Sterling was accustomed to ladies discussing light-hearted matters such as dressmakers and hats. Miss Darling, he suspected, had no time or patience for such frivolity. She was passionate about everything that mattered to her.
He wanted to matter to her.
He’d continued to make his servants available to her each day until they reported that all the furniture had been arranged to her satisfaction. She’d sent him a polite note thanking him for lending her such fine workers.
He’d sent her five hundred pounds. She’d written him promising to put it to good use.
Each letter was precise, unemotional, indicating she’d moved on with her life—as should he.
He became aware of an unsettling sensation that he’d felt on more than one occasion. Glancing at his cards, he asked, “Are there peepholes at this place?”
“Good Lord,” the Earl of Chesney muttered as he gave his cards another glance. “They’re all over the place.”
“Do they overlook this area?”
“Mmm. The curtained balconies above. From what I hear, only accessible from the back rooms, which are only accessible to Dodger.”
And his bookkeeper.
Sterling lifted his gaze to a shadowed balcony in the far corner. How could he have not noticed it before? It was too far away, too shadowy to make out clearly, but somehow, he knew—
Frannie jerked back from the small opening she’d been peering through. Damnation, she was fairly certain he’d spotted her spying on him, because she’d felt his gaze as though he were standing in the balcony with her, trailing his finger along her throat.
Tonight he certainly looked sharp in his dark green jacket, black waistcoat, and soft gray trousers. Had he spent his evening in the company of a lady before coming here? She didn’t like thinking of him being with someone other than her, which was rather silly on her part. He was a duke. Eventually he would marry someone other than her. All he wanted from her was one night. She had little doubt it would be a night filled with charming words and sensual touches and blistering kisses. It would be a night that might leave her longing for more. Was it better to have one night and forever wish for another or to always wonder what that one night might have been like?
She’d known so many of Feagan’s lads, but not one had ever caused desire to curl within her. She’d thought when she gave Greystone her answer that she could walk away and never think about him again. Instead, she found herself wondering if she’d made a mistake.
If she had, would she find the courage to admit it not only to herself, but to him?
The gin palace was raucous, but as Feagan sat in a dark corner sipping his gin, he appreciated the rowdy and boisterous activities. He grew lonely in his quiet dwelling now that his children had left him, but he wasn’t of a mind to try to replace them. Too much work involved in training them to be effective thieves. He managed quite well on his own to obtain what he needed to get by. His requirements for a good life were few: a bit of gin—rum when fortune smiled on him—good tobacco for his pipe, enough clothes to shelter his aching bones from the cold, warm stew on occasion, and a roof to keep out the rain. Yes, indeed, he considered himself a most fortunate man.
A huge hulking shadow blocked his view. He lifted his gaze. The only thing Feagan feared now stood before him. “Mr. Sykes, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Sykes pulled out a chair, dropped into it, and leaned forward. “You need to have a word with your gel. She’s messing with my business.”
“Frannie?”
“Aye. She’s coming into the rookeries and taking my apprentices. You, yourself, know how much work is involved in training one.”
Feagan sipped his gin. His Frannie had always had a kind heart. He suspected she’d been the reason that most of his lads had stayed with him, and the reason many had left after she did.
“I don’t see ’ow I can ’elp ye. I ain’t seen her since she left with that damned lord.”
Sykes scoffed. “You know everything about everybody. You know where she be or how to get word to her. Tell her to leave my boys be. She can take as many of the others as she wants, but not mine.”
Feagan wiped his roughened hand over his cracked lips. “I’ll tell ’er.”
“See that you do. I’d hate for anything unpleasant to happen to her.”
Before Feagan could issue his own dire warning, the man was gone. Feagan peered into his glass. “Ah, Frannie, Frannie, Frannie. What kind of trouble are ye getting into now?”
Bringing the hood of her cloak up over her head, Frannie walked through the streets of her youth. It was early enough that revelers were still about, late enough that the prowlers and prostitutes were beginning to poke around. She wondered what Greystone would think of her if she brought him here, if she showed him exactly from whence she’d come.
“How about a quick bump in the alley?” a gentleman asked, blocking her way.
“No, thank you.” Touching the hidden dagger for comfort, she shouldered her way by him.
“You’re not from here,” he said, moving to once again stop her.
“Actually I am.”
“You sound like a lady of quality.”
“I’m meeting a rather large fellow with big hands that are very good at squeezing things, such as your neck, so you might want to let me pass.”
“Haven’t seen him, but I’d be happy—”
“Ah, there he is. Excuse me.” She hurried on, but the man didn’t follow, nor was there any large fellow waiting to meet with her. The largest fellow she knew was Bob Sykes, and she certainly had no desire to cross paths with him.
Wending her way through the crowd, she stayed alert, always conscious of nimble fingers. She carried nothing of any value when she came to this part of London.
She felt bony—yet surprisingly strong—fingers tug her into the alleyway. She had her knife halfway out of its scabbard when she recognized her abductor. “Feagan.”
“ ’ello, Frannie darling.”
“You startled me. What are you doing here?”
“I got something fer ye.” He dragged a small, spindly lad forward. “Master Charley Byerly.”
She hadn’t seen Feagan in years. Seventeen, to be precise. His hair was no longer the vibrant red of hers. His face was more wrinkled. Somehow she’d expected him to always remain the same. She darted her gaze between the two. She despised that she didn’t trust Feagan. His looks may have changed, but she was fairly certain that his character was carved in stone, never to be altered. “How did you know I was in search of orphan boys?”
“I ’ear things.”
Frannie crouched in front of the lad. “Hello, Charley. I’m Frannie. I’m going to give you a home.”
“Don’t need no home.”
Feagan slapped the boy’s head. “Wot I’d tell ye, boy? Mind yer manners.”
The boy gave Feagan a mulish look.
“Have you a mother or a father?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t ’ave brought ’im to ye if ’e did,” Feagan protested.
“Charley?” Frannie prodded.
“Got nobody. Don’t need nobody.”
Frannie took the lad’s hand. She didn’t want to stay in this area any longer than necessary. “What do I owe you, Feagan?”
“Awe, Frannie darling, why would ye go and spoil our reunion like that. Why think I’d expect anything at all?”
“Because with you there is always an expected payment in some form. You are not charitable by nature.”
“Blimey, but ye’ve turned into a hard lass.”
She reached into a hidden pocket. “I have only a crown.”
“Ew, that’ll do just fine, thank ye very much.”
She dropped the coin into his outstretched hand.
“Spend it wisely, Feagan.”
“I always do.”
As she turned to go, he grabbed her arm and whispered, “Sykes come to see me. Ye gotta leave his boys alone.”
“I take boys where I find them.
I don’t ask who they answer to.”
“Frannie darling, ye’d be a fool to mess with Sykes. He’s done nuthin’ but grow meaner over the years. Leave his boys be.”
Even in the darkness of the alley, she could see the worry in his eyes, eyes as green as hers. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll not provoke him on purpose.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Good gel.”
But as she walked away, Charley Byerly in tow, she also swore to herself that she wouldn’t not take a boy in simply because he was unfortunate enough to have an association with Sykes.
Chapter 8
Sterling had mistakenly believed—since the last ball of the Season had been held and many of his peers had already escaped to the country—that the Great Exhibition would be far less crowded. Throughout the summer he’d heard all about the astonishing number of people who’d visited the wondrous exhibits. But with his diminishing vision, he didn’t do well in crowds, so he’d waited until he’d determined a more favorable environ would be awaiting him. He’d judged dreadfully wrong.
But he possessed a stubborn streak, and once he’d arrived and seen the crowds lined up to enter the Crystal Palace, he wasn’t about to tell his driver to return him home. It was one thing not to confront the enemy and another entirely to retreat once the confrontation was made. His vision was not yet to the point that he would give in, turn tail, and run.
Therefore, face the crowds he did. So far, all had gone amazingly well as long as he strolled slowly through the corridors, which fortunately were immense. If he did bump into anyone, he apologized with the excuse of being enthralled by the marvels before him.
Even he, who had seen the Taj Mahal, was fascinated by the glass and metal structure that contained exhibits representing cultures from all over the world. For him, it was far grander than anything it housed. British ingenuity at its finest.
As Sterling glanced around, trying to determine in which direction he should go, he decided it was an absolutely marvelous time to be alive. Within this massive building, even the common man was given a glimpse of the world beyond England’s shores. As he strolled casually along, he enjoyed watching the people’s amazement as much as he enjoyed viewing the exhibits.
He felt the ruffling of his jacket, wondered who he’d run into now, and turned. No one was in close enough proximity to have brushed against him, although he did spy an urchin running away. Sterling slipped his hand in his pocket and discovered it empty. “You there! Thief! Hold!”
But the boy kept running. Sterling dashed after him. It was only a handkerchief, for God’s sake. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have a dozen or so—but it was the principle of the thing. “Stop him! You there! Thief!”
Most people glanced around as though confused. Those who caught the gist of it found themselves grabbing at air as the boy effectively evaded capture.
Ah, he was fast, the little bugger, like a little monkey. If Sterling hadn’t been traipsing over continents, often lugging a heavy rifle or from time to time some crucial supply, he might have found himself winded as he tore after the irritating thief. Unfortunately, the boy could do what Sterling couldn’t—dart in and around people effectively, while often Sterling misjudged their nearness and clipped them or heard startled gasps as he got too close and they jerked back. In the back of his mind, he realized the pursuit was probably futile, but he was determined not to let the crafty criminal escape. The boy needed to be taught a lesson.
Remarkably, Sterling somehow managed to gain ground and catch up with the thief just as he was taking a sharp turn around a dark skirt. Anger spurring him on, Sterling reached down and grabbed the boy by the scruff of his collar, closing his hand effectively around his jacket and hauling him up.
“Lemme go! Lemme go!”
“You little thief. I’m going to haul your bony hide to gaol.” Turning abruptly, Sterling found himself staring into the gorgeous green eyes that frequented his dreams.
“Your Grace,” Miss Darling said, smiling softly, obviously as pleased by his appearance as he was by hers.
“Miss Darling.” The boy was struggling against Sterling’s hold, but he couldn’t twist around to inflict any damage to his captor. Sterling was tempted to release the little devil, simply so he could take Miss Darling’s hand to kiss it and give her a proper gentlemanly greeting. How ironic that he’d spent so many nights at Dodger’s hoping for a glimpse of her and he’d crossed paths with her here.
“What’s Charley done now?” she asked.
Sterling looked at the boy, took a careful glance around, and realized three other lads similar in size to the squawking one he held were gathered near her skirts. “He’s yours?”
She nodded, frustration and perhaps a sense of embarrassment evident in her expression. “What did you do, Charley Byerly?”
“Nuffin’.”
But he stopped fighting and hung his head as though all strength had been drained from him.
“What did you do, Charley?” Miss Darling repeated. “If His Grace has to tell me, then you shall spend the rest of the afternoon in the carriage with Mr. Donner.”
“Caw. Blimey. Not ’im.”
“Charley.”
Her voice was so stern, so filled with disappointment, that Sterling was on the verge of confessing something himself, anything to see her smile return.
“Snatched a wipe,” Charley grumbled.
She held out her hand.
“Everything all right over here?” a deep voice asked.
Quick to turn his head around, Sterling caught sight of the constable standing there. With so many other people walking about it was easy to miss his footsteps. Just the person he’d been searching for a few minutes ago. But he would suffice just as well now to take this troublemaker off Sterling’s hands, haul him to gaol, and see that he was punished for his transgressions.
“Yes, Constable, everything is fine,” Sterling said. “Just one of the lads getting a bit more rambunctious than he should with all these exhibits around. But I have him well in hand now.”
Not what he’d planned to say, but he’d decided at the last second it was what he needed to say in order to stay in Miss Darling’s good graces, which was where he dearly wanted to belong.
“Very good then.” With authority, the constable strode away.
Sterling turned his attention back to Miss Darling. Gratitude shone in her eyes, but he didn’t want gratitude. He wanted passion, fire, desire.
“Your arm must be getting tired. I’m certain you can put him down now,” she said.
“I’m much stronger than I look, Miss Darling.”
“ ’n’ quick, too,” Charley muttered.
“Is he likely to run off if I release him?” Sterling asked.
“No. You won’t will you, Charley? I should be terribly disappointed if you did.”
Charley shook his head. To Sterling’s surprise, he didn’t take off when his feet landed on the floor. Miss Darling held out her hand again. “Give it over, Charley.”
He brought out what had once been a crisply ironed handkerchief and was now a wrinkled, balled bit of cloth. Sterling hoped he’d have no reason to need it before he returned home.
Miss Darling seemed to recognize his disgust with the object because she said, “I shall wash and press it before having it returned to you.”
“I believe that’s acceptable.” He studied the boys brushing up against her skirts. One towheaded lad, two with hair as black as coal, and the brown-haired imp who’d picked his pocket. “Are these your children, then?”
“Yes, from my orphanage. I’ve been bringing a few when I have time in hopes of giving them all a chance to at least see some of the exhibits. We were about to have our lunch, before I lost sight of Charley. I’m grateful to you for herding him back toward me.” She glanced around as though about to ask him to steal the Koh-i-noor diamond, which was on exhibit. “We’re going to enjoy a small picnic. I feel I owe you because of the trouble with
Charley. Would you care to join us?”
He gave a low bow. “Miss Darling, I would be truly delighted.”
Sitting on the blanket she’d placed over the grass, Frannie could hardly believe that Greystone had accepted her invitation and was lounging beside her, stretched out on his side. He’d loosened the buttons on his beige jacket to reveal his pale yellow waistcoat. His green cravat went so perfectly with his weathered complexion.
Mr. Donner, the driver of Luke’s carriage, and the footman were keeping an eye on the boys as they ran around the park, working off some excess energy. She knew it was difficult for them to be on such good behavior within the confines of the Exhibition. They were only newly off the street and accustomed to scampering about London with no adult supervision, far too old for their years.
“I must apologize again. I’m terribly sorry that Charley took your handkerchief.”
Greystone nibbled on a bit of cheese. “I’m not. Do you have any idea how much money I’ve gambled away at Dodger’s, hoping to catch a glimpse of you?”
“Five thousand pounds.”
His eyes widened and she gave him a teasing smile. “I am, after all, the bookkeeper.”
His deep laughter echoed between them, circling around her, and capturing her as effectively as if he’d used his arms.
He grew serious, his blue gaze holding hers of green. “So, now I’m intrigued, Miss Darling. You must have some interest in me; otherwise why remember how much money I’ve handed over?”
“I’ve never claimed not to have interest in you, Your Grace. As a matter of fact, considering our encounters, I believe it fair to state that I’ve undoubtedly expressed an interest in you.”
He rose up on his elbow and leaned nearer to her. “Tell me, Miss Darling, have you been spying on me while I’ve been at Dodger’s?”
She wanted to cradle his face between her hands and kiss him. Was it proper for a lady to initiate such an action? Would he think her wanton or would he welcome her as she had welcomed him? She swallowed hard. “Why ever would you think that?”
He trailed his bare finger along the palm of her hand as a fortune teller might and then up to the pulse at her wrist. She wondered if he could feel her heart picking up its tempo.
Surrender to the Devil Page 8
