Surrender to the Devil

by Lorraine Heath

  “Numbers,” he stated flatly.

  She smiled saucily. “I am the bookkeeper, after all, and as a rule the numbers don’t behave too badly.”

  “So that’s the game you’re going to play. You keep your nose buried in ledgers and never peep through the peepholes? Is that what you’re claiming?”

  “People are entitled to their privacy and their secrets.”

  “That’s disappointing. I, on the other hand, have seen women dancing with hardly any clothes on at all.”

  Now it was her turn to sit up. “Really?”

  Nodding, he took a bite of his toast. “They can make their stomachs undulate as though they’re snakes. Very entertaining. You should consider inviting them over to work at Dodger’s. I suspect gentlemen would never leave.”

  “It’s a thought.” Setting her plate aside, she brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “I can’t even begin to imagine all the sights you’ve seen.”

  “They were wondrous. My father didn’t agree with my decision to go. We argued about it. He told me if I left, he never wanted to see me again. He thought I was selfishly putting my wants above my duties. In a way I suppose I was. He told me I could always see the world later. He didn’t understand.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it—about never seeing you again.”

  “I returned to England four months before he died. I went to visit him, when Catherine wasn’t there. He was infirm, had lost the ability to speak, but his nurse told me that he could communicate with his eyes. He refused to look at me. I believe he did mean it when he said he never wanted to see me again.”

  Sterling’s father had also been ashamed by Sterling’s limitations, although he had no desire to share that facet of his tale with Frannie. Perhaps he was as ashamed as his father. She worked within the dark shadows of London, and there he might as well be blind for all the good his limited vision did him.

  “At least you know who your father was,” she said.

  “Yes, I suppose there is some comfort in that.”

  She placed her chin on her knees. “So now that you’ve returned you’ll see to your duties.”

  “Precisely. I shall have a boring wife, hopefully not boring children.”

  She laughed, but it sounded rather forced, and he realized that under the circumstances, he probably shouldn’t discuss with her the kind of woman he wanted to marry. But she had demanded honesty. “I won’t make a good husband, Frannie.”

  “I think you underestimate yourself there, but I expect nothing lasting from you, and rest assured that becoming a duchess has never been one of my dreams.”

  “I thought all girls dreamed of marrying a duke.”

  “Oh, no. I’d much rather marry a king,” she teased.

  “I suspect Anne Boleyn felt the same.”

  She laughed. He loved hearing her laugh. “Oh, you’re horrible.”

  Grinning, he shrugged. “All right, then. Queen Frannie.”

  “Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Truthfully, I don’t see myself getting married at all.”

  “Will your orphans keep you content?”

  “I believe so, yes.” She looked toward the window. “I should be out searching for more.”

  “In this miserable weather? Surely, they’ll all be indoors.”

  “If they have places to go.” She sighed wistfully. “It’s good reading weather, isn’t it? Do you read many books?”

  “Not as many as I used to. Reading has begun to give me a headache of late.”

  “Spectacles might help.”

  They didn’t, but he didn’t want to follow this path. “I should probably look into it.”

  “Do you enjoy Dickens?” she asked.

  “I find his stories rather bleak.”

  “I think he writes about that which he knows. Perhaps I’ll read to you this afternoon.”

  “I’d enjoy that very much.”

  She slid off the bed and began gathering up the empty dishes.

  “Call for a servant,” he told her.

  “I can do it easily enough.”

  Reaching out, he grabbed her wrist. “Why do you do that, Frannie? Why do you seek to remind me that our stations in life are so different?”

  “I’m not reminding you, I’m reminding myself to remain honest with you about who I am and what I am. The only time I’ve ever pretended to be what I wasn’t was when I wanted to fool someone into giving me something. Do you know there are people who will kindly take in a soldier down on his luck? The soldier and his young daughter. And while the generous family was sleeping, we’d gather up their valuables and slip out into the night. You should never forget, Your Grace, that I was once one of the light-fingered people you wanted to keep out of your house.”

  “And I was once a young man who put his own pleasures ahead of his duties. We all change, Frannie. We make up for our past failures. You stole, I disappointed my father. Now you do good works and I will honor my responsibilities and my title. It’s the woman you are now who intrigues me, the one I…care about as much as I am able to care.”

  “I don’t want to become something to you that I’m not or that I’m not capable of being. I don’t want to fool you.”

  “You think so little of me as to believe I can be easily fooled? You’ve discouraged me at almost every turn, and yet here you are at last in my bed. At my invitation as I recall.”

  “It could all be part of my well-conceived plan. That’s how we work, you know. We lure you into believing exactly what we need you to in order to take advantage.”

  Releasing his hold on her wrist, he settled back against the pillows and spread his arms wide. “Then by all means, take advantage.”

  Her gaze slowly wandered the length of him, and his body reacted with fierceness that he couldn’t control. He watched as she swallowed and licked her lips. Then she picked up the tray and gave him a saucy wink. “You see? Now you are no longer in a position to stop me from removing the dishes—which is exactly what I wanted.”

  He laughed. He didn’t believe her, not for one minute, but if it was the game she wished to play, he would concede defeat in hopes of gaining a decisive victory later.

  “You should rest now,” she told him. “Regain your strength.”

  He watched her leave the room, then closed his eyes. She was correct. He needed to regain his strength and quickly. The minutes were ticking away, and he suspected once she left his residence, he’d have a devil of a time getting her to return.

  Chapter 17

  While Greystone rested, Frannie retired to the morning room. Jutting out into the garden, it was three walls of windows with a glass roof that the rain pattered and exploded against. She wanted honesty not only from him, but also from herself. Could she look herself in the mirror if she gave herself to a man who would never marry her, a man she would never marry? Was it wrong, just once in her life, to know what it was to be truly desired?

  Greystone was a man of passion. He was a man of adventure. He was a man who desired her. That much had been evident this morning when she’d awoken to find him fully aroused and pressing against her bottom.

  His nearness exhilarated her.

  He didn’t care about her past. He didn’t care that she’d once been a pickpocket and thief. She’d never enjoyed the times when Feagan would pretend to be a soldier, when people were kind to them, and they repaid the kindness by taking their possessions. She’d innately understood that everything they were doing was wrong—and yet she did it anyway in order to please him.

  She used the excuse that Luke’s grandfather had forbidden them from visiting Feagan to explain her never again seeing him. But the truth was that she was ashamed of the things he’d asked of her. It was part of the reason that she spent so little money on herself and she had so few possessions. She’d taken that to which she wasn’t entitled when she was younger and now she wanted to give back as much as she could. If she could teach children not to break the law, if she could provide them with g
ood examples to follow, if she could undo the lessons they’d been taught…

  Perhaps she wouldn’t feel quite so tainted by her past, by her association with Feagan.

  “I was hoping for a sunny day so that we might have a picnic in the garden,” Greystone said as he sat in the chair beside her.

  She smiled at him. “I enjoy the rain. I’m probably the only person in all of England who does.”

  “It seems melancholy weather.”

  “I prefer to think of it more as weather designed for reflection.”

  “You are the eternal optimist. And what are you reflecting on?”

  “Nothing of any importance. How are you feeling now?”

  “Still a bit achy, but I’m confident that survival is in my future.”

  She studied him for a moment, the lines fanning out from his eyes, the crease in his brow. He was still experiencing discomfort. Why did men feel that they always had to give the impression of being strong?

  “I want to thank you again for sending the cobbler.”

  “Did it make you think better of me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it was worth the expense.”

  “I’m thinking of listing our benefactors on a plaque on the wall. Would that be a nice acknowledgement, do you think?”

  “I prefer to be anonymous. I did it for you, not for the glory.”

  “And here I thought you did it for the boys.”

  He gazed out at the rain, a slight flush on his cheeks that she thought had nothing to do with his injury. He had done it for her, to please her, to gain her favor. Another bouquet of flowers would not have worked as well. It meant a great deal to her that he’d come to realize what was important to her and what wasn’t.

  “Will you dress for dinner tonight?” he asked quietly.

  “I thought I might. I found a gown of Catherine’s that fits me rather nicely.”

  He shifted his gaze over to her. “I’m pleased to hear that. I’ve asked Cook to prepare something special. Is there anything you don’t fancy?”

  “Growing up as I did, I’m thankful for any food that comes my way.”

  “You’re too easy to please, Miss Darling.”

  “I prefer when you call me Frannie.”

  His beautiful blue eyes warmed. “Frannie, it would please me immensely if you’d call me Sterling and no more of this Your Grace business while we’re here.”

  She wanted to tell him that she thought it was important that she remember he was a duke, but suddenly with the rain locking them inside, it was almost as though the real world was no longer surrounding them. They could pretend for just a few hours that they belonged in the same world.

  “We have some time before dinner,” she said. “Shall I read to you?”

  “Only if we sit on a sofa together and I can rub your feet while you read.”

  She smiled. “Sterling, I do believe we have a trade.”

  Dinner was served in the same intimate setting as before, although no one was there to surround them with music. Fewer candles flickered. Fewer words were spoken. Fewer breaths were taken.

  Or so it seemed to Frannie.

  She considered that perhaps her corset was too snug or maybe Catherine’s gown was a little too small for her, but she suspected the true reason for her difficulty rested in the way that Sterling looked at her, as though he fully intended to have her for dessert.

  He was dressed as formally as he had been for the opera and he struck her as being as wickedly handsome. Over the rim of his wineglass he perused her with a leisurely wandering of his gaze, which caused pleasure to light and darken the blue of his eyes. It was a strange and heady combination to know that she affected him so.

  She had bathed earlier and sampled all the bottles of perfume that adorned Catherine’s vanity until she found one that brought forth images of nymphs cavorting in a garden. She preferred light scents, perhaps because in her youth she’d favored heavier fragrances that masked the stench of the rookeries. Everything in her life now she weighed against what her life had been then.

  Yet she felt ill prepared for this moment.

  “Relax, Frannie,” he said in a voice so calm that it had the power to calm her thundering heart. “Nothing will happen tonight that you don’t wish to happen.”

  “And what if things you wish to happen don’t?”

  “Then they don’t. I’ll be disappointed, to be sure, but I can live with disappointment. You shouldn’t have to live with the feeling that you were forced into doing something you didn’t want.”

  He seemed to realize the significance of what he’d said. “It won’t be like before,” he added.

  “I wouldn’t be here if that was my expectation.”

  He tapped his wineglass against hers where it rested near her plate. “Thank you for seeing to my recovery.”

  “I’m just grateful your wound wasn’t as severe as I thought.”

  “I’m doubly grateful. I suppose Swindler will be searching for the culprit.”

  “Probably. Even without a description, I suspect he could find the offender. He’s very skilled that way.”

  “You admire him.”

  She scowled at him. “I admire all of Feagan’s lads.”

  “It seems to me they’re as much Claybourne’s lads as Feagan’s. Claybourne took you all in, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. But Feagan taught us himself while Claybourne hired tutors. It’s very easy to accomplish something when you have the means with which to purchase it.”

  “You admire this Feagan fellow.”

  “I’m not sure admire is the correct word.” She thought about it for a moment. Some aspects of him disappointed her, but she couldn’t deny that he’d provided well for the children he took in. “I suppose it is. Yes, he taught us questionable skills, but he gave us a home of sorts. I’ve been thinking of naming my children’s home after him, actually.”

  “Feagan’s Children’s Home? Is that an honor he deserves?”

  She took a sip of wine, and then another. She knew that Greystone wanted nothing more from her than a night in his bed, but still she felt obligated to ask, “Would you think less of me if you knew that I believe he might be my father?”

  Swirling the wine in his wineglass, he seemed to ruminate the implications. “I may give credence to a person’s elevation in society based on his ancestors, but of late I’ve learned to judge the individual on his own accomplishments and merits.”

  She smiled at him. “Then I find you to be rare indeed.”

  “If he were your father, wouldn’t he claim so?”

  “I would have thought. I asked Jack once. Jack knows so many secrets.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He avoided answering. I’m not sure if it’s because whatever the answer, he thought I’d find it disappointing or if he was trying to protect me.”

  “Secrets have a way of always coming out.”

  “Have you secrets, Sterling?”

  “We all have secrets.”

  But she couldn’t imagine that his were nearly as dark as hers.

  Dressed in one of Catherine’s nightgowns, Frannie sat at the vanity brushing out her hair. A hundred strokes. It had been one of Feagan’s rules. She’d often wondered if a lady in his life had brushed out her hair for him. Had he loved her? Had she loved him? He was so secretive about his past. But tonight she didn’t want to reflect on where she’d come from. She was interested in only where she might be going.

  Sterling had said good night to her at the bedchamber door, giving the impression that he truly meant good night. He would not come to this room. He wouldn’t come for her.

  The choice as to whether or not they’d ever lie together was hers—because he would never marry her, and so he was leaving the decision to her. She met her gaze in the reflection in the mirror. To willingly go to a man who would not make an honest woman of her…

  But was it more dishonest to deny herself the pleasure of his bed when she wanted it s
o desperately? Following the opera, he’d given her a taste of the pleasure she’d find in his arms.

  It had been eighteen years since a man had taken possession of her. She’d locked away the disgust of those pudgy hands pinching and pulling. She’d forced into darkened corners the memory of his body ramming into hers, the pain, the blood, the echo of her screams, the reverberation of his hideous laughter…

  But they were there, waiting to be replaced by something strong enough to destroy them.

  Chapter 18

  Within his bedchamber, Sterling sat in a chair near the fireplace, staring at the dying embers, watching them diminish until they were nothing, similar to the way that his eyesight was diminishing. Other than the faint light emitted by the hearth, the only glow came from the low light in the lamp near his bed. He wore only trousers and the bandage on his wound. Because he was breathing more easily, he’d removed the narrow strip of binding around his chest.

  From the moment he’d kissed Frannie in Claybourne’s library, he’d sought to seduce her, to lure her to his bed. Yet he’d been the one seduced into being a better man than he was. He’d decided to let her go without ever knowing the full taste of her. She humbled him beyond measure with her Dickens, and her orphans, and her ability to ferret out noble intentions even in those with a criminal past. In his world, there was right and wrong, good and evil. Hers contained no absolutes. Hers was a world of grays. Hers was what his was truly becoming. The irony didn’t escape him. At night, nothing was clear. Lines blurred. Shadows removed definitions.

  Her dreams led her to the darkest parts of London where he couldn’t follow and keep her safe. His dreams had ceased to exist long ago. He would carry out his duties and he would see to his responsibilities. But none of them would include her—even if he wanted to include her, she didn’t want the life of an aristocrat. He couldn’t turn away from the legacy that had been handed down to him. He’d pay a much higher price to honor his title than his father had ever imagined.

  He heard the click of the door opening. Satisfaction swamped him. Even if she was here to only sleep in his arms, he would take contentment with that. He would adopt her tendency to find joy in the smallest of pleasures. Sleeping with her nestled against his side was the sweetest of all.