The boy screamed, turned, and began running an erratic path down the hallway, dodging from side to side as though he thought he could maneuver his way around Sterling with a few fancy steps. Engaging in his own darting around, Sterling managed to grab hold of the back of a jacket and soon found himself holding nothing but discarded clothing. Slippery bugger!
Sterling charged after him, determined not to let him escape.
“Jenkins got him, Your Grace!” Wedgeworth’s voice echoed through the residence.
With the cook providing the light, Sterling walked briskly in the direction from which Wedgeworth’s voice had come. He found him back in the hallway leading to the library. A footman wearing only trousers, his hair rumpled, was holding the squirming lad.
“We’ll send ’round for a constable,” Wedgeworth said.
“No,” Sterling answered sternly. “I have something else in mind for our little thief.”
I have come into possession of something which I believe may belong to you. My coach is at your service.
Greystone
Sitting at her desk in her office at Dodger’s, Frannie set down the neatly written message and stared at the gold pocket watch that had arrived with it. She was not familiar with the coat of arms of every noble family, but this one she recognized. It had been nestled against her palm when she lifted it from Greystone’s waistcoat during the wedding breakfast.
What could he possibly have that belonged to her? Why didn’t he bring it here instead of insinuating with his unwritten words that she should go there? She knew that was what he wanted, knew it was the meaning behind the inclusion of his watch. That she was to return it to him in order to gain what he possessed.
A trade.
She closed her fingers around it and imagined she could feel the warmth that would have come from it being nestled in his pocket. She knew it was unlikely. It had been a while since it had been in his possession.
Why now, when she was finally beginning to dream of him with greater infrequency, to look for him in the gaming area less often, to no longer consider the pleasures she’d experience if she were to slip into his residence—into his bed—at midnight? With nothing more than a few written words, she was remembering everything about him that she’d fought so valiantly to forget, wanted to see him again with a desperation that was almost frightening.
This time of night no one would see her climbing into a coach bearing his ducal crest. Even if someone did see, what did it matter? For a child of the streets, chaperones, etiquette, and proper behavior were as foreign as an abundance of coins.
She looked up at the wide-eyed young man who’d brought her the missive. Thomas Lark had been at Dodger’s for only a few short months. Another child of the streets taken in by Jack, who often provided employment for promising lads. Only for Thomas, he’d been providing a place to hide.
“The gentleman who gave this to you. I assume he came in through the front door.”
“Yes, m’am.”
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“No, m’am.”
So no one was likely to interfere. She nodded, her decision made. “Tell him to bring the coach ’round to the back.”
He gave his head a quick bob and dashed out to see to her bidding. He was so eager to please.
She closed the ledger with which she’d been working. The remaining calculations could wait until tomorrow. For now, she was anxious to determine what Greystone was up to.
Or at least that was the excuse she was willing to admit to. She didn’t want to give credence to the fluttering in her stomach that had more to do with anticipation than worry. Since the night he’d introduced her to the wonders of passion while denying his own needs, she’d not seen him within Dodger’s. He’d sent her flowers, but nothing more. He’d not pressed her to become his lover. She couldn’t deny the disappointment that had slammed into her when she realized that he’d given up his quest to possess her. Where he was concerned, however, her resolve had been weakening.
She knew marriage between them would never be an option. As a noble, he’d never ask a woman of the streets, a bookkeeper in a gaming establishment, for the honor of marriage. Even if he did, his wasn’t a world in which she wanted to live permanently.
But to visit for only one night, to lie within his arms, to be smothered in his kisses, to touch his skin as he’d touched hers, to bring him pleasure as he’d brought her…
What was she thinking? Nothing she hadn’t thought of every night as she drifted off to sleep, clutching his silly handkerchief as though it had the power to return him to her.
She shook her head to clear it, got up from her desk, and strode across the room. She snatched the cloak hanging near the door and draped it around her shoulders before closing her door and striding down the hallway to the far end. Once outside, she lifted her skirts and headed toward the nearby coach, where the footman stood beside the closed door that bore the ducal crest. Without a word he opened it and assisted her inside.
Disappointment rammed into her when she realized Greystone wasn’t waiting for her, that she would be traveling alone. The footman must have delivered the message. Warmer inside than she’d anticipated, she realized a heated brick was resting on the floor. Of course, Greystone would have insisted she travel in comfort. He was thoughtful in that regard.
With a sudden lurch the coach took off. Vanity slapping at her, she wished she’d taken a moment to freshen up, perhaps to change her dress and unpin her hair. If she took it down now, without a brush in hand, she’d look like the very devil when she arrived. Why did she care anyway? What did it matter what he thought?
But it did. The part of her that longed to be desired wanted him to see her as the woman she could be—not the woman that each of Feagan’s lads saw when they looked at her. They loved her, yes. They cared about her. But they didn’t desire her.
While Luke had offered for her hand in marriage, she was fairly certain that he’d never actually envisioned bedding her. And Jim. Now and again, he dropped his armor and she saw how much he wanted her, but it was in the same manner that a child might want a puppy—to care for and look after. Not to share trials, tribulations, joys, and sorrows with. And certainly not to get lost with in wild, sexual abandon.
None of them had ever looked at her the way Greystone did—as though he would like nothing more than to slowly peel the clothes from her body. She knew how talented his mouth and hands could be, and she envisioned him using them to elicit even greater pleasure, envisioned them lying in a tangle of naked limbs.
As she grew unbearably hot with her thoughts, she wished they hadn’t put a warming brick in the coach. Pressing her cheek against the glass, she welcomed the coolness against her skin. She didn’t want to arrive with her cheeks flushed. All of a sudden she didn’t want to arrive at all. What if she no longer had the strength to resist him?
But it was too late. The coach came to a halt, and she realized that they were going to take her in through the front, not usher her in through the servants’ door as though her arrival was to be kept secret. Did this action mean that he held respect for her? Or did he care so little for her reputation that he didn’t care who saw her coming into his residence long past midnight?
The coach door clicked open and the footman held out his hand. Shoring up her resolve, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her out of the coach.
After the footman opened the door, Frannie preceded him inside. The butler was apparently awaiting her arrival. He bowed slightly. “Miss Darling, His Grace is waiting for you in the library. If you’ll be so good as to follow me?”
Surprised by the number of servants still about at this time of night, she nodded and followed him down the wide hallway. A footman opened the door to the library. Inside the massive room, a movement near the far window caught her attention, and there he was. Greystone.
For the span of a heartbeat, as she crossed over to him, she thought she saw pleasure in his face at her
arrival, but it quickly vanished. She indulged in the luxury of feasting her eyes on him. She’d never seen him absent a waistcoat and jacket. His shoulders were broad, even without the outer layers of clothing. She remembered clutching them in the throes of passion, how powerful they had felt beneath her fingers. His mussed hair made him appear much younger, and she felt a sudden burst of jealousy hoping that his fingers—and not a lady’s—were responsible for the dishevelment.
“Would you care for some refreshment?” he asked, so damned formally that her heart lurched. Was this the man who had swallowed her cries of pleasure?
“I don’t believe so. Thank you.” She wasn’t opposed to spirits, had drunk with the lads many a time, but she wanted to keep her head about her for this encounter. Something between them had shifted, and not in the direction she’d hoped. “Your missive said—”
“We’ll get to that in a moment. Please, sit down.” He indicated two chairs near the window. They were no doubt safer than a sofa, but in all honesty, she was no longer certain she wanted safe. She took the one farthest from him. He promptly sat in the one left vacant.
“How have you been? I’m assuming since you arrived so quickly, they found you at Dodger’s.”
With the flatness of his tone, they might as well have been strangers. She fought to sound just as disaffected by his nearness. “Yes, I was working on the books. I usually go to the orphanage during the day. I have staff there at all hours.” Why was she rambling about inconsequential matters when more important ones preyed on her mind? “I haven’t seen you at Dodger’s of late.”
“I thought it best to stay away.”
She almost asked him why—why now, when he hadn’t before. The ease that had existed between them was no longer there, had been replaced with stiff politeness. “I received your flowers.”
“I don’t recall sending them with a message.”
“You didn’t, but who else would send me flowers?”
“I hope you enjoyed them.”
“Very much. Thank you.” Why was it so awkward? Why were they so formal?
“Oh, your watch.” Removing it from her pocket, she held it out to him.
He took it from her, dangled it in front of his face, and studied it. “It was my father’s. A gift from my mother, I believe. As I recall, she was rather fond of being a duchess.”
“I can’t imagine.”
He shifted his gaze to her. “Being a duchess?”
“Having a fondness for the position. I daresay, I don’t envy those of you in the nobility. I can think of nothing worse than living your life.”
“And I can think of nothing worse than living yours.”
Why did his gaze roam over her as though he was searching for some evidence…?
Oh, God, her stomach churned, because she knew what the difference was. He looked at her as Feagan’s lads did: as though she might shatter, as though she shouldn’t be touched. Although his perusal was so much worse, because she was fairly certain he regretted the time they’d spent together, the intimacy they’d shared. “Claybourne told you,” she said quietly, knowing he was the one affected as much by that horrible time as her. “About the unfortunate incident in my youth.”
“Unfortunate incident? That’s how you refer—” He shoved himself out of the chair, grabbed a porcelain figurine, stormed over to the fireplace, and hurled into the hearth. Its shattering echoed obscenely loudly through the quiet library. Bowing his head and gripping the mantel, he stared down at the destruction.
She rose from the chair and walked over to where he stood. “Sterling, it’s all right.”
He spun around, and her heart nearly broke at the anguish reflected on his face. “All right? I swear to God that if he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him.”
Trembling with the evidence of his raw emotion, she reached up and placed her hand against his bristly cheek. Laying his hand over hers, he turned his mouth into her palm and kissed it. “It’s all right, Sterling. It was a long time ago.”
“You were a child.”
“But I’m not a child any longer.”
“If you’d told me, I’d have taken greater care.”
She shook her head. “You were the first to look at me as though I were desirable. Why would I want to lose that?”
In near desperation, he suddenly took her in his arms and slanted his mouth across hers. He tasted of brandy as he kissed her hungrily. A thrill shot through her. He still desired her. It was evident with every sweep of his tongue, every low groan that reverberated up through his chest, every press of his hands along her back. She yearned for him as she’d never longed for anything else. She didn’t care that he might not want her for always, he wanted her now.
She ran her hands over his shoulders, feeling the strength in him as his muscles bunched with his effort to hold her near. She wanted this, wanted him.
Drawing back, breathing harshly, he pressed his forehead against hers. “This is not the reason I sent for you.”
He glanced toward the doorway as though he were considering lifting her into his arms and carrying her through it. She realized with astounding certainty that she wouldn’t object. In his eyes, she could see him deliberating: did he remain a gentleman or did he take advantage of whatever reason had caused him to send for her?
She knew the moment that his noble character declared victory. A hint of regret mingled with loss briefly touched his eyes before acceptance took hold and he returned his gaze to hers.
“Make no mistake, Miss Darling. I still desire you as I’ve never desired another. But now is not the time.”
Determined not to reveal her own disappointment with his decision, she kept her voice steady when she reminded him, “Your missive said you had something that belonged to me.”
He traced his finger around her face as though he would memorize every aspect of it. “I believe it does. Come along. I’ll show you.”
Offering her his arm, he led her out of the library. They walked through numerous corridors until they reached the kitchen. Inside, stuffing a meat pie in his mouth at the servants’ table, was a boy who was more bone than skin.
“Oh!”
Sterling watched as Frannie rushed over and crouched beside the boy. He couldn’t imagine the strength of purpose it had taken for her to put her past behind her. Yes, what had happened to her had occurred long ago, but still she had experienced it, lived through it. The more time he spent in her presence, the more she humbled him. Did she ever put her own wants and needs before others?
She combed her fingers through the boy’s long dark hair as though it probably wasn’t infested with lice. Someone—the cook or Jenkins—had scrubbed the boy’s face clean. It was pink and so damned pale.
With a thousand questions reflected in her green eyes, Frannie looked at Sterling.
“He broke into the residence,” he explained.
She returned her attention to the boy. “What’s your name?”
He stuffed more pie into his mouth, so much more that Sterling was surprised his cheeks didn’t burst.
“Poor thing,” Sterling’s cook said. “He’s been eating like that ever since I set food in front of him. That’s his third pie.”
“Chew your food, then answer the lady, lad,” Sterling ordered.
The boy swallowed. Sterling was surprised he didn’t choke.
“Jimmy,” he grumbled and shoved more food into his mouth.
“Who’s your kidsman?” Frannie asked.
The boy shook his head.
“I know you didn’t plan this burglary on your own.”
He simply shook his head again.
“Do you know Feagan?” she asked.
He bobbed his head.
“I used to be one of his crew. My name is Frannie Darling.”
The boy’s eyes widened in horror. “Sykes says ye be the very devil.”
Considering the sudden hard set of her jaw, Sterling assumed she knew this Sykes fellow and didn’t think much of him. O
r perhaps she didn’t like being compared to the devil. Although, God help him, Sterling thought the same thing, in a more flattering way. She was dressed as plainly as he’d ever seen her, but the hour was late and her hair wasn’t quite as tidy as it might have been earlier. The back looked as though it was struggling against the weight of the heavy strands and might lose the battle at any moment and tumble down. He desperately wanted it to lose the battle. He wanted to bury his hands in it.
He wanted to loosen the buttons at her wrist and place his mouth on the pale flesh he’d find there. He wanted to feel her pulse quicken beneath his lips. He wanted her to be as tender with him as she was with this lad. He wanted to be as tender with her.
Frannie unfolded her body and strolled over to Sterling. He was acutely aware of the worry in her eyes, the delicate pleat between her brows. “What are you going to do with him?”
“Give him to you, I suppose.”
So much relief and gratitude filled her eyes that he wished he’d discovered a thousand boys in his residence.
“I would like to take him to the children’s home. Would you allow me to make use of your coach?”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll accompany you.”
Chapter 14
As his coach rumbled toward the outskirts of London, Sterling knew it was pointless to prolong his time with her. Her thoughts were not on him. They were on the young lad stretched out on the bench, the one whose head was in her lap while she slowly combed her fingers through his dirty hair. The boy was like a mongrel pup, filthy and ill cared for. He’d stuffed himself with so much food that he’d brought a good deal of it back up on the way to the coach. Sterling wanted to believe he was just a greedy little bastard, but he suspected he was quite simply starving. His arms were little more than sticks. Sterling wouldn’t have thought he could have carried his ink blotter out of the residence, but his pockets had told a different story.
“It was very kind of you not to have him arrested,” Frannie said quietly.
To ensure that she was comfortable with him in the coach, and to ensure that the lad didn’t find a way to disappear from it—Sterling certainly wouldn’t put it past him to be artful in the ways of escape—he’d had the footman light the coach lantern. Besides, it gave him the opportunity to see her a little more clearly, even if the shadows worked against him.
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