Surrender to the Devil

by Lorraine Heath

  “Sometimes, it’s as though I can feel you watching me,” he said quietly.

  Dragging in a breath was suddenly very difficult, as though she’d laced her corset too tightly. “I was simply curious, wondering whether you’d returned to Dodger’s after the unfortunate incident of your membership being terminated. Nothing more.”

  Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to the center of her palm. “I would have thought a child of the streets would have been an excellent liar.”

  Normally, she was when she could concentrate. The man was decidedly skilled at distracting her. “It’s not very gentlemanly to call a woman a liar to her face.”

  He ran his tongue over her skin, as though she were part of the meal. “You strike me as someone who wouldn’t care to be talked about behind her back, would prefer the slight come from the front.”

  She thought she might burst into flames. To get herself back on an even keel, she worked her hand free of his hold, heard his dark laughter, and watched as the boys ran past, chortling with wild abandon. She’d done that. Brought back their joy. She had the means to do so because of things she’d suffered.

  “You’re not being a gentleman,” she chided.

  “Did you truly want me to be?” He sat up until his shoulder was almost touching hers. “Was that what you wanted when you watched me through the peephole?”

  “It wasn’t a peephole. It was through curtains.”

  “From a hidden balcony?”

  “Not so very hidden if you know about it. We use it to watch cheaters and troublemakers.”

  “Which category do I fall into?”

  As hard as it was, she met his gaze, surprised to find that he appeared amused. “Are you teasing me?”

  Leaning across her, he plucked a small yellow flower and brushed the petals along her chin. “I’m flattered that you would think me worth watching. I now have hope that perhaps you’re reconsidering my proposition.”

  She took the flower before he drove her mad with wanting, as she imagined his fingers creating the gentle stroking. “I’m not reconsidering your proposition.”

  “Pity.”

  But he didn’t sound disappointed. Rather he sounded as though he didn’t believe her. She remembered a time when she could lie with the best of them. Were her skills suddenly lacking, or was he simply very good at reading her? He draped a wrist over an upturned knee. “So, the carriage? Yours?”

  A change in topic was most welcomed. “Claybourne’s. He loans it to me whenever I have a need. I don’t use it enough to invest in one…and then of course there’s the matter of the horses.”

  “Do you not like horses?”

  “I don’t like paying for their care. I’d rather put the money toward children.”

  “You should have some of your own.”

  She laughed, working to ignore the disappointment she’d felt for years now. It was silly, because she knew one of Feagan’s lads would be happy to provide her with children. But she desired more. She wanted a family built on love, surrounded by it. “I believe I’m well past the age when a man would consider me for marriage.” The boys loped by again, playing some game that seemed to involve one of them trying to tag the others. “Besides, London has enough children. I mentioned the school to you before, but I want to do more than teach them to read and write. I want to give them the skills to find good employment. Poverty brings us all down.” She shook her head. “My apologies. I vehemently believe social reform is needed. I fear I get a bit impassioned and carry on about my plans, which can’t possibly interest you.”

  “Everything about you interests me, Miss Darling.”

  “I should warn you that I’m not a woman easily enticed by words. I prefer action.”

  His eyes darkened, and she realized she’d used a poor choice of expression when he said in a low sensual voice, “I’m in total agreement. Perhaps later—”

  “You are a lord, Your Grace, and I am a commoner. I’m not even certain friendship between us is allowed.”

  “You’re friends with Claybourne.”

  “That’s different. He was once one of us. You don’t turn away those to whom you owe so very much.”

  “It seems then that I must find a way for you to owe me…so very much.”

  Frannie had expected them to part ways after their luncheon, but he stayed with her, helping her corral the boys when they became impatient with the pace of things. He had patience with the lads that she’d not expected.

  When they got to the exhibit of a stuffed elephant, Greystone crouched in front of the boys and told them that he’d ridden a real one. Their eyes popped and their mouths dropped.

  “Were you scared?” Charley asked.

  “Not in the least. He’s a large beast, but you see in the jungle, it’s not always the largest beast that’s the most dangerous. It’s the one who is the craftiest, the most intelligent. The one most cunning.”

  “Which ’un would that be?”

  Greystone grinned. “Why, me of course.”

  The boys guffawed, and Frannie laughed. When he unfolded his body and extended his arm, she didn’t hesitate to entwine her arm around his. “So you were the most dangerous beast in the jungle?”

  “Indeed. Didn’t hurt that I also carried a rifle.”

  As they strolled along, she asked, “Were you really not frightened?”

  “Sometimes I was terrified, but that was the whole point.”

  “You wanted to be afraid?” She couldn’t imagine deliberately putting herself in a position of fear.

  “I wanted to test my courage, my determination. It was a journey of discovery, but it was more about what I discovered within myself. What I discovered about the world was simply a bonus.”

  “And what did you discover—about yourself, I mean?”

  “That I’m not nearly as weak as I thought, nor nearly as strong as I’d hoped. I rode the elephant but shied away from facing the tiger.”

  He sounded disappointed in himself.

  “Which proved you were indeed the most intelligent, and thus, the most dangerous beast in the jungle.”

  He grinned. “I don’t suppose I ever thought of it exactly in those terms. I suppose it would have been silly to end up as his dinner.”

  She smiled at him. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “As am I, Miss Darling. Otherwise I’d have missed out on these moments with you.”

  When they strolled through the exhibits from Egypt, he told them about the pyramids and the sphinxes. His voice held excitement as he recounted his memories of his travels. She was fascinated with all he’d seen, all he’d done.

  “You’ve had quite an intriguing life, Your Grace,” she said as they left the Great Exhibition and she ushered the boys to where Mr. Donner waited with the carriage.

  “Is there any point in having any other kind?” he asked.

  “I’d always heard you were a man who saw to his own pleasures first.”

  “It’s good to know the gossips are sometimes accurate. And speaking of my own pleasures…while the picnic was terribly lovely, I fear it doesn’t quite make amends for the little scoundrel stealing my handkerchief.”

  They’d arrived at the carriage. While the boys scrambled inside, Frannie faced Greystone, surprised to discover that she was anticipating what she was certain would be another inappropriate proposal. “And what, pray tell, Your Grace, would make amends for the taking of a bit of silk?”

  “The opera.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Attend the opera with me this evening. We’ll have dinner afterward. Otherwise, I might have to send a constable around to your orphanage to arrest Mr. Charley Byerly.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  He shrugged. “Are you willing to risk that you’ve properly ascertained the nature of my character?”

  “And here I was beginning to like you.” She spun on her heel—

  “I’ll send my coach ’round to Dodger’s at seven.”

  Oh, the unh
eralded arrogance of the man. With her hand in the footman’s and her foot on the step, she glanced over her shoulder. “Half past seven.”

  He gave her a victorious smile that left her almost giddy with anticipation. As she settled back against the plush seat, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so joyous.

  “Why ye grinnin’ loike a fool, Miss Frannie?” Charley asked.

  Because she was discovering that she enjoyed having a man’s attentions. Especially when they came from the Duke of Greystone.

  Chapter 9

  Her clothing was simple enough that she didn’t normally require the services of a maid. But for tonight Frannie had sought the help of one of Jack’s girls.

  Sitting in a chair holding the silver-backed looking glass—a gift from Luke—she watched as Prudence worked to tame Frannie’s wild red hair. Pulling it back into a tight bun simply wasn’t what she wanted tonight.

  Frannie had no misconceptions regarding where this encounter would lead: to absolutely nowhere. He was after all a duke, while she was quite simply…Frannie Darling. But she couldn’t deny an attraction existed between them that she’d never before experienced with any other man. And the way he looked at her—as though he’d gobble her up if he could—had once frightened her, but now she rather liked it. She enjoyed listening to his stories, was fascinated with his kind regard toward the boys, was charmed by the devil that danced in his eyes whenever he touched her in ways they both knew he shouldn’t. The picnic had been one of the most sensual experiences of her life, and all he’d done was give attention to her palm. She wanted it everywhere.

  It was liberating to find herself craving a man’s attentions. Even if things between them went no further than a kiss, for the first time she wanted a man sharing the intimacies of her life. How odd that she’d grown up surrounded by Feagan’s lads yet never felt this deep, womanly stirring. Their laughter, their teasing, their gazes incited none of the riotous emotions that Greystone’s did. Even when he wasn’t touching her, it felt as though he were. She didn’t understand why he was so different from every other man in her life, why she yearned for his attention.

  Every dress Frannie had ever purchased was done with one goal in mind: to make her appear common. She was comfortable in those clothes. But blast her soul to perdition, tonight she didn’t want to appear common.

  A year earlier, Jack—who loved bright, bold colors—had purchased her an emerald-green gown. Once, in the privacy of her room, she’d even put it on and waltzed around, pretending that she was what she had no hope of ever being: a lady of true quality. So she knew it followed every curve perfectly. She grew warm imagining Greystone’s large hands and slender fingers following every line.

  “So who is the gent who’s caught your fancy?” Prudence asked.

  Startled from her fantasy—when had Frannie ever fantasized about men?—she hesitated to answer because she didn’t want to hear Prudence say, “Oh, I know ’im. ’e’s ever so good in bed. ’ad ’im just last week, as a matter of fact.”

  “Come on, gel, yer secret’s safe with me.”

  Frannie lowered the mirror to her lap and traced her fingers over the intricate design along its back. “Greystone.”

  “Dunno him.”

  Relief swamped her. Prudence oversaw all the girls. If she didn’t know him it was unlikely that he’d availed himself of any of the other girls either.

  “ ’e a customer?”

  “He’s a customer, yes.” Frannie spun around in the chair and looked up at Prudence. “Don’t say anything to Jack.”

  Prudence pouted with full lips that had probably kissed several hundred gents. “Already told ye I wouldn’t.”

  With a nod, Frannie turned back around. “I know you did. It’s just that it needed emphasizing. Jack wouldn’t approve.”

  “ ’e must be titled then. Jack don’t loike the titled gents.”

  Frannie didn’t know why she felt compelled to confess, “He’s a duke.”

  “Blimey.”

  Shooting out of the chair, Frannie began to pace agitatedly. She felt as though she was on the verge of coming out of her skin. “God, Pru, am I making a dreadful mistake here?”

  “Depends what yer expecting. It’s like I tell my girls. ’e won’t marry ye, ye know.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. “I know.”

  Leaning against the vanity, she studied Prudence. She was two years younger than Frannie, but her face revealed the harshness of the life she’d lived before she came to Dodger’s. Her blond hair trailed down her back, and she always wore silk that flowed around her and could easily slide down her body with a shrug of her shoulders. “Have you ever been with a man who didn’t pay you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you feel dirty afterward?”

  Prudence threw her head back and released the deep, throaty laughter for which she was so well known. “Caw, no. It was bloody marvelous. ’e got transported, ye know? To Australia. Sometimes I dream ’e’ll come back fer me. A gel’s gotta ’ave ’er dreams.” Scrutinizing Frannie, she patted the brush against her palm. “Need some hints on how not to get knapped?”

  Releasing a self-conscious laugh at the notion of taking this…whatever it was…to a point where she might get with child, Frannie shook her head before giving a quick nod. Feagan had often taught them things that he’d told them they probably would never use, but knowledge gave them advantages if they got in a tight spot. “I probably won’t need any preventives, but I spend an awful lot of time thinking about him and wondering what it might be like if he did more than kiss me.”

  Prudence grinned. “Kissed ye, ’as ’e?”

  Feeling as though she were suddenly ten years younger, carefree with never a worry, Frannie had an insane urge to giggle as she’d once seen a young girl with a beau behave as they’d walked down a street arm in arm, lost in each other. Silly, really, to experience this giddiness at her age. “Don’t you dare tell Jack.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Prudence slapped the back of the chair. “Sit down, let me finish with yer hair and I’ll tell ye wot I know.”

  What she knew, unfortunately, usually involved the cooperation of the man. Frannie couldn’t imagine discussing such intimate matters with Greystone, and if she couldn’t discuss them, she probably shouldn’t be doing them with him.

  So why, then, had she gone to so much bother? Her hair looked quite lovely pinned up with green ribbons woven through it. Where Prudence had obtained the ribbons, Frannie had no idea, but they matched the emerald green of the gown Jack had purchased for her. It left a good bit of her shoulders exposed. She was torn. Would it entice Greystone into trailing his fine mouth over her skin? Did she want him to? Cursing herself as a coward, she drew on a silk shawl. She tugged on the white kidskin gloves Luke’s grandfather had given her years ago. She felt as though she needed something else, but what?

  Then she remembered a gift Feagan had given her the day she and the others had said their goodbyes, when they’d moved into Claybourne’s London residence, leaving Feagan behind. She’d not wanted to go, but he’d insisted. “Ye’ll ’ave a better life, Frannie darling, and ’ave I not taught ye that ye always go for the big purse, not the small one?”

  Opening a small carved wooden box, she carefully removed a strand of pearls. “A little gift to remember me by.”

  Other than the clothes on her back, it was the only thing she’d brought with her from the rookeries. Her clothes had been burned later that night after the filth of the rookeries had been scrubbed from her body. She’d never worn the pearls before, because she was afraid they’d been stolen and someone might recognize them, but as far as she could tell, they possessed no identifying marks to distinguish them from any other strands she’d ever seen. Tonight she was quivering with nervousness and needed a bit of Feagan with her.

  “Yer as good as anyone,” he’d once told her.

  With a deep breath, she tucked the
sentiment away into the corner of her mind where she kept precious memories.

  It had grown dark by the time she grabbed a small reticule, left her apartment, and locked the door.

  Frannie had not been this terrified or this excited since the day that she, Luke, and Jack sneaked out of Feagan’s at dawn to go to a fair. He’d have not minded if they’d told him what they’d planned. He’d have assumed they were going to pilfer pockets. But the night before, when counting the coins, she’d pocketed a crown for them so they could take pleasure in the day without worry of getting arrested. Rather than stealing, they’d purchased food to eat. As much as she’d enjoyed the day, it had been tainted with worry, because she’d been afraid Feagan would discover that a coin was missing and be sorely disappointed in her. It was one thing to steal from strangers, another entirely to steal from him.

  It was how she felt now. Excited to be going, terrified that she would disappoint the lads if they discovered her plans, for surely they wouldn’t approve when they knew as well as she that nothing lasting would come of this encounter. She was a bit of sport for a lord of the realm, and while he might treat her as though she were a lady in the beginning, at the end she’d be nothing more than a memory, if that.

  She was halfway down the stairs when she spied Greystone, limned by the gas lamp that hung outside the back door of Dodger’s. The alleyway wasn’t brightly lit in this area, but it provided enough light that she could recognize his silhouette. The breadth of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips gave him away. His outline alone was elegant.

  What was she doing going anywhere with this man?

  “Miss Darling.” He gave her a low bow before extending his hand upward to assist her in descending the last few steps. Slipping her hand into his, she felt his long, strong fingers wrap around hers and her heart gave a little patter. Thank goodness, they both wore gloves. She was still on the steps, her eyes level with his, when he said in a low, sensuous voice, “You look beautiful.”

  “Anyone can appear beautiful in the shadows.” Why did she sound breathless, as though she’d raced down the stairs?