Surrender to the Devil (2 page)

Sterling readily admitted that he’d lived a life of indulgence, seeing to his own pleasures above all else. He and his father had argued about Sterling’s choices. But his father had been unable to comprehend what it was like not to be in control. He didn’t know how one’s flesh prickled when fear took hold. He didn’t understand what it was like to gaze into the future and know that it would be nothing more than a dark and lonely place.

“I should introduce you,” Catherine said brightly, as though realizing that Sterling’s thoughts had begun to travel down bleak paths.

“Not necessary.” He didn’t think the gents would appreciate his edging into their territory.

“You’ve changed, Sterling.”

“So you’ve commented before. We all change, Catherine. I could say the same of you.”

“Not to the extent you have. You’ve become quite the cynic.”

“I’ve become a realist. Join your husband so I might make my toast and be done with this affair.”

A quick flash of pain passed over her eyes, eyes as blue as his. He grabbed her hand before she could walk away. “I apologize. I do wish you all the happiness you so rightly deserve, you know that. Having been away for a while, most of my time spent outdoors, I’m not quite as comfortable confined in a crowded room.” And moving through the maze of people without knocking up against someone had become a tedious chore. If he’d realized Catherine and Claybourne were going to open their doors to so many, he’d have said his good-bye at the church.

“Is that the reason you’re hovering near the window as though at any moment you intend to leap through it?”

“Into the storm?” He glanced quickly toward where the rain pattered against the glass. The clouds were so dark and heavy that although it was morning, it almost appeared to be night, and night had become his enemy. “It’s a rather dreary day.”

“I don’t find it dreary at all. It’s the most wonderful day of my life.”

Recognizing that he was acting the curmudgeon, he offered a bit of repentance in his tone along with the truth of his words. “I suspect it will be the first of many wonderful days for you.”

“I know you don’t approve of Claybourne as my choice for a husband, and that, like many, you hold his singular past against him, but I hope that over time you’ll come to know him as I do and appreciate his finer qualities.”

Not likely, but he had no plans to further dim her joy with the truth of the matter. As though recognizing that he had no intention of commenting, she said, “I suppose you’ll be turning your attention toward securing a wife now that you’ve returned from your world travels.”

“Eventually. We’re in mourning. I didn’t expect this affair to be quite so lavish.”

“It’s hardly lavish. A few more guests than might be appropriate, but they’ll ease Claybourne’s way into the thick of Society after years of walking along its edge. Besides, men are never held to the strictures of mourning as diligently as women. You could attend a ball tonight and no one would chastise you.”

“Ah, the power that comes with the dukedom.”

“Was there anyone you thought about while you were away?” Catherine offered.

“Playing matchmaker already? Surely you’re planning to take some sort of wedding trip.”

“No, we have some matters to attend to in London.”

“Still I suspect your husband will expect to have your undivided attentions for a while. I’m perfectly capable of securing a wife without troubling you.”

“It would be no trouble.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ve missed you, Sterling. I’m truly glad you’re here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to join Claybourne, so you may make your toast.”

As she walked away, her words sparked his guilt, but he tamped down the uncomfortable emotion. He wanted to be anywhere other than where he was. He drank his champagne, signaled to a footman, and took another glass. Would this affair never come to an end?

Catherine sidled up against her husband, and the man gazed down on her with obvious adoration. Why should he not adore her? She was the daughter of a duke, her lineage the very best British aristocracy had to offer. She understood her place in the world and fit well within it. Sterling could no longer say the same for himself. The need to escape roared through him, and he lost the tether hold on his patience. He began lightly tapping his glass and the murmurings in the room quieted. He raised his flute. “To my sister, Catherine, the new Countess of Claybourne, and her very fortunate husband. May the sun always shine for you, my dear—even during the darkest of days.”

He downed the sparkling brew while a round of cheers and clapping echoed through the room. Claybourne and Catherine drank their champagne, then kissed briefly. People laughed, cheered again, and offered them well-wishes.

Sterling reached for another flute of champagne. Maybe if he swallowed enough, he could drown the pain of knowing that he would never possess what the newly married couple obviously did: true love and happiness.

He was the most dangerous man in the room.

Frannie Darling realized she was giving the man standing by the window considerable credit, given that she was surrounded by those who had no qualms about breaking the law when it suited their purpose. But while her friends were dangerous to everyone around them except her, this man was dangerous to only her.

She knew it in the way she knew how to judge which pockets were ripe for the picking before she ever slipped her hand inside to take what they held. She knew it in the way she knew a column of numbers had been incorrectly tallied before she ever set about to add the numbers together. She knew it just as she knew that within this room filled with people there were only three with whom she now truly belonged: Jack, Jim, and Bill.

Only recently had she discovered that Luke had always doubted he was the true Earl of Claybourne. But lately, circumstances had arisen that convinced him of the truth, so he no longer questioned his inheritance of the title. He moved confidently about the room, comfortable in his skin, no longer fearing that he was living in someone else’s.

She couldn’t admit to feeling as at ease. This world was not hers. It was so incredibly large, so incredibly important. Her small world paled in comparison, but she was content there. Perhaps it was her discomfort with the surroundings that made her notice him—the man standing by the window who appeared as though he wanted to escape all this politeness as badly as she did. She knew who he was. Catherine’s brother. The newly anointed Duke of Greystone.

A few times she thought she’d noticed him eyeing her. She’d tried to surreptitiously observe him in return. His skin was a golden bronze, as though he was a man who worshipped the outdoors. His hair, a dark blond, had been tamed for the occasion, not a single strand out of place, and yet she could imagine it being whipped by the wind as he galloped over the same roads that Marco Polo may have explored. Greystone was an adventurer, a man who knew no fear. When others had spoken with him earlier, his stance had reflected politeness, perhaps tolerance, but also impatience, as though he dearly wished to be off on another quest for excitement.

“Think they’ll be happy?” Jack asked as he offered her another glass of champagne, forcing her to drag her attention away from the man who fascinated her. He was larger than life, and as a general rule she preferred the small and mundane.

Jim and Bill were standing nearby, suffocatingly so, as though they could shield her from her own discomfort with the elegant elite.

“I’m sure of it,” she said. “Catherine is good for Luke.”

“What do you make of her brother?”

That he was as powerful as the storm raging behind him. That within his arms a woman would discover pleasure beyond anything she’d ever known. Heat swirled low within her as she licked her lips and offered up a small lie. “I’m not sure.”

“He’s been watching us,” Jim said.

“A good many of the guests are watching us,” Bill muttered.

“And their pockets,” Jack added. “I’m halfway tempted to walk through and lift things.”

Frannie scowled at him. Luke’s grandfather had taken them out of the rookeries, but he’d not been able to take the rookeries out of them—not completely. “Don’t do anything to let our presence embarrass Luke. He’s finally being accepted by his peers. It was a bit of rebellion on his part to invite us.” The scoundrels of his youth, although she knew he’d never completely leave them behind. Their pasts had forged an unbreakable bond.

“Still watching out for him?” Jack asked.

“The same as I watch out for all of you.” She gave him a playful smile. “And you watch out for me.”

Although there were times when they watched a little too closely, were just a bit too overprotective. She loved them dearly, but sometimes she craved something more, something that she couldn’t quite identify. Perhaps that was the reason she was suddenly feeling the need to stage a rebellion. She glanced back toward the gentleman at the window. “I believe I’m going to introduce myself.”

“He’s a bloody duke,” Jack reminded her.

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” she murmured before handing the flute back to him, taking a deep breath, and walking across the room.

As a rule she avoided those who carried titles because they made her uncomfortably aware of her humble origins, but something about this man demanded her attention, made her desire a moment of recklessness. She’d worked so terribly hard to insulate herself from anything that might bring her harm, and she’d only managed to give herself an incredibly boring existence. Nothing about him struck her as boring.

She felt eyes come to bear on her, other guests making note of her actions. Because she’d never cared much for their perusal, she should have been bothered by their increasing interest in her, but the man chose that moment to settle his gaze on her, and she felt it like a gentle caress that swept the length of her body. Her step almost faltered. Feagan’s lads never looked at her with desire smoldering within their eyes. Perhaps that was the reason Greystone was so dangerous to her. Because with only a glance, he made her feel as though she’d suddenly transformed from an awkward girl into an attractive woman with the power to lure a man toward a sinful encounter.

Even more astonishing was the attraction she felt toward him. She’d never met a man who stirred passion within her, who made her yearn for a touch of his lips, a stroke of his fingers.

Fighting off the urge to turn on her heel and return to her safe haven, she came to a halt before him. His eyes were the blue of a sapphire gemstone that had been embedded in a necklace she’d once lifted from a pompous woman’s neck. Feagan had been so delighted with the take that he’d bought her a strawberry. She could never taste one now without thinking of it as a reward for wicked behavior. She thought an evening with Greystone would result in her eating an entire bowl of delicious strawberries.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Frannie Darling.”

“The bookkeeper at Dodger’s.”

She knew her eyes widened at that. She seldom stepped out into the gaming area. Her work was handled in an area accessible only by those who possessed the proper key. “I seem to recall you’re a member.”

“And I seem to remember your friends”—he nodded toward where Jack, Jim, and Bill waited expectantly for her return—“are all thieves.”

Disappointment slammed into her with the realization that he was one of those, those who didn’t believe someone could rise above her station in life, those who had made her life miserable while she lived with Claybourne. She should have left him to his pettiness, but something compelled her to stay. Perhaps she wanted to give him the opportunity to redeem himself.

“As it’s customary for the wedding breakfast to be held at the home of the bride’s family, am I to assume you disapproved of the guest list?”

“You may assume what you like, but I value my property and prefer not to have light-fingered guests about.”

“I see.” She was an excellent judge of character, and she didn’t have the sense that his was being truly revealed. The most skilled actors in the world were beggars. With a practiced look, they could win over a heart, nab sympathy, cause a person to give away his last coin. Greystone, it seemed, was putting on a performance guaranteed to earn him no kind regard. She wondered at his reasons.

He shifted his gaze to the crowd. “Will he make her happy?”

“Luke?”

“Claybourne.”

She gave him credit for recognizing Luke by his title. At least that was something. And it was obvious he cared for his sister. “Immeasurably so.”

He gave a brusque nod. “Then that’s all that matters. If you’ll excuse me—”

He was three steps away when she called after him, “Your Grace?”

He turned back to her, and she smiled mischievously, not certain why she was determined to vex him. He just seemed to be a man who needed to be vexed. Besides, she wasn’t about to let his insult to her friends go unanswered, and she had her own statement to make: they weren’t the only thieves in attendance. She held up her hand. Dangling from it by its heavy chain was a gold pocket watch. “You left your timepiece behind.”

He looked at his waistcoat, patted it as though his eyes might be deceiving him, then slowly lifted his gaze back to her. With a dangerous glimmer in his eyes, he held out his hand. She dropped the watch into his palm, and before she could withdraw her gloved hand, he closed his strong fingers around it and leaned near. “Careful, Miss Darling,” he said, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers through her, “I’ve been away for a while and I’m not quite as civilized as I was when I left.”

That aspect of him became so incredibly apparent that her heart thudded against her ribs and her legs weakened. He gazed at her as though he was contemplating devouring her.

With an abrupt bow, he released her, turned on his heel, and strode away. She watched until he disappeared through the doorway, obviously taking his leave. Amazing how quickly the tables had turned and she’d lost the upper hand. She certainly hadn’t expected to be left breathless by the encounter, although more than that had her bothered. She’d felt an unfamiliar, powerful pull that had desperately not wanted him to leave.