Surrender to the Devil (14 page)

His thumb continued its leisurely motions as he studied her while taking another sip of his wine. He nodded. “Yes. What of it?”

“Didn’t you think it was wrong?”

“I believe I was eight at the time and…it was a game.” His last words were delivered more quietly as though he’d come to a sudden realization. “Your criminal children believe they’re playing a game.”

“For the most part, yes. When a child is very young, what he is taught is the way he assumes it’s supposed to be. The purpose of a pocket is to hold items that are to be picked. The grocer’s stall is set up for amusement. Take an apple and see if the grocer can catch you—it’s a game he wants to play. If you have no one telling you that what you’re doing is wrong, how are you to know?”

“If it doesn’t belong to you—”

“The children have no possessions. They don’t understand ownership. When they’re caught, they’re sent to prison or even transported for stealing an apple or some trifling trinket the value of which is not even sixpence. Their punishments are often severe. The state of affairs where children are concerned is unconscionable. I was brought up in that world. Fortunately, my kidsman was not one who beat children. But he did teach us to steal and he used us to put coins in his pockets.” She shook her head. “It’s difficult when you love someone whom you know on some level is wicked.”

He skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. “I’ve effectively ruined what was supposed to be a pleasant evening.”

“No, it’s I who have ruined things. The children are my passion, and I get carried away when I speak of them.”

His face grew incredibly serious. “It is your very passion that intrigues me so much. May we take a turn about the garden before I return you home?”

He’d meant it, then. Opera and dinner only. She should have felt relieved. Instead, she feared he was luring her toward his bed by not flagrantly inviting her to it. But not tonight. Tonight she was safe. “May I see your drawings first?”

Sterling ordered the table cleared away, sent the violinist on his way, and retrieved his sketches and two snifters of brandy. He’d never before offered brandy to a woman, but Frannie Darling took it without objection. He imagined she drank from time to time. After all, she worked in an establishment where spirits were sold in abundance.

They sat on the small sofa. His seduction was not turning out exactly as he’d expected. He’d thought to have her in his arms by now, but he couldn’t deny that he couldn’t recall an evening he’d enjoyed more.

“A lion,” he said as she studied the first sketch.

“I can see that. He appears so…regal.”

It pleased him that she saw what he’d attempted to capture: the essence of the beast. “It’s little wonder he’s called the king of the jungle. When he roars, my God. It doesn’t matter where you are, a chill races down your spine. And to see him—there is an immense amount of pride about him.”

“I thought the same of you when I first saw you at the wedding reception.” She peered at him, a slight flush on her face. “You carry yourself with a great deal of confidence that Luke is only just now beginning to exhibit. You don’t question the deference owed to you.”

“Not to me, to my title.”

“But you are the title now, are you not?”

He gave a short nod of acquiescence. He’d never questioned that he’d one day hold the title, but now he wondered if she would be more amenable to his holding her if he weren’t titled.

“You know who your family is,” she said, “from whom you come through the generations. You must appreciate the legacy that’s been handed to you. For me, it’s as though there were no one before me.”

He couldn’t imagine not knowing his ancestry. How empty would it feel to believe you’d sprung forth from nothing?

“There must be a Darling family to whom you might belong. Your inspector could surely make inquiries.”

Her self-deprecating laughter touched his heart. She was enticingly without guile or arrogance. “No. I have absolutely no idea of my true name. I was simply called Frannie darling, as an endearment, and I thought Frannie Darling must be my name. It’s quite easy for people to move about London, take a different name, and begin over. When Feagan took in a child, he always changed the child’s name in an effort to protect him, to give him a new start.”

Placing his arm on the back of the sofa, he trailed his finger along the creamy skin of her bare shoulder. Now he had an inkling of what treasures those drab clothes of hers hid. “So you know nothing at all about your ancestry?”

“Nothing. I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse. Luke is the son of nobility. Jim’s father was hanged. We know only that Jack’s mother sold him. So were my parents upstanding citizens and was I stolen? Or were they the dregs of society? I don’t know.”

Had he been considering anything permanent with her—which he wasn’t, but if he had been—her words would have caused him to reconsider. It was the nature of the nobility to wed the nobility, to wed those with whom a person shared a common heritage, along with an understanding and appreciation for one’s place. He didn’t necessarily consider himself better, but he stood on the shoulders of those who’d come before him, and their deeds assured him special privileges and required of him certain duties and behavior. Expectations were never in short supply.

“Do you want to know?” he asked.

“I suppose it depends on the answer.”

“Which answer would you prefer?”

“I’m not really sure. Both leave a lot to be desired.” As though she wished to leave the subject of her past behind, she returned her attention to the sketch pad and turned the page to reveal a small monkey.

Discussion of his travels had suddenly become incredibly boring. He wanted to continue to discuss her, because he wanted to know every aspect of her life. But more than that, he wanted to see her smile again, so he accepted her wish to steer the conversation onto safer and less exciting ground. “This little fellow adopted us, sat on my shoulder from time to time.”

“You’re very skilled at capturing images.”

He’d always been observant of the world around him, had always enjoyed sketching what he saw. He assumed that his pastime was one of the reasons he’d begun to notice a shift in his world. It came upon him gradually, but eventually he became aware that the scope of what he was seeing was diminishing.

“I’ve always enjoyed drawing.” He skimmed his finger along her collarbone. “I should think I’d find a great deal of pleasure in drawing you.”

“I’m not certain I’d fancy posing for a portrait.”

“Perhaps I can convince you otherwise, during my quest to convince you of other things.” He circled his hand around her neck. Her green eyes widened slightly before narrowing provocatively. He’d promised to behave this evening, but he asked the impossible of himself. He’d judged her lacking in innocence, but now and then he caught glimpses of it: in her smile, in a hesitant flirtation. She was a combination of survival and goodness, daring and inventing her own rules when those that existed didn’t suit her. With his thumb, he stroked the soft underside of her chin, felt her pulse quicken. “I would like to amend our plans for the evening.”

“Oh?”

She sounded breathless and her pulse tripled its rhythm. Fear didn’t enter her eyes, but anticipation did, encouraging him to continue. “The opera, dinner…and a kiss.”

She gave an almost imperceptible nod. Any other man might have missed it, but he was accustomed to scrutinizing the world around him, to hoarding the tiniest bits and pieces of it for the day when it would all be lost to him.

He’d intended to go gently, but her enticing gown had caused provocative images to flit through his mind for most of the evening, so when his mouth settled over hers, it was with purpose. It was strange, the way his own heart sped up when she welcomed him. During his travels, he must have taken a thousand women into his arms, or at the very least a hundred. Exotic women. Women of every country on which he’d set foot, yet he’d wanted none of them with the ferocity that he desired this one. As he swept his tongue through her mouth, he thought no one had ever tasted as sweet, no one had ever been as hot. Easing away from her lips, he tasted her throat, heard her moan, was aware of her head dropping back to give him easier access. He nibbled his way to her ear. “I want to let your hair down.”

“Yes,” came out on a sigh as though she could already feel the silken strands tumbling around her shoulders.

And they were like silk against his fingers as he searched for the pins that held her hair in place. Someone had gone to a great deal of bother with the ribbons, but even those he was able to work free and toss to the floor. Her hair began to fall and he gathered it in his hand, before leaning back and draping it over one shoulder. It pooled in her lap.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered.

“It’s unruly.”

He grinned. “I like unruly.”

Hungrily, he returned his mouth to hers. He knew she wasn’t innocent. God knew, she couldn’t work in a place like Dodger’s and remain innocent, but sometimes there was a hesitancy in her movements as though she wondered if the stroke of her tongue over his teeth was allowed, if he would object to her exploring his mouth as he did hers. He almost told her that he would find fault with nothing she did, but he didn’t want to break the spell of the moment. Bringing his hand up, he cradled her breast in his palm, relishing the weight of it. He skimmed his thumb over her nipple, felt it pearl in reaction to his touch. He wanted to feel it gliding across his tongue. He licked and kissed his way along her throat, dipped his tongue into the hollow at its base, before journeying farther down, slipping his finger into her bodice and lowering it, giving his mouth access to her creamy breast and her pale pink nipple.

Gasping, she dropped her head back, lost in bliss.

With practiced ease he turned her slightly and laid her back on the sofa as he knelt on the floor, then cursed himself because he wanted nothing with her to be what he’d done with a hundred others before. He wanted nothing to come easily. She was different, his Frannie Darling, in ways he couldn’t comprehend but wanted to explore at his leisure.

Cradling his face, she brought his mouth to hers and kissed him deeply, almost greedily. She’d put up so much resistance that he’d begun to doubt that she wanted him with the fervor that he desired her—but it was there: the passion, the desperation, the need to be touched.

He broke off from the kiss and nipped at her chin before giving his full attention to her one exposed breast. “Perfection,” he whispered on a heated breath before he closed his mouth over it.

She turned into him, her fingers clutching his shoulders. She was as untamed as the animals he’d observed in the wilds. She was not a proper miss. She held nothing back as she ran her hands into his hair, along his chest, beneath his waistcoat, as though she wished to touch all of him and was frustrated that so little of his flesh was available to her. But he knew if he began removing his clothes he’d be unable to stop. He’d break his promise. He’d take her here and now and damn the consequences. Unconvinced that she wanted the full measure of what he could give her, he reached down, slid his hand beneath her skirt, and skimmed his fingers up her leg.

She jerked and whimpered when he reached his destination: the honeyed center of her womanhood.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed as he rained kisses over her face. She was so wet, so hot, so ready to take what he couldn’t yet give without remorse. Never before had he hesitated with a woman, never before had he questioned his actions, never before had he wanted a woman to initiate what he would gladly finish. She was lost in passion, fevered with desire, and he wanted her to have no regrets, wanted it to go no further than she expected.

She clung to him, writhing against him as he used his fingers and mouth to heighten her pleasure. As her back arched, she gasped and he blanketed her mouth with his, swallowing her cry of pleasure, acutely aware of her heated body throbbing against his fingers, pulling from him a deep groan of satisfaction.

He’d never given pleasure without receiving in kind, but tonight it seemed imperative that he not take complete possession, even though it left him with an almost unbearable ache. Drawing back, he saw the wonder and tears in her eyes. She averted her face.

“Don’t turn away from me,” he pleaded.

“You said only a kiss.”

Cradling her face and turning her back toward him, he gave her a wry grin. “I fear I got carried away with wanting to bring you pleasure.”

She squeezed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. Leaning in, he gathered it up with a kiss.

“It’s nothing to cry over, sweetheart.”

“I never…I didn’t know.” Her voice was rough, as though her throat was clogged with tears.

Astounded, he asked, “Has no one ever brought you pleasure before?”

She gave her head a quick shake. He shifted his gaze to where he’d raised her skirts, to her slender legs…

She was a virgin? How could that be? She worked in Dodger’s.

As a bookkeeper, not a whore, you stupid clod.

“What about you?” she asked softly.

He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. “Pardon?”

“You’re not…you didn’t.” Her cheeks burned a bright scarlet, obliterating her freckles.

“No, I didn’t, but I promised to take no more than a kiss. Tonight it is a promise I’ll keep.” Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips. Little wonder the others were so protective of her.

Inside the coach, he held her as though he was loath to let her go. Frannie hadn’t expected that. But then there was little about him that did meet her expectations.

“I want to see you again,” Greystone said quietly.

“I’m not certain that’s wise. We are of different worlds, Your Grace. In yours, I am but one night and in mine you are destined to be merely a memory.”

“I should think after everything we’ve shared that you could call me Sterling.”

As much as it hurt, she said, “We are not equal.”

They traveled the remainder of the journey in silence, which confirmed that she had the right of it. No matter what feelings might begin to blossom between them, their places in society, as determined by their birth, would always serve to separate them.