Surrender to the Devil (28 page)

“Hand it over, Tiny.”

The man who’d searched Sterling gave the pistol to Sykes.

Tiny? Sterling thought there had to be a joke between them, although Sykes didn’t strike him as the humorous sort.

In the dim light of the lantern hanging over his head, Sykes studied the pistol, turning it one way and then the other. “Nice.”

He looked up at Sterling and grinned an evil grin. “Take off yer hat, Mr. Knight.”

Sterling narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Cuz I loike to see a man’s face clearly when I’m doing business with ’im.”

Sterling shrugged as though it mattered little to him. He took off the hat.

“Jimmy!” Sykes yelled.

Out of the shadows beneath the stairs came a small, skinny boy. Jimmy, otherwise known as Peter.

So much for Sterling’s belief that he was the best choice for this ruse.

When Jimmy got near enough, Sykes put his arm around him and pulled him up against his knee. “Ever seen ’im before, boy?”

Jimmy looked up at Sterling and tilted his head from side to side as though looking for the perfect angle by which to view him. “No, sir.”

Sterling fought not to show relief. He knew he didn’t look the same, but did he look different enough that the boy didn’t recognize him?

“Can I go now?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah,” Sykes said as though he wasn’t quite happy with Jimmy’s answer.

Jimmy ran past Sterling, who hoped to God that Swindler would see him and snatch him up.

“Me boy. I call ’im Jimmy. ’is mum named ’im Peter. Knew I didn’t loike the name. Did it anyway. Wot you gonna do with a woman who don’t do wot ye want?”

“Kill ’er,” Tiny said, and giggled.

Sterling had never known a man to giggle, much less one so large.

“Shut up, Tiny, or I’ll kill ye, too,” Sykes said, before homing his gaze back onto Sterling. “Ye see ’ow it is, Mr. Knight. I’m not someone ye want to upset. So tell me about this robbery yer planning.”

Sterling wished he could see into the shadows, wished he knew if the others were anywhere near. “Are ye familiar with the Koh-i-noor diamond on exhibit at the Crystal Palace? Largest diamond in the world?”

“Indeed I am.” Grinning, Sykes stood up. “Ye got a plan for lifting it?”

“I do.”

“Let’s ’ear it then.”

“Send these two on.”

Sykes seemed to hesitate.

“Ye’ve got me pistol. ’old it on me if ye want.”

Sykes nodded. “Ye two go back inside.”

Sterling listened as their footsteps retreated.

“Well?” Sykes prodded.

“It’s very simple. You go straight to hell.”

Sterling felt the fire before he heard the thunder. Not that it mattered. He’d flung himself at Sykes and taken him to the ground. His first jab to Sykes’s jaw must have numbed him, because he barely flailed.

Sterling didn’t know how many times he hit Sykes before someone was pulling him off. “Wait. He’s not dead!”

“You don’t have to kill him,” Claybourne said, kneeling beside him. “We heard him. Swindler says it’s enough to get him hanged.”

Sterling shook his head.

“No reason to kill him if the law will do it for you,” Claybourne said quietly. “Trust me on this, Greystone. You don’t want to kill him if you don’t have to.”

“He hurt Frannie.”

“She’ll be all right. She never looked at me quite the same after I killed Geoffrey Langdon. She carries the guilt too.”

Sterling nodded. If it was best for her—

He was suddenly aware of the pain rampaging through him. “Where’s Swindler?”

“Here.” He crouched beside Sterling. “We got the boy.”

Sterling grabbed his shirt, then cursed himself as he fell backward, bringing Swindler with him. “Never make her cry.”

He didn’t know if Swindler nodded, because his entire world went black.

When Sterling awoke with his shoulder aching and his head pounding, the first thing he saw was James Swindler standing at the foot of his bed, his arms crossed over his chest, his face not nearly set in the rigid lines of distrust it usually was.

“Frannie. Is she all right?” Sterling croaked.

“You could ask her yourself,” a soft voice said.

He jerked his head to the side, and there she sat in a chair near his shoulder, in a place where any man with normal vision would see her. She combed her fingers through his hair, the way he’d seen her touch so many of the boys she would willingly die to protect. Slipping her hand around his, she raised his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against his knuckles while her tears splashed against his skin.

“Don’t cry,” he rasped.

“You could have been killed. You silly, silly man.” She buried the fingers of the hand that had been so gentle at first into his hair as though she intended to hold him there forever. She turned her head to the side, looked at the man who Sterling knew loved her. “Will you bring him in?”

Swindler left.

“Who?” Sterling asked.

“Peter. He’s been so worried about you.” Fluffing some pillows behind him, she helped him sit up.

“How long?” he asked.

“Three days. Your fever broke last night. You were fortunate. You lost a great deal of blood when the bullet went through your shoulder, but nothing was damaged that Bill couldn’t repair.”

He nodded. He was exhausted. Holding Sterling’s head, she brought a glass of water to his lips. It felt good going down his throat.

He heard the door open and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. The boy came into view and Frannie grabbed him before he leaped on the bed.

“Ye gonna be awright?” Peter asked.

Sterling nodded. “You lied to Sykes.”

Peter bobbed his head. “He ain’t a dragon.”

Sterling grinned. “No, he’s not. You’re not to run off again.”

“I wouldn’t ’ave before, but they come fer me.”

“They won’t come for you again. Will they, Swindler?”

Standing at the foot of the bed again, Swindler said, “No. We’ve got Sykes in gaol. He’s not getting out.”

And Sterling heard the determination in his voice. Even if the court found Sykes not guilty, he’d never again walk the streets. Swindler would see to it. If he didn’t, Sterling would. He hoped he never came to regret not finishing Sykes off when he had the chance.

Frannie hugged Peter close. “Say good-bye to the duke now.”

“Bye, sir.”

“Be good, Peter.”

“Jim, will you take him, please?” Frannie asked.

Jim gave a brusque nod, turned to go, then looked back at Sterling. “You weren’t half bad for a bloke not raised on the streets. It was my honor to fight at your side.”

Before Sterling could return the compliment, Swindler ushered Jimmy from the room, closing the door in their wake.

Sterling turned his attention back to Frannie. She was so beautiful. He wished he could believe she was safe, but his Frannie continued to live in a very dangerous world. “You’ll continue to go to the rookeries, won’t you?”

She looked down at her clasped hands and nodded. Lifting her gaze to his, she said, “That’s where the children are.”

And where he couldn’t protect her. He’d been fortunate with Sykes, but he’d played enough cards at Dodger’s to know that fortune was a fickle mistress.

The days passed blissfully as Sterling slowly recovered. Frannie brought him his meals. She bathed him. Every night they slept in the circle of each other’s arms.

As his strength returned, Sterling took short walks about the residence, and eventually took longer ones about the garden. Peter would often join him there.

They didn’t usually talk, and yet there was a camaraderie between them that Sterling couldn’t quite explain. He was going to miss the lad when the time came, and he knew it was coming much sooner than he wished.

Frannie sat at a table on the terrace and watched wistfully as the strikingly handsome lord and his waif of a companion strolled through the garden. It was strange, the way attachments between the most unlikely of people could be formed.

She knew her time with Sterling was drawing to a close. They’d not made love since his encounter with Sykes, but she could sense him pulling away. She knew she was as well, fighting desperately to protect her heart, fearing that it was far too late for that.

From the beginning she’d known that Sterling was a temporary addition to her life, and she had made peace with that knowledge. Sometimes late at night, in the dark, she desperately wanted to tell him that she’d fallen in love with him, but she suspected it would only make their final parting that much more difficult.

That evening, during dinner, she told him, “I need to go to the rookeries. I was hoping you’d go with me.”

Sterling captured her gaze. “I believe I’ve proven I’m an inadequate protector.”

“You’ve proven that you’d risk your life for me. That’s hardly inconsequential.”

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the food on his plate. “You should probably ask Swindler.”

Only she wanted Sterling with her. “I want to talk with Feagan. I’m fairly certain I’ll find him at his favorite gin palace. It won’t take long. I’d very much like you there.”

As though he understood the momentousness of what she planned to do, he gave her a brisk nod. “I’ll have the coach readied.”

The journey to the rookeries was as quiet as their days had become, but Frannie found consolation in the fact that Sterling held her. He always seemed to sense when she needed to be held.

With a great deal of jostling, starts, and stops, the driver was able to maneuver the coach through the area until they were very near where Frannie expected to find Feagan. The place had suffered in the years since she’d last been here, accompanying Feagan because he always insisted on keeping a sharp eye on her.

Because she knew his preferred table, it didn’t take her any time at all to locate him. Her heart lurched at the sight of him, alone, in the corner. A man who had once been surrounded by children.

Glancing up he gave her a crooked grin. “Frannie darling, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sterling pulled out a chair for her and she sat beside her former kidsman.

“Your Grace, will ye buy me a drink?” Feagan asked.

Sterling looked at her and she nodded.

As Sterling walked off, Feagan said, “Nice enough gent, I suppose. Cares fer you.”

“You almost got him killed.”

“Weren’t my idea. Was ’is. Can’t blame me.”

No, he never took responsibility, her Feagan. Whenever one of the lads was arrested, it was the boy’s fault for being reckless, not Feagan’s for sending him into danger.

Sterling returned, setting the tankard in front of Feagan, before taking a chair beside Frannie. Beneath the table, he wrapped his hand around hers. She drew strength from the simple act.

Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath and forced out the words, “Feagan, are you my father?”

Chuckling low, he rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Ah, Frannie darling, where’d ye ever get a silly notion like that?”

“I just always thought…I don’t know. I just always thought you were.”

“Nah. Yer much too fine to ’ave come from the loikes of me. I found ye in a basket on a door stoop, so I took ye. Ye know ’ow I am. I see something that’s easy to pluck and I pluck it.”

She didn’t know whether she was disappointed or relieved. “I love you anyway,” she said, giving him a soft smile.

“I love ye, too, me sweet girl.” He winked at her, lifted his tankard, and gulped his brew.

As though understanding they were done here, Sterling got to his feet and pulled out her chair.

Once outside, she let the cool night air wash over her.

“Do you believe him?” Sterling asked quietly.

She looked up at him. “Did you?”

“I don’t know.”

She took a deep breath. “Doesn’t matter. It’s what he wants me to believe.”

“Frannie?”

The tone of his voice told her what was coming before he spoke the words.

“I’ll be leaving for the country tomorrow.”

She nodded. “This is good-bye then?”

“Very soon. Yes.”

“What about Peter?”

“He belongs with you. After all, you’re the queen of the dragons.”

He was striving to make light of something that was breaking her heart. “He’s grown very close to you. Have you told him?”

“He knows. He understands.”

Then the child was far wiser than she.

That night Sterling made love to her for the first time in ages. There was a roughness to their lovemaking, as though they were both clinging to something that they could never hold forever.

When they lay in each other’s arms afterward, it was bittersweet. Frannie had always known the moment would come when she would no longer be in his life. She simply hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

When Sterling woke up the following morning, he was alone. He knew it was pointless to go searching for her. She wasn’t in the residence and neither was Peter. He felt their absence as soul-rending emptiness.

He roared, his anguish reverberating throughout the room, bringing him no comfort.

With a weary sigh, Frannie closed the ledger. A month had passed since Sterling had left for the country. There was at least half an hour every day when she didn’t think about him. Tomorrow she’d add another minute to the tally, until eventually she would think of him not at all.

Peter had adjusted well to life in the orphanage. He brought her such joy. She wasn’t at all certain how she could have managed without him to provide her with love.

She became aware of someone standing in her doorway, not at all surprised when she looked up to see that it was Jim.

She rose from her chair. “You know you don’t have to escort me to the orphanage every night.”

“But I like riding in that fancy carriage of yours.”

It had arrived a week after she’d silently left Sterling’s residence. She couldn’t have born saying good-bye to him. Cowardly, but there it was.

The note that the driver had given her simply said:

So you may always travel in safety. And not to worry. I shall handle the upkeep on the horses.

Greystone

Jim helped drape her cloak around her shoulders. “Have you heard from him recently?”