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.
“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.
Sterling wanted nothing more than to storm from the room, but he kept his pace measured, concentrating as he wended his way around people so he didn’t bump into anyone. Leaving wasn’t nearly as difficult as he’d imagined it would be. Perhaps because whatever his expression communicated caused people to quickly step out of the way rather than try to engage him in conversation.
He knew his behavior toward Miss Darling had been abhorrent, but he’d been unprepared for his reaction to her nearness. She didn’t have the voice of an angel. Hers was a voice that stirred passions within bedchambers. Sultry, sensual, and breathless, as though they’d already shared pleasure and she was eager for another round.
Her eyes…he almost groaned with the memory. They were a magnificent green, but it was what they hadn’t contained that enthralled him. No innocence. None at all. Life had seasoned her. She was unlike any of the young ladies of his acquaintance. She’d seen things—in all likelihood done things—that would have caused them to swoon.
He was not a man in the habit of losing control, but he had known that if he didn’t take himself out of her presence, he was likely to take her in his arms, and the devil take anyone who objected.
Then blast her, she’d pilfered his watch and he’d not felt her touch. Damn it all, he wanted to know her touch, and as his long strides carried him away from her, he wanted her all the more.
Chapter 2
The encounter with Greystone had left Frannie unsettled. Feagan’s lads—although they were men, she would always think of them as his lads—knew better than to hound her with questions, but she needed some time alone to regain her composure. Normally she’d have taken a walk in the garden but the heavy rain made that an unpleasant proposition. So Claybourne’s massive residence would have to suffice. Because the servants knew her, they weren’t likely to object to her walking through the hallways and rooms where guests were not invited. Since she’d moved out of the grand house, she’d visited on occasion. While she wasn’t entirely comfortable here, one room did hold fond memories.
Without hesitating, she opened the door to the immense library and walked inside. Closing her eyes briefly, she inhaled deeply the wondrous fragrance of books. Ledgers never carried quite the same scent. After shutting the door to ensure her privacy, she wended her way among the various chairs and small tables that comprised individual sitting areas and walked along the shelf-lined wall, running her fingers across the spines of the many volumes that the old gent had collected over the years. He’d been a voracious reader. He’d introduced her to the works of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens, among others. Within this room, she’d traveled the world.
That thought brought Greystone to mind. Through Catherine, Frannie knew he’d explored the world and the many wonders it had to offer. She couldn’t imagine the boldness of character that particular endeavor would require: to step upon a ship and float out onto the wide expanse of ocean and trust that it would carry him to his destination. What had he done that had caused him to be a bit less civilized? And why, even now, could she not stop thinking about him? His callousness should have effectively ended any interest she might have had in him. Instead she found herself wondering what it was that he feared, because he most certainly was afraid of something.
When he realized she’d taken his watch, fear had hovered for a heartbeat within the depths of his eyes before they’d glinted dangerously. In her world, she’d known too many frightened souls, herself included. She could have understood him reacting with anger, but why had it bothered him to realize that he’d not seen her taking his watch? Or was she misreading the entire situation? It wasn’t as though he were a book.
With a mental shake, she chastised herself for lifting his pocket watch. She’d risen above her origins. It irritated her that he’d brought her back down to them. Why had she felt the need to prove herself a very skilled thief?
Why had she even cared about his opinion of her friends or her? Rude and arrogant, he represented everything about the aristocracy that she despised. Even Luke’s grandfather, for all the good works he’d done for them, had looked down his nose at the urchins his grandson called friends. Still on occasion Frannie couldn’t help but think of him fondly.
She crossed over to the desk and sat down. Running her hand over the fine, polished wood grain, she remembered how imposing Luke’s grandfather had appeared sitting there. Until the day she discovered his weakness for lemon drops. Then he’d become human in her eyes, especially as on occasion he shared one with her. She opened the drawer where he’d kept his sweets.
“Planning to pilfer something?”
With a small shriek, Frannie pressed her hand to her chest, her heart thudding against her ribs as she spun around in the chair to face her accuser.
Arms crossed over his chest, Greystone was leaning against the wall in the darkened corner, effectively avoiding what little daylight made its way through the window and into the room. Thunder boomed and the rain seemed to increase in intensity. She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed him before, because he filled the corner with his presence. “You startled me, Your Grace.”
She’d always thought that Luke and Jack possessed a commanding presence, but theirs paled when compared with that of the Duke of Greystone. He was not a man accustomed to being denied, and the attraction she’d felt bubbling up within her while in the drawing room began to make its presence known once again. She refused to give into it. She’d not allow him to mock her te
nder regard or her friends. Still, she wasn’t childish enough to flounce out. She swallowed hard, determined to hold her own against him.
“He used to keep sweets hidden here,” she said inanely in response to the thickening silence. Greystone merely stared at her. “The previous earl,” she went on to explain. “Luke’s grandfather.”
Still he held his tongue. She closed the drawer and rose from the chair, refusing to be cowed by him. With her heart thundering almost as loudly as the storm, she strolled over to the window and gazed out on the gray rain. “I used to live here. The old gent would sit in that chair right there”—she pointed to a hunter-green upholstered chair near the window—“and have me read to him each afternoon. It’s strange. In my youth I lived with a kidsman who I’m quite certain at some point in his life killed someone, yet I never feared him. But the old gent terrified me.”
“Why?”
Ah, a word at last. She faced him, surprised to discover that they were standing much nearer to each other than she’d realized, and she suspected his inquiry was little more than a ruse to stop her from leaving. Why did the thought of him wishing her to stay thrill her?
“Because he was so…large.” She shook her head, frustrated by her inability to adequately describe Luke’s grandfather. She was much more skilled with the use of numbers than words. “Not physically, of course. He was tall, like Luke—but with more bone than flesh and a bit bent in his old age—but he had such a fierce presence. Everything about him was incredibly grand. The homes in which he lived—here and in the country. The coach in which he traveled. Sometimes he would take me about London with him when he needed to visit with someone, and the deference that he was given assured me that he was a very powerful man indeed. Much like you, Your Grace.”
“And powerful men frighten you?”
“They give me pause, but I am no longer a child to be intimidated by them. I daresay with age comes the inclination not to care much what others think.”
Surrender to the Devil Page 2