A corner of his mouth lifted slightly, and she suddenly had an insane urge to make him smile fully, even as she feared that he’d heard the lie in her words. She couldn’t deny that the aristocracy’s low opinion of her—and her friends—hurt. Each of them, in their own way, did a good deal for others less fortunate, and all of them were fiercely loyal. They would die for each other. That others overlooked the goodness in them and always expected the worst rubbed raw after a while.
“You say that as though you’re ancient,” he told her.
“I’m quickly approaching the age of thirty.” She didn’t know why she felt obligated to reveal her age. Possibly to ensure he was aware that he wasn’t dealing with an innocent young miss, but rather a woman who knew her own mind—or at least she had until she’d approached him. At that precise moment she wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to stay and entice her nearer or leave before the situation escalated beyond her control. Because with him she wasn’t certain she had complete control. She wanted to muss his hair, unveil the uncivilized aspect he’d referred to earlier.
“Quite old not to be married, not to have children tugging at your skirts,” he said.
“Oh, I have children.” She saw the condemnation flash in his deep blue eyes. It irritated her that he’d think the worst. She almost didn’t explain herself, but she felt compelled. On the one hand, she wanted him to think the very worst of her and on the other she wanted him to think her worthy of…something she couldn’t explain. “I take in orphans. Or I will once my children’s home is completed.”
“Ah, a reformer.”
“You disapprove. Do you not believe in good works, Your Grace?”
“They have their place. But working with orphans seems a waste for a woman as lovely as you.”
At his compliment, she felt the heat rush from the soles of her feet to her cheeks. She’d always considered herself a bit plain, or maybe it was simply that she wanted to be plain. She didn’t wish to garner men’s favor, so she worked very hard not to make herself appealing. Even the dress she wore today for so lovely an occasion as a wedding was designed not to draw a man’s eye, and yet somehow it had managed to draw his. “I’m not certain if I’ve been insulted or complimented.”
“Complimented, I assure you. I fear we got off to a rather unfortunate beginning with our introductions—or lack thereof. I’d retired to this room seeking some solace so that I might determine how best to make amends. I’m not typically so…unfriendly.” He gazed out the window. “The gent you were speaking with earlier, in the brown jacket—who is he?”
She was surprised by the abrupt change in topic and the inquiry. “James Swindler. An inspector with Scotland Yard.”
For the briefest of moments, she could have sworn that his mouth twitched as though he were fighting back a smile.
“I wasn’t inquiring as to his occupation, but rather what he is to you.”
Oh. She found that a rather odd statement. What could he be other than what he was? “A friend. Did you wish an introduction?”
A bit of strangled laughter erupted, before he pressed his mouth into a straight line and shook his head. “No, that’s quite all right. He seemed protective of you.”
“They all are.”
“They?”
“Feagan’s lads.”
“And Feagan is…”
“The kidsman who took us all in.”
“The one who taught you how to pilfer pockets?”
“Among other things.”
“You were a very deft student, Miss Darling. I didn’t even feel your touch. The problem there is that I would very much like to know your touch.”
Very slowly, his gaze came back to her. It held an invitation, as well as a promise. How was she to respond to that? To admit that she, too, was wondering what his touch might feel like? From the moment she’d lost her innocence, at the age of twelve, she’d had no sexual interest in men. They didn’t frighten her. She’d learned enough from Feagan’s lads to know that not all men were brutes. But still she’d never been attracted to a man, had never wanted to attract one. She’d never felt this strange fluttering in her stomach whenever she looked at a man, had never had her heart pounding so rapidly when he was near, had never found it so difficult to draw in breath when she gazed into his eyes or studied the intriguing shape of his mouth.
“No retort? No denial that you’re not curious about my touch?” he asked.
“I have no skills at these flirtatious games men and women play.” She didn’t know why she’d felt compelled to reveal that little tidbit about herself. She’d always held her own with the boys when it came to stealing or arranging a ruse, taking measures to fleece someone. They often sought out her opinion on their business dealings. But it was all so very distant from what was happening here. She was like a novice explorer, traveling uncharted ground.
“It’s not a game, Miss Darling,” Greystone said in a low voice that reverberated through her and settled somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.
“And by touch, I suppose you mean—”
“Simply a touch.”
She who was always so aware of her surroundings, of the people around her, judging when best to take, when to leave, had somehow missed that he’d leaned nearer to her, his blue eyes smoldering with desire. With the gentlest of touches, he skimmed his fingers along the curve of her face, from her temple, down her cheek, across her chin.
“So soft,” he whispered as his thumb stroked her lower lip, his gaze following his movements as though he’d never seen anything quite so fascinating, as though she were some rare creature. “The gentlemen standing near you in the drawing room…is any of them your lover?”
“No!” She was insulted by the insinuation, would have moved back if the slow stroking of his thumb just below her mouth wasn’t holding her captive as effectively as iron.
“Have you a lover?”
“I’m not certain why it’s any of your concern—”
“Have you?” he repeated with an insistence that indicated he’d not let his inquiry go unanswered.
“No.”
“Good.”
He never took his eyes from her. They never ceased to smolder. If anything, the fire within them intensified and burned through her. She was beginning to feel as though she might melt. She had a ridiculous need to undo some buttons, to let him blow his cool breath over her skin.
“Why is that good?” she asked, barely recognizing her own voice. It was far too sultry.
“Because I would very much like to kiss you, Miss Darling, and unlike you, I’m not in the habit of taking what rightfully belongs to someone else.”
His fingers were again on her cheek, his palm cupping her chin. He moved slowly toward her as though giving her time to retreat or an opportunity to object. She did neither. Instead she found herself leaning toward him, her eyes drifting closed. Then his mouth was upon hers.
She’d been forcibly kissed and chastely kissed, but never had a man so gently and so determinedly urged her lips to part in order that he might gain entry. Never had she wanted to so willingly comply. He tasted of champagne, rich and flavorful. He tasted of desire.
One of his arms came around her and drew her up against him. As a woman she’d never been this close to a man. She’d never had her breasts flattened against a man’s solid chest. She’d never inhaled a masculine scent so deeply that it became part of her. She’d never had a man’s talented tongue playing with hers, and she’d certainly never slipped hers into a man’s mouth wanting to taste him fully. Everything she’d never envisioned experiencing she suddenly wanted with a desperation that should have been frightening.
But he didn’t frighten her. He enticed her into winding her arms around his neck and rising up on her toes for easier access to that which she so desperately desired. With a low groan, he shifted the angle of the kiss and delved more deeply, more thoroughly, exploring every aspect of her mouth. The heat intensified, and her body took on a languid quality as
though she could melt into him. Was this passion, this all-encompassing sensation that the two of them could very easily become one?
He drew back slightly and she gazed into the deep blue of his eyes.
“As you don’t have a lover, Miss Darling, I’d like to offer my services. As I believe we’ve just proven, we’re quite compatible.”
Chapter 3
“A re you all right?”
Traveling in the coach Luke had lent them for the journey back to Dodger’s, Frannie turned her attention away from the window where she could see little, save the rain, to look at Jack. “Of course. Why would you ask?”
“You seem particularly preoccupied.”
She was. With thoughts of Greystone’s scandalous proposal, and her even more scandalous reply. “I’ll consider your offer.”
Which meant what, exactly? Was she seriously considering it or had she simply not known what else to say? With a no, would he ever ask again? Would she ever see him again? With a yes, would she later change her mind? Would she have regrets?
After tugging free a glove, she laid her bare fingers against the cheek Greystone had stroked. The sensation was nothing compared to the sensuality he had brought to the fore. Her touch failed to elicit the incredible heat that coiled in her belly and flowed outward until she felt like molten wax. She slid her fingers over to her lips and toyed with them a moment. Again the sensation was nothing like the sweet pressure of his mouth against hers, urging her lips to willingly part…
Once Luke had kissed her and it had been as light as a butterfly landing on a rose petal. Nothing about Greystone’s kiss had been gentle, but neither had it been rough. It had been…hungry, as though he were a starving man and she alone could provide his sustenance. Where were these insane thoughts coming from? Were they a reflection of her own desires, her own cravings to once more be sampling all he had to offer?
Gazing out the window again, she asked, “Jack, have you ever taken a lover?”
“I should think it depends.”
She snapped her gaze back to him. It had seemed a simple enough question. Either he had or he hadn’t. Was there more to this lover business than she realized? “On what precisely?”
“On whether or not you consider a bought woman to be a lover.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at the ceiling of the coach as though the answer to a riddle rested there. “I suppose you can’t. A lover, it seems to me should be with you willingly, with no expectations of earning a coin. So with that in mind, I’ve never taken a lover.” He lowered his gaze to her. “Seems a strange question coming from you.”
For the first time in her life, she wasn’t comfortable with him, couldn’t tell him that her heated encounter with Greystone had prompted her inquiry. Where did a woman go for answers, because she knew if she listened to her own yearnings, she’d be knocking on Greystone’s door this evening. “I’m simply curious. I’m not exactly certain what the expectations are for a lover, what the situation actually entails. Would a lover…love her lover? Would he love her?”
“Good God, Frannie, love is hardly involved at all. It’s simply a polite way of saying a gent wants what’s beneath a lady’s skirts.”
With a nod, she looked back out the window. Certainly that was all that the gentleman truly wanted. She was good enough to bed, but not to wed. He saw her as no better than a prostitute. His currency was a wicked mouth rather than coins, but dear Lord help her, she’d been almost willing to accept the terms.
“Ah, dammit, Frannie, I shouldn’t have been so crude.” Jack leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “Why the sudden curiosity?”
The heat of embarrassment—or was it shame?—warmed her cheeks, and she was grateful that the gloomy weather might prevent him from noticing her blush. Their childhood had forged a bond that allowed them to share the most intimate of thoughts and know they were safe from scrutiny or judgment. She darted her gaze to his, then dropped it to her hands. “I’ve had an offer.”
“An offer?”
Gathering up her resolve, she returned her gaze to his. “Someone wants to be my lover.”
He narrowed his eyes for a heartbeat. She’d seen the look before. It often preceded his giving someone a sound thrashing. “Who’s the blackguard?”
Ah, God, she wished she hadn’t said anything, but Jack was one of her best friends. Unfortunately she suddenly realized some things shouldn’t be shared, but who else was there for her to ask? She certainly couldn’t ask Catherine, when her brother was the one causing Frannie’s dilemma. “I don’t want to say. Forget I even brought it up.”
He flung himself back against the seat. “Greystone, the bastard.”
“What? No! Why would you think him?”
Leaning forward again, he took her hands. “Frannie darling, I’m a man. I saw the way he eyed you, as though you were a delectable morsel that would satisfy a man’s hunger. He disappeared for a bit. You were gone for a while. I’m thinking he took advantage of the opportunity and during a clandestine moment he made his indecent proposal.”
It hadn’t felt indecent. As a matter of fact, she’d been quite flattered, but then she’d also been lightheaded and lost in a passionate fog, following his heat-searing kiss. But what really astounded her was Jack’s description of the way Greystone had been looking at her with hunger that she could satisfy. She’d had men leer at her, had them look at her as though she were fine crystal that could easily crack, but never with hunger. It was quite exhilarating. She squeezed Jack’s fingers. “Would it be so wrong, do you think—to entertain the notion of being someone’s lover? I’ve been a thief, a whore—”
“It was not your choosing to be a whore,” he ground out.
“A man paid for me, Jack. Call it what you will, I’ve never freely given myself to a gentleman. I’m nearly thirty, years past the age when most ladies marry. Until Luke asked for my hand in marriage, I’d never given any thought to being a wife. I can’t see myself married.”
“Why ever not? Jim would marry you in a heartbeat. So would I, for that matter, if I didn’t think you deserved far better than me.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Jack Dodger getting married? I don’t quite see that happening.”
As though to further his argument, he reminded her, “He’s a duke.”
Jack knew the discomfort she experienced around the aristocracy. They all did. It was the reason they’d circled around her at Luke’s. “That would be a problem if I had plans to marry him—which I do not. Lovers are private, a secret sin, aren’t they? I wouldn’t have to move about in his world.”
“The answer to your earlier question is no. No love exists between lovers. You’re likely to get very badly hurt, Frannie, and I’d feel responsible because you have a skewed view of the world from working at Dodger’s. I provide men with a safe place to engage in sin, but I don’t want them sinning with you. Besides, any decent man would be fortunate to have you for a wife. You shouldn’t settle for less.”
With a nod, she worked her hands free of his and sat back against the seat. “I suppose it wasn’t truly a compliment he was paying me.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he said tartly.
“I daresay I probably should have slapped him.”
“Absolutely.”
She sighed and gazed back out the window. The problem was that all she’d really wanted to do was to kiss him again. To want to be so close to a man was a new and exhilarating experience. Pity was she couldn’t stop thinking about it, and the more she thought about it, unfortunately, the more she wanted it.
Sterling knew the hour was fast approaching when everything that had been within his grasp would be beyond his reach.
Sitting in his library, drinking his brandy, listening as the incessantly loud clock on the mantel marked the passage of his life, he tamped down the raw fury that threatened to erupt. Anger required energy he could ill afford to squander. Not now. Later perhaps, when he had nothing better to do except reflect on how much better li
fe might have been if only…
He’d been determined not to have regrets, and yet they hovered near, waiting to make their presence known. He would reflect on them later as well.
Meanwhile, he was obsessed with filling up his reservoir of memories. He had one more he desperately wanted to add to his treasure trove. A night with her might very well be his crowning glory, his last indulgence, his final bit of wickedness before he turned his attention to duty. He had little doubt she would be worth delaying the inevitable course of his life.
Frannie Darling.
She was slender, but something about her made her appear larger than she was—as though she’d battled life’s disappointments and known the taste of victory. Being a commoner, she was not the sort a man such as himself considered taking to wife. But as a lover, he had a feeling she would excel.
Closing his eyes, he brought forth images from their encounter in the library. Her fingers had run up into his hair. Her mouth had played skillfully over his. Her delicate rose scent had wafted around him, and even now he could still smell her fragrance lingering in his clothes. He wanted her fragrance lingering in his bed. It had been so very long since he’d actually anticipated holding a woman in his arms, and she hadn’t disappointed.
He could hardly fathom now that he’d actually propositioned her, had suggested they become lovers. Her bold answer, before she’d turned on her heel and waltzed out, had stunned him.
“I’ll consider your offer.”
Did she mean it? Or was she teasing him? It was a strange game they were playing. She was the devil masquerading as a seductress. Or at the very least she was a witch, because she’d cast a spell over him that he was unable to escape. He was obsessed with the softness of her skin, the green of her eyes, the vibrant red of her hair. He wanted to kiss her again, wanted to slowly peel off her clothes and reveal all the hidden treasures. He’d seen much during his travels, but nothing had ever held his interest as she did. Would she come around? Would her answer be yes? How could she refuse a duke?
Surrender to the Devil Page 3