Surrender to the Devil (17 page)

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. Or 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.”

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.

“I decided your Scotland Yard friend would liberate him and give him to you anyway, so what was the point?”

She smiled at that, giving him reason to believe some truth resided in his words, and looked back at the boy, who appeared to be asleep.

“So who is this Sykes fellow?” Sterling asked quietly.

Rather than answering him, she murmured, “How old do you think he is?”

He was not a student of children, but based on the boy’s size—

“Somewhere in the neighborhood of five.”

“I put him at eight, possibly nine.” She sounded confident of her answer.

“He’s too small.”

“That’s the way Sykes likes them.” She lifted her gaze, and he saw not only profound sadness but fury as well. She was a woman of far-ranging passions and the ability to feel them simultaneously. Knowing of her past, was he a bastard for still wanting her in his bed? Knowing he could never marry her, was he a blackguard for wanting her in his life? “He scours the streets for the smallest of lads, and then works very hard to keep them small. He feeds them only enough so they survive. I suspect this one either came down one of your chimney flues or through a window that is seldom locked because it’s considered too small to allow anyone entry. It’s the very reason Sykes works so very hard to keep them so small.”

While she spoke, not once did she stop or slow the journey of her fingers through the lad’s hair.

“He terrorizes them so they do as they’re told. Under his care, they know not the gentle hand of kindness. If they fall ill, they get no comfort, no food, because they’re no longer earning their way.”

“And he refers to you as a devil?”

She smiled fully then, and he realized she was pleased that Sykes had gone to the trouble of calling her anything at all.

“The devil takes on all sorts of shapes,” she said.

“You’re jabbing sticks at him.”

“I give his lads a home when I can find them. And yes, I’ve put out word that I provide a safe haven.”

“He sounds like a rather unpleasant fellow. He can’t appreciate what you’re doing.”

Determination washing over her features, she angled her chin. “I know what it is to be fearful for your life. I will not cower from what I know is the right thing to do.”

“Even if it puts your very life at risk?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. There are many children. Sykes can always find another.” She gazed down on the child still asleep on her lap. “This one now belongs to me.”

“You think to reform him?”

“He’s young enough that his soul is not yet lost. It’s the older ones, the ones who have been in prison who are more difficult to reach.”

“I’m familiar with the London streets. There are hundreds of children scouring about. You can’t save them all.”

She gave him a wistful smile. “No, but I can save this one, and for now, that’s enough.”

And what about you, Frannie? he wanted to ask. Who will save you?

She gave so much of herself to others. He wanted her to be like him, to put her own pleasures first.

He gazed out the window just as the coach rounded the curve and went through the gates of the orphanage. The gas lamps lit their way up the cobblestone path. When the coach came to a stop, the boy stirred.

“I’ll carry him,” Sterling said as the door opened and he stepped out. He reached back in and took the boy, who clung to him instinctively like a little monkey, his arms tightly wound around Sterling’s neck, his legs around his waist. Sterling stood there, astonished to realize that the child weighed almost nothing. He knew he was thin, but this…he couldn’t possibly be as old as Frannie thought.

“Sterling?” she prodded, indicating the path to the well-lit door.

“I do hope he doesn’t have fleas or lice,” he muttered as he fell into step beside her.

“I think you’re quite safe. I didn’t notice any.”

Withdrawing a key from her pocket, she unlocked and opened the door. Stepping inside, he was taken aback by the change in the place. It had a very homelike feel to it, with plants dotting the floor and paintings on the walls. Lamps burning low were sprinkled throughout. A large man with beefy fists rose up out of a chair as though ascending from the depths of hell.

“Miss Frannie.”

“Good evening, Mr. Bates. How are things?”

“Quiet. Looks like you’re bringing in another one.”

“Yes, I am.” She turned to Sterling. “Mr. Bates keeps an eye on things at night.”

Like Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades, Sterling thought, although he suspected that here they were closer to heaven.

Frannie touched Sterling’s arm. “We’ll put him in a room down here. Tomorrow when we have a chance to clean him up and explain things, we’ll put him in a room with another boy.”

She guided him along a hallway to a room that contained a bed and a very soft-looking chair. She lit the lamp on the table beside the bed while Sterling carefully laid down the boy who’d sought to steal from him. The irony didn’t escape him.

Moving back, he watched as she removed the lad’s scruffy shoes which—when his black-soled feet were revealed—were much too large. As though reading Sterling’s thoughts, she reached into a shoe and pulled out crumpled newspaper. She shrugged as though to signify that at least he had shoes.

She left his clothing in place and brought a blanket over him. Once again she touched the boy’s hair, then leaned down and bussed a quick kiss over his temple. “Sweet dreams.”

The boy muttered something indecipherable and promptly began to snore.

With a tilting of her head, she led Sterling back into the corridor. “Whenever I come here at night, I always take a walk through. I’d like it very much if you’d accompany me.”

As it would prolong his time with her, he nodded. She lifted a lamp from a nearby table and directed him toward the stairs.

“Do you come here every night?” he asked as he followed her up.

“Not often. Depends how late I work on Dodger’s books. I’ll usually stay at my apartment there and come here during the day to check up on things, visit with the children”—she glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled—“and look over the books. It seems I’m forever looking over books.”

They reached the landing and he could see all the doors were open. She walked through the first one. Inside, two boys were sprawled on separate beds. Two small chests were at the foot of each bed, chests which he imagined contained their possessions. Leaning over, she gave first one boy and then the other a kiss. Neither stirred, and Sterling imagined they were accustomed to receiving angel kisses while they slept.

She went through the same ritual in each room. Eventually, feeling utterly useless, he took the lamp from her so that he could at least contribute in some way. Besides, he was able to direct the light so it shone more on her than the children, giving him a clearer portrait of her. She possessed no pretense. She didn’t put on airs. She truly cared about these children, was seeking to provide them with a better life. Children she’d not given birth to. How much more might she love her own children? Or was her ability to love infinite?

The number of children astonished him.

“Where do you find them?” he asked, when she’d delivered her last kiss and they were walking down the stairs.

“Mostly they find me. While Sykes might call me the very devil, there are others who refer to me as an angel. Word passes along the street that here they will find sanctuary and no harm will come to them. Some don’t trust it. Others are to a point that they feel they have nothing to lose. And of course, Jim knows who has been arrested. He’ll bring children here after they’ve suffered their punishment.”

Of course. The inspector from Scotland Yard. Sterling had never thought he’d find himself competing with a commoner for the affections of…God help him. A commoner. Not that he found anything about Frannie Darling to be the least bit common.

Leaving the lamp on an entryway table, he went outside, grateful that she accompanied him. Every moment in her company left him wanting one more.

“I didn’t notice the little scamp who tried to steal from me at the Great Exhibition. Charley wasn’t it?” he asked.

She smiled warmly. “Charley Byerly, yes. I managed to find a decent family willing to take him in.”

“God help them.”

“He’s not as bad as all that. I managed to find time to visit him just the other day. He’s adjusting quite well actually.”

“So in addition to everything else you’re doing, you’re striving to find them homes?”

“Yes.”

“You’re remarkable. May I escort you back to Dodger’s?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m going to stay with Jimmy. He’ll be frightened when he awakens in these strange surroundings.”

He didn’t want to leave her here, but he knew she’d not appreciate if he insisted that she leave. “Then forgive me an indulgence.”

Not giving her the opportunity to fully comprehend the meaning of his words, he took her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. She released a low moan, but no objection. He kissed her more gently than he had in the library when desperation had clung to him. He wanted more from her than he could have, more than he deserved. She wanted him to desire her, and by God, he did, with a fierceness that was almost terrifying.