—had handled a good deal of the difficult labors of traveling the continents. He’d acquired a thin scar on his left cheek, just below his eye. He’d lost his smile.

  Of all the changes he’d undoubtedly undergone during the years he’d been away, the last one tore painfully at her heart.

  “So will you see to it?” she asked her brother.

  He’d risen from his chair behind his desk, poured himself a spot of brandy, and walked to the window as soon as she’d made her request. His reaction had seemed disturbingly odd.

  He turned slightly, his sapphire eyes homing in on her, as though he now wished to study her because he suspected she was not completely sane. “Let me make certain that I have the right of it. You want me to arrange for the two hundred pounds Father stipulated in his will that I pay you each month to be handed over instead to Miss Frannie Darling.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Is she blackmailing you?”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s for her orphanage. I realize that I could simply give her the money myself, but this seems more efficient, and she’ll be assured that she can always depend on it arriving at the first of the month.” And her request served as an excuse to visit with Sterling, and perhaps to lure him back into Society. The fact that Catherine needed an excuse said more about the strained state of their relationship than anything else. He was her brother, for God’s sake, yet in the two weeks since her marriage, she’d seen him not once. But then, as far as she knew, neither had anyone else.

  “Father wanted you to have the funds so you’d have a measure of independence,” Sterling told her.

  “I’m married to one of the wealthiest lords in England—”

  “That does not guarantee your independence.”

  She knew the truth of that well enough. Her desire to help the Duchess of Avendale escape from her horrendous marriage had first led Catherine to Claybourne’s door.

  “I’m sorry, Catherine, but I don’t feel that I can alter Father’s terms, even at your request. A time may arrive when you wish you had your own means of support. Until then, send Miss Darling the money yourself if you have no need of it.”

  “Why are you being so stubborn about this request?” she asked. “It’s my money to do with as I please.”

  “I don’t consider this a wise move. As your brother, I’m charged with looking after your welfare and preventing you from making ghastly misjudgments.”

  “Not any longer. I’m married. And what about loving me, Sterling? Loving anyone? It has come to my attention that you’ve been in London for at least four months. Why did you not visit Father? You must have known he’d taken ill. It was no secret.”

  “Checking up on me, are you?”

  Not intentionally. But since her friends had recently become those who occasionally flirted with the darker side of London, she sometimes picked up little tidbits of information. “I’m trying to understand what happened to the brother who gave me a magical rock to protect me from nightmares when I woke up crying as a child after Mother passed. I’m not certain I know you any longer.”

  “Be grateful.”

  “What the devil does that mean?”

  He walked over to a table of decanters and refilled his snifter. “Are we done here?”

  Not by half.

  Rising gracefully from the chair, she decided to take a different tack. While he was her brother, his title was one of the most powerful in England. It carried weight and influence. Her father would be vastly disappointed if Sterling didn’t live up to his potential. “Perhaps you should consider joining us tomorrow. Claybourne and I are going to the orphanage to assist Frannie with the arrival of the furniture. We could use an extra pair of hands.”

  “Surely you’re not suggesting I lower myself to engaging in manual labor.”

  “I’m suggesting that you might want to be involved in something that touches so many. Frannie intends to provide a home for a hundred children.”

  “I still fail to see why I should care.”

  “If you don’t understand, then I certainly can’t explain it to you.” Refusing to allow his bored tone to dissuade her, she walked around the desk, opened a drawer, and removed a sheaf of stationery.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Ah, a bit of interest at last. Perhaps all was not lost.

  “Writing down the address in the hope you’ll change your min
d and join us. I’ve discovered, Sterling, that being involved in something like this tends to change one’s perspective on life.”

  “I don’t need my perspective on life changed.”

  But he needed something, of that she was certain. She set the pen aside and walked over to him. “I do wish you would tell me what you and Father argued about.”

  She couldn’t help but believe his present attitude related in some way to what had happened before he left. He and their father had engaged in a heated row one night. She heard the anger reverberating through the walls, but not the words. The next morning she received a missive from Sterling begging her not to worry, but he had decided to travel the world. She’d not seen him again until after their father died.

  Sterling averted his gaze. “As I’ve told you before, Catherine, it didn’t concern you.”

  “What did it concern?” She watched the muscle in his jaw flex. She touched his arm and felt him stiffen. “I love you, Sterling. If there is anything I can do—”

  “Leave me in peace.”

  “Are you not at peace, then?”

  He heaved a sigh. “You’ve become quite the annoying young woman.”

  She smiled, hoping to touch that place inside him where she knew a heart had once resided. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  “More reason for me not to honor your request and designate that your money be diverted elsewhere. Claybourne will no doubt grow weary of you in short order.”

  She laughed lightly at that. “He appreciates that I’m headstrong and determined. I would like for you to get to know him better.”

  “The Devil Earl? He’s a murderer, Catherine.”

  “Yes, he killed a man—”

  “His uncle.”

  “—for good reason. There is nothing about my husband that I do not admire. I think the two of you would get along splendidly if you’d give him half a chance.”

  “On the contrary, I suspect he’d dislike me as much as his friends do.”

  She furrowed her brow in confusion. “When did you gather that impression from his friends?”

  With no comment, Sterling walked back to the window, his snifter once again full.

  “If you need me for anything, please send word,” Catherine said as she retrieved her reticule from the table beside the chair in which she’d been sitting.

  “Get on with your life, Catherine. I shan’t need you.”

  “We all need someone, Sterling.”

  “I bloody well hope not.”

  Yes, her brother definitely needed something—or someone.

  Frannie Darling.

  The moment Catherine had mentioned the woman’s name, Sterling wanted her to leave. He relished the images that came to his mind with thoughts of Miss Darling, and in spite of the dire threats he’d received, he wasn’t quite ready to give up the notion of being intimate with her.

  After Catherine left—thank goodness she’d not taken it upon herself to visit him before all evidence of his nasty encounter with Swindler had disappeared—Sterling traded his refined brandy for a bottle of whiskey, his study for the garden.

  Frannie Darling. He gave the name leave to roll through his mind and stir the few memories of her he’d hoarded away.

  Sterling wanted one night with her, damn it all. What was this madness that had possessed him ever since he’d met her? Her hair was as wild as he imagined she would be in bed. Her eyes were the green of spring. Her lips were plump and ripe. The taste of her was fading from his mind, replaced with all the brandy he’d been drinking in an effort to tamp down his impatience while she considered his proposition.

  A missive from her had arrived recently, and the anticipation that had burst through him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Until he opened it.

  My Lord Duke,

  Your membership at Dodger’s has been restored.

  Yours faithfully,

  Frannie Darling

  So damned formal. Not even a hint as to her leanings regarding his proposal. And he’d been unable to stop thinking about her since.

  He dropped onto the bench at the far end of the garden and brought the bottle to his lips. Hardly a civilized way to drink spirits, but of late, he wasn’t feeling very civilized.

  He’d spent the past two weeks in residence, waiting for the bruising around his eye and over his cheek to fade completely. With his position, he had no desire to raise questions or start rumors that he’d been involved in some sort of brawl—especially as he’d looked as though he came out the loser. Good Lord, he’d nearly been attacked by a gorilla in Africa and had been attacked by a tiger in India—but neither of those creatures had seemed as deadly dangerous as Swindler.

  If only he’d seen the blow coming, he could have deflected it or countered it with one of his own. But devil take it! Late in his adolescence his sight had taken a dreadful turn. It had seemed innocent at first. He’d had difficulty seeing at night. Spectacles hadn’t offered any help. Then his peripheral vision had begun slowly eroding until now it was as though he wore permanent blinders. He’d tested his limits during his travels in ways that he couldn’t in London or at his estates. Now, he had a difficult time admitting that he could no longer control some aspects of his life.

  Perhaps that was the reason he was opposed to arranging for Catherine’s money to find its way to Miss Darling each month. Sterling didn’t want the lovely lady to gain financial independence at this juncture because it might lessen her likelihood of accepting his offer. He needed to provide her with a reason to want to be with him as desperately as he wanted to be with her. Money was an incredible motivator. Perhaps he would go around to the orphanage tomorrow, take the opportunity to remind her of his proposal. Perhaps even suggest that he’d provide for her orphans…

  Or would she likely take insult at that tack? Would she see it as beneath her to accept a gift from him in exchange for providing a night of pleasure in her arms? He might have to take a little more time than he’d planned with this seduction, but seduce her he would. A time would come when things he wanted would be denied him, but the time had not yet arrived.

  Immensely satisfied with the direction of his plan, he drained the last few drops from the bottle and sat back. A moment of panic surged through him when he realized darkness had fallen. Damnation. He had been foolish to come out here so near to dusk and to be so absorbed with thoughts of Miss Darling that he hadn’t noticed the dimming light.

  Standing, he focused on the lights spilling out from the windows of his residence. They were muted, difficult to see. It was always more difficult at night to make out his surroundings—but if he just went slowly…

  Of late, it seemed he was forever going more slowly. It wasn’t a luxury he had when it came to the lovely Miss Darling. He needed to take a wife while he could still give the impression that his vision was not a problem—which meant in turn that he needed to satisfy this craving he had to taste and relish every sensual aspect of Frannie Darling.

  Chapter 6

  Sterling had not expected the long line of wagons that his driver had recklessly swerved around in order to gain entrance through the gate of the orphanage. He’d not expected this home for children on the outskirts of London to be so monstrously large, reflecting such exquisite architecture. He’d not expected all the people scurrying around, hauling furniture inside.

  As his driver brought the coach to a halt, suddenly Sterling very much did not want to be here. Crowds, blast it all, when he could not easily see those who surrounded him, had become the bane of his existence.

  The footman promptly opened the door. Sterling was about to tell him to instruct the driver to return home when he spotted Catherine, and—damnation—she spotted him. The joy on her face at the sight of him only served to add to his unease.

  “Sterling, you came!”

  As she hurried over, Sterling realized he had no choice now except to endure a few moments with all these people and this activity. As he agilely leaped out, he turned his head
to see that his footmen had already disembarked from their carriage and were standing at attention waiting for their orders. He’d thought Miss Darling would be so grateful for his generosity in offering his own servants—

  Stupid. Why did he feel this insane need to impress a woman of the streets? It should be enough that he wanted her. Most women whom he desired were flattered by his attention. They required no more of him than that.

  Catherine came to a stop in front of him. While she was appropriately wearing black, still mourning the loss of their father, her dress looked as though it might have once been worn by a washerwoman. Dirt smudged her nose and one cheek, and her hair was in danger of toppling from its pins at any moment. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her look happier.

  “I brought servants to assist,” he said gruffly.

  “I can see that. Frannie will be absolutely delighted. Come inside, so I can let her know you’re here.”

  “You told her to expect me?” What if he’d changed his mind? Would she have been disappointed?

  “No, of course not. But she is a bookkeeper and she keeps tally of everything, so she’ll want to know you’ve come to help.”

  Catherine was babbling about all the work that needed to be done as she guided him toward the entrance. He could see now why Catherine wanted her money to go to this endeavor. The upkeep would be monstrous. Miss Darling would certainly be in need of financing for her enterprise. Bookkeepers didn’t receive an exorbitant salary.

  As they walked through the door into the building, Claybourne was striding out. He came to an abrupt halt. “Your Grace, what an unexpected surprise.”

  “By its very nature a surprise is unexpected,” Sterling said, annoyed that Claybourne appeared so comfortable in these surroundings, while he felt decidedly out of his element.

  “You have me there. You can put your jacket in the corner office, roll up your sleeves—”

  “I brought servants.”

  “Frannie will be pleased with the extra hands.”