Surrender to the Devil (12 page)

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?

His grin flashed white in the dim light of the alley, as though he understood she was so nervous she might expire on the spot. “My coach awaits.”

She took the last step and would have walked on but his hold on her hand stayed her. She lifted her gaze to his.

“Relax, Miss Darling. Tonight it is merely the opera and dinner.”

“I’m well aware of that. I had no plans for anything more.”

This time his grin seemed to be calling her a liar, but she didn’t challenge him. Although she had mixed feelings about the condom Prudence had given her, the one she’d tucked in her reticule…just in case.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that it would not be used.

Once they were in the coach, sitting opposite each other as they traveled through the London streets, his gaze never wavered from hers, and to her disappointment, she was the first to look away. Whenever he watched her, she grew uncomfortably warm. She’d never experienced this inexplicable change in her body around any of Feagan’s lads, even when they were all younger and slept on the same pallet. This awareness of the male allure had never visited her as it did now whenever she was in Greystone’s presence.

It was intriguing and terrifying. To distract them both from where this journey might lead, she said, “Did you know that Luke asked me to marry him? It was how he and Catherine came to know each other. She was supposed to teach me how to be an aristocratic lady.”

“I wasn’t aware of that. So how is it that you didn’t marry Claybourne?”

“I’m well aware that I do not belong with the aristocracy.”

“Yet here you are with an aristocrat.”

“You and I both know, Your Grace, that marriage is not what you have in mind.”

His eyes darkened as his gaze traveled from her upswept hair to the toes of her recently polished shoes. “No. Marriage is not what I have in mind.”

Of its own accord, her head gave a little bob. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was acknowledging. She knew only that she wasn’t offended by his candor. Rather she was quite relieved by it. She preferred knowing exactly what she was getting herself into.

Yet even with his acknowledgement she feared she truly had no clue.

That Sterling had been able to walk straight to the coach, without stumbling, after having the breath knocked out of him at the sight of Frannie descending the stairs was a miracle. Only on his way home, after he’d issued his invitation, had it occurred to him that she might not possess anything appropriate to wear to the theater. He’d been debating having Catherine send a gown over to her—they were near the same size—but that carried with it the danger of Claybourne discovering their little tryst, which might then result in Sterling acquiring another black eye. He’d decided that no matter what she wore, he would be delighted to have her on his arm.

Instead, he’d arrived to discover that she was stunningly beautiful. Fortunately, he had an oil lamp in the coach so he could feast his eyes on her as they journeyed through the London streets. She’d grown quiet after he’d confirmed that marriage was not in the offering, and although he wanted her in his bed, he wanted her there as honestly as possible. He’d never used false promises to lure a lady into his arms, and he wasn’t about to start with Frannie. She deserved that much consideration at least. In truth, she deserved a great deal more.

“The way you’re staring, I’d think you’ve never seen a woman dressed in an evening gown,” she finally said.

“I’m not staring. I’m admiring. I’ve never seen you dressed so provocatively. Why didn’t you wear that gown to my sister’s wedding?”

“It was her day, nothing should detract from her. Besides, it’s a bit bold for such an occasion.”

“I like bold in a woman.”

She laughed lightly, an amazing sound that was far lovelier than the most skilled orchestra he’d ever heard perform. “You should watch your words, Your Grace. I shall take them to heart.”

“I should like that, Miss Darling.”

“You seem to be flirting with me, Your Grace, but I don’t think you should lose sight of the fact that I’m with you tonight only because of your threat to have one of my orphans arrested.”

“I only seem to be flirting? Then I must put forth greater effort so I leave no doubt.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Put forth more effort, I mean.”

“You do realize that a good many women would be flattered to have a duke escort them to the opera.”

“Perhaps you should have invited one of them.”

“None of them intrigue me as you do, Miss Darling.”

“We both know the infatuation will be short-lived.”

“On the contrary, I know men who have had the same lover for years.”

She gazed out the window, giving him the opportunity to study her profile and the elegant sweep of her neck. He wanted to cross over and sit beside her, kiss his way from her shoulder to the sensitive spot just behind her ear, feel the rapid flutter of her heart against his lips as he neared his destination, but he feared if he went too fast, took too much too soon, that he’d be in danger of losing his ultimate reward, that she would seek to evade him as quickly as Charley Byerly had.

Besides, strangely, he wanted to sit through the opera with her, wanted to enjoy dinner. He yearned to have her in his bed, without question, but he longed for a good deal more. He wanted, with her, memories he’d never sought with any other woman.

“Why do you suppose women do that?” she asked quietly. “Settle for being a lover instead of a wife?”

“Because sometimes it’s the only way to have someone in your life, when circumstances dictate marriage be based on something other than love.”

Slowly, she brought her gaze back to bear on him. “Have you ever loved a woman?”

“I suppose you’re referring to something other than the brotherly love I feel for Catherine.” It was now his turn to gaze out the window. “Once. I thought I did. But my affection for her turned so swiftly to dislike that I’m no longer certain.”

“What happened?”

“I told her the truth.”

“About what?”

He gave his attention back to her. “About me, Miss Darling. In spite of my rank and wealth, I shall make an unsatisfactory husband. So consider yourself fortunate that there is no hope for a marriage between us.”

Her brow pleated. “What is your failing?”

“Miss Darling, I have every intention of seducing you, and I have enough skill at seduction to know that revealing my failings is not the way to go.”

“I suppose I should be forthright and reveal that I have no intention of being seduced.”

“I so enjoy a challenge, Miss Darling.”

“I shall keep that in mind, Your Grace.”

“Are you nervous about coming to my residence later for dinner?” he asked.

She shook her head, met his gaze. “No.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman who meets my gaze as often as you do.”

“A man’s eyes can tell you a great deal. If he is quick to anger, if he’s the vengeful sort. If he’s proud. The proud ones are the best for fleecing.”

“I’d have thought they’d be the worst.”

“They don’t usually report that they’ve had their pockets picked. They fear it will make them appear the fool. So they simply replace whatever it is you took.”

“You say that with a certain amount of pride, as though you believe stealing is honorable.”

“I can’t deny that I’ve always taken a certain satisfaction in being so very skilled at what I did. I was the only one of Feagan’s brood not to see a stint in prison.”

“Your eyes, no doubt. I suspect even if you’d been caught you could have persuaded a judge to let you go.”

“I’ve been told they’re my finest physical attribute.”

“Told? Surely you own a mirror.”

“I don’t often gaze into it, and certainly I don’t linger there.”

Fascinating. He’d never known a woman who didn’t take up residence in front of a looking glass. “Why have you an aversion to gazing in the mirror?”

“Because within a mirror I can’t avoid looking into my own eyes. The life I’ve lived is reflected in my eyes and there are parts of it that I wish to forget.”

“Yet, it has made you the fascinating woman you are.”

And he was fascinated with every aspect of her. Perhaps he would prolong the moment of taking her to his bed simply so he could have more moments like these, but even as he thought through that strategy, he knew he wanted her too desperately to wait for very long before having her.

The coach rolled to a stop in front of the Royal Italian Opera. When he’d left England, it was the Covent Garden Theater. It seemed nothing remained the same. The footman opened the door, Sterling stepped out, then handed Miss Darling down.

“Have you ever attended the opera?” he asked as he offered her his arm.

“The previous Earl of Claybourne brought me once. I thought it was quite amazing, the costumes, the performers, and their singing was not to be believed.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He led her into the lobby, wondering why he hadn’t remembered what a crush it was as people waited to take their seats. He regretted that for a while he would have to concentrate on his surroundings rather than her. “I abhor the opera.”

She stopped walking, forcing him to do the same. With any luck they could stand there until most people had gone in search of their seats.

“Then why did we come?” she asked.

“Because it was the only thing I could think of that I thought you might possibly agree to.”

He couldn’t tell if she was flattered or incensed.

“Luke’s grandfather couldn’t stand it either. We left halfway through the performance. I’ve half a mind to make you sit through it all,” she said, a saucy grin falling into place.