Surrender to the Devil (8 page)

Her lips parted—

“Frannie?”

She jerked away at Swindler’s voice. The inspector was standing in the doorway, flexing his hands. “We’ve got some chairs here, but we’re not sure where they’re supposed to go.”

“I’ll be there directly.” They were words of dismissal, but Swindler stayed where he was. She turned her attention back to Sterling. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to some things.”

He didn’t want to excuse her, but the polite words were leaving his mouth before he could stop them. “Yes, of course.”

“Please feel free to look about at your leisure.” How could she suddenly sound so damned calm? She took a step away, then glanced back. “Meet me in the garden in ten minutes. I’ll have your answer then.”

Sterling watched as she strolled out of the room in her plain dress, which for some reason didn’t appear plain at all. She touched Swindler’s arm. He looked down on her and something warm passed between them. Sterling flexed his fingers. At that moment, he thought he could bring the inspector down with a single punch. By God, he was feeling possessive in a way he never had before.

Then Swindler glared at Sterling, before following Frannie into the hallway. Sterling turned his attention to the garden and pressed his hand to the cool window, but it failed to ease the boiling in his blood. Only one thing would accomplish that: a night with Frannie Darling.

Ever since she’d ordered the furniture, Frannie had been envisioning where each piece would go, and now she looked at the plush bright yellow chair and couldn’t remember if it was for the sitting area in the library or the offices for one of the staff. She simply couldn’t think.

She’d seen in his eyes that he intended to kiss her, and rather than discourage him or move beyond his reach, she’d stayed exactly where she was and welcomed his mouth playing havoc with hers. Even now, she could still taste him, smell him, feel him…

She wanted to be with him in the garden, wanted things she could never have.

A throat cleared and she jerked her gaze over to Jim, who was waiting for her answer, and studying her as though he was searching for something else.

“The library,” she said smartly, deciding she could always move it later if it wasn’t where it belonged. “If you’ll excuse me—”

He moved in front of her before she’d taken more than a couple of steps. She could see the worry and concern in his green eyes, but then he always looked at her as though he expected her to shatter at any moment. “He’s not one of us,” he said quietly.

“Neither is Catherine, yet she and Luke get along well enough.”

“Because he’s one of them.”

She couldn’t chastise him for saying exactly what she’d been thinking at the wedding. She knew he worried over her, they all did—but sometimes she wanted absolute freedom, although the one time she’d sought freedom had ended in disaster. In all likelihood, this situation with Greystone would end the same way: with regrets.

“Is it so obvious what Greystone wants, or did Jack give you a hint?” she asked.

The muscle in his jaw jerked and his cheeks flamed red. She thought of the animosity that she’d sensed between the two men.

“Have you spoken to Greystone?” she prodded again.

“I delivered a message.”

“From Jack?”

“From both of us.”

She loved them, she truly did, but they had to understand that she was a woman fully capable of making her own decisions. “And what, pray tell, was the message?”

“To stay away from you.”

And he had stayed away until today. A suspicion niggled at the back of her mind. “What did you do to him?”

His jaw tightening, he slid his gaze over her head.

Dread mixed with anger and disappointment roiled through her stomach. “How badly did you hurt him?”

He brought his gaze back to her. She knew he’d never lie to her. “Not as badly as I could have, not as badly as I wanted to.”

They came from such rough beginnings, but sometimes she grew weary of them.

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“With my life.”

“Then trust me to know how best to handle this matter.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

She gave him a soft smile. “I don’t want that either.”

“He won’t appreciate what you’re doing here. One of the lads I’ll be bringing you is serving three months in prison for stealing a crown. Hell of it is, he doesn’t know the difference between a shilling and a crown. Those I work with think they’re putting an end to crime when they arrest these children for petty offenses like stealing an apple. You should ask your duke how many apples he’s stolen.”

“He’s not my duke, and why would you think he’d stolen?”

“Just ask him.”

She pointed back toward the chair. “The library.”

He nodded when she knew it was the very last thing he wanted to do. “Thank you. And thank you for caring, Jim.”

She found Greystone in the garden, intently watching the gardeners working. She had the distinct impression that he wanted to offer them advice. Could men never leave well enough alone?

She came to stand beside him, but he was so engrossed in studying the gardeners digging up the soil that he didn’t notice her, giving her an opportunity to observe him. His profile was sharp edges, dominated by an aquiline nose and a strong jaw, a sturdy chin. He had a tiny scar on his cheek. Strange. She hadn’t remembered that from their first encounter, but then the glaring sunlight had been absent. Or was it a remnant of Jim’s visit?

His eyelashes were dark, darker than his hair, and she wondered if his hair would eventually match their shade as he grew older. Or would it simply fade to silver, gray, or white? Silver, she decided. More distinguished. After all, he’d traveled the world. He would take his place in the House of Lords. He was a man who could make a difference if he put his mind to it. His determination was evident by the intensity with which he scrutinized so simple a task as digging dirt—to the exclusion of everything else.

“I don’t believe those flowers will smell nearly as enticing as you,” he said quietly.

Her heart hammered. How was it that he had such power over her without even touching her? “And here I didn’t think you were aware of my presence.”

Turning toward her slightly, he smiled. “I’m always aware of your nearness.”

She wished she had more experience with flirtatious games. She needed to get them back on even ground. “Our little garden must pale when compared with all the exotic plants you saw during your travels.”

“I find nothing more beautiful than an English garden…unless it is the woman standing within it.”

The heat of pleasure warmed her cheeks, but she’d grown up in a world where every word, action, and deed was a ruse to gain something to which one wasn’t entitled. “I fear I’m never impressed with false flattery, Your Grace.”

“I’m saddened that you would think it false, that you’re unaware of your own attractiveness. Let me assure you, Miss Darling, that I find you incredibly lovely.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’m not in the habit of kissing hags.”

She bit back her laughter, fought not to be charmed, and knew that she blushed ever more deeply.

As though suddenly aware of the gardeners’ proximity and ability to hear what they said, Greystone glanced around and brought them back to safer ground. “You have quite a bit of land here.”

“I have need of it and plans for it,” she said, much more comfortable discussing her good works than herself. “Shall we take a turn about the area?”

She wanted to get away from the gardeners, from anyone who might overhear what was certain to become a very personal conversation. He offered his arm. She wasn’t at all surprised by the firmness and strength she felt in it when she placed her hand on his. His arms had drawn her up against him, and she had the fleeting thought she’d like for him to do so again.

As they began walking she said, “You’re quite fit, Your Grace.”

“I have scaled a mountain, Miss Darling.”

“Truly?”

He grinned. “At the very least an extremely tall hill.”

“I can’t imagine the things you’ve seen.”

“They were all quite remarkable. But again, not as remarkable as you.”

The heat swarmed her face again and raced down her neck.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Miss Darling, but I enjoy bringing that flush to your cheeks. I’d have not thought someone raised on the streets would blush so easily.”

“It’s been a good many years since I’ve been on the streets, and I was quite young when I left.”

“But the street never leaves you completely, does it? That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?” He swept his arm in a wide circle to encompass all the land that now belonged to her.

She was impressed that he’d accurately read how terribly important her plans were. “You’re quite right. The home for boys is only the beginning.” She pointed to the west. “Over there I plan to build a dormitory for girls. As we acquire more orphans, we’ll build an infirmary and a school. We’ll be using rooms in the present building for those services now, but eventually we’ll outgrow everything, which in a way is not how I wish it was. I wish there were no orphans. I wish there were no lost children.”

“Why have you made them your cause?”

She wasn’t certain if he was truly interested or simply striving to prolong their walk about the grounds. But if she’d learned anything it was to embrace opportunity when it presented itself, and if she could make one duke see things her way, she’d be one step closer to victory. After all, he would sit in the House of Lords, as would Luke. Her orphans would have at least two voices.

“I suppose it’s because my most trusted friends are orphans. If not for Feagan, they’d have no doubt lived—and in all likelihood died—on the streets.”

“Are you not an orphan then?”

How was she to answer that? Was it better to have been abandoned or to have a disreputable father? Why did she care what he thought of her or who her family might be? Perhaps because he could trace his ancestors back for generations. He’d known who his parents were and who their parents had been. Just as Luke had within his home portraits of those who had come before him, so she suspected Greystone did as well.

“Quite honestly I don’t know if I was an orphan or stolen—that does happen, you know? Kidsmen stealing children because they think they’ll suit whatever nefarious purpose they have in mind. Even Feagan, as good as he was at providing food and shelter, kept us because of what we could do for him.

“If you’re not part of the streets, you can’t comprehend how many lost children there are. Even some who aren’t orphans have the most horrid parents. It’s a world of filth and fear, and a child might do anything to escape it. They’ll believe promises that are made never intending to be filled. They go to gaol, prison. They’re transported to penal colonies. With my endeavors I can help change a child’s path, and I can’t help but believe that in many ways Britain will be better for it.”

As usual, she’d become so impassioned with her vision that she was nearly breathless. They ceased walking, and he eased in front of her. She noticed that he’d done that before, faced her so he could look at her directly. She liked that, interpreted it as a sign that he had no qualms about looking a person in the eye when talking.

“It’s quite admirable what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing it for personal praise. I don’t give a bloody damn if credit for my work goes to someone else. I care about only the children.”

“And here I feared I was competing with some other man for your attention. Inspector Swindler perhaps.”

“Jim and I are merely friends.”

“I’m not certain he realizes that.”

Of course he did. Didn’t he? But Jim wasn’t the reason she’d finally come to terms with the answer she had to give the duke.

“My answer is no…to your question. The one—”

“I can easily determine which question as it’s the only one I’ve asked and you’re the only one of whom I’ve asked it.” He didn’t seem angry, but she did detect deep disappointment in his voice. “You’ll have to forgive me, Miss Darling, but I’m not certain how a night in my arms will steal away from you anything you wish to accomplish.”

“A girl on the streets thinks nothing of lying with a man. I’m from the streets, but I like to think I’m no longer on them.”

He bowed his head. “I insulted you with my offer.”

“Strangely, no. I was quite flattered, but when I lie with a man, I want it to be because he wants me for more than one night.”

“That could be arranged.”

She couldn’t explain why he charmed her or why she took such delight in his wicked banter. Even Luke, who had once proposed marriage to her, had never indicated that he actually desired her. Greystone desired her. He didn’t love her. Quite possibly he held no affection whatsoever for her. But he wanted her. To be wanted was something she’d never before experienced.

“You’re quite charming, Your Grace, but in the end, I don’t think we’d suit.”

“If Claybourne wasn’t striding toward us, I might try to convince you otherwise with another kiss—but as I insisted he marry Catherine after seeing them kiss, I suspect he might not be completely understanding regarding any passion that I couldn’t keep tethered.”

Whether he’d intended it or not, he’d confirmed that marriage would never be an option for them. He wanted her body but not her heart, and while she thought that she should have been insulted, she wasn’t. She was a realist, not a dreamer, and she understood they came from disparate worlds.

He lifted her hand and placed a kiss on her fingers. “If you ever change your mind…”

His voice trailed off, the darkening of his blue eyes invitation enough, and she had the answer to something she’d once wondered. If she said no, he would ask again.

Since Frannie had disappointed him with her answer, Sterling had decided to move on with his life and more important matters. It was the very reason that he was at tonight’s ball, even though the Season was drawing to a close. He needed to look the selections over. He had to give the aristocracy credit. They had the right of it when it came to the marriage market. These little soirees were designed to display the latest crop of marriageable ladies.