Surrender to the Devil
Page 7
“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.
Chapter 7
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.
Considering what he had to offer, he thought it only fair that he not aim too high. On the other hand, this woman would be the mother of his heir and his spare. And he might throw in another son for good measure. He despised the cousin who would inherit if Sterling didn’t provide legitimate issue, so he needed a woman of good stock.
Standing near some fronds and watching the couples circling on the dance floor, he decided that choosing a homely girl would be a mistake. They always looked so damned grateful. He needed someone who was secure in herself, perhaps even a bit in love with herself. It was imperative that she not be the sort who required love or who might fall in love with him. Loving him was a sure path to disaster.
Although he couldn’t see her, Sterling was aware of the lady approaching him because her overwhelmingly tart fragrance arrived long before she did.
“Your Grace?”
Turning toward her voice, he smiled at his hostess. “Lady Chesney.”
She smiled brightly. She was as round as her husband. No surprise there. Her household boasted the best cook in all of London. “I would be honored to introduce you to some ladies who are in need of dance partners.”
“I appreciate the offer, but my feet are a bit rusty. I believe I’ll just watch this evening.”
“Oh, come, Your Grace. I remember how dashing you looked upon the dance floor. You can’t have forgotten what seemed to have come so naturally to you.”
“Lady Chesney, this is my first ball since returning to London. I prefer to ease back into the social life.”
“I don’t wish to dance,” he ground out through clenched teeth, especially as he was unable to do so with any sort of grace these days.
Lady Chesney jerked her head back and widened her eyes considerably. Damnation. He bowed slightly. “My apologies, but I’m still mourning the loss of my father. It would be inappropriate for me to take pleasure in dancing.”
“Of course, I am sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”
“I’m sure some are even questioning my being here at all as it has been a little over a month since his passing, but”—he glanced around as though about to impart a secret and she leaned nearer in anticipation—“I am in want of a wife and I do not wish to wait until next Season to make my selection.”
Her eyes sparkled with merriment. “Oh, you need not worry there. Men are forgiven for not taking mourning as seriously as women.”
“I take it very seriously, but I have a duty to my title that my father would want me to honor.”
“No one would dare question your dedication to duty. I’m certain once word gets around that you’re seriously pursuing matrimony that you will have no trouble at all finding the perfect wife. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my other guests.”
And begin spreading the rumor that he was looking for a wife, no doubt. Good. Since Catherine was honoring the mourning period, she’d be of little help to him, so he was going to have to rely on others. He needed a wife now.
His father, blast him, had been right. Seeing to his own pleasures and touring the continents had placed him in an awkward spot, but he couldn’t regret one single moment.
He turned his attention back to the dance floor. He decided he would go with beautiful. After all, he would have to bed her. Confident. She would need strength for the future. Self-absorbed. Yes. Someone who would tell him to go to hell once the truth came to light and then get on with her life.
No guilt, then. He’d set her up in London and he’d retire to the country. He and his father had fought about that as well. “Your place will be in the House of Lords.”
His place was in hell.
He caught sight of Lords Canton and Milner ambling toward him. He gave a brusque nod. He liked them both well enough, had gone to school with them, often played cards with them at Dodger’s.
“Greystone, old boy,” Canton drawled. “What’s this I hear that you’re actually looking for a wife?”
That didn’t take Lady Chesney long to accomplish.
“You’ll give the mamas cause to expect the same for the rest of us. You don’t announce it, man,” Milner said.
“The Season is almost over. I don’t have much time. I thought being forthright would speed the process.”
“But good God, Greystone, you’re only eight and twenty. Far too young to be tied down with the same woman every night,” Canton pointed out.
“If I learned anything at all during my travels, gentlemen, it was that life is precarious. I do not intend to let the dukedom fall to my blasted cousin.”
“Hardly blame you there,” Canton muttered. “Wilson Mabry is a cad.”
“You’re too generous by half with that assessment.” Wilson Mabry personified the seven deadly sins.
The two gentlemen who had joined him turned their attention toward the dance area.
“My sister’s not yet spoken for,” Canton said quietly. “I’m sure my father wouldn’t oppose your suit.”
“I like your sister, Canton. Therefore, she’s not on my list of considerations.”
Canton jerked his head around and gave Sterling an odd, questioning look. Sterling shrugged. “I know myself better than any man and I have no doubt that I’m poor husband material. I suspect your sister will want at least affection—if not love—in her marriage. I’m unable to accommodate such whimsy. I’m in search of a wife who is content to see to her duty without complaining and will expect no more of me than I can give.”
“Lady Annabelle Lawrence might suit you then,” Milner offered. “From what I’ve heard she hasn’t an affectionate bone in her body.” He visibly shuddered. “Cold as ice, from what I understand. Wants a husband who won’t interfere with her life.”
“Which one is she?”
“There,” Milner nodded toward the dance floor. “Dancing with Deerfield.”
Sterling spotted the couple right off. Lady Annabelle had an air of entitlement about her. It might work in his favor after he had his heirs, but until then, life could very well be miserable. She was certainly beautiful, with her black hair—
A flash of red passed before his vision, and the attractive Annabelle was forgotten as he desperately searched the crowd…
He gave himself a mental shake. She wouldn’t be here. Frannie Darling didn’t move about in his circles—although on occasion he wandered through hers.
“Want an introduction?” Canton asked.
“Not at the moment, thank you. I’m going to step out for some fresh air.”
As soon as he walked onto the terrace, he realized the foolishness of coming out here. It was always more difficult to make out things clearly in the dark. Carefully, he made his way over to the edge of the terrace. Closing his fingers around the railing, he took a deep breath.
Red hair. It hadn’t even been as vibrant as hers. No one’s was as vibrant as Frannie Darling’s.
He could have any woman in London, yet she was the only one he wanted. She haunted not only his dreams, but every waking moment as well.
He’d come here tonight hoping to distract himself from this fierce need he had to see her, but with just one glimpse of red, she was again taking possession of every thought in his head. Strangely, when he thought of Miss Darling, it wasn’t so much the pleasure he would derive from her but that he might give to her that occupied his thoughts. How he would use his hands and mouth to stir her passions, how he would cause desire to burn through her, how her voice would sound when she cried out his name.
This was insanity. If he could but see her one more time, kiss her once more, then perhaps he could move on with his life.
“’ere! ’e’s over ’ere!”
Frannie quickened her step, striving to keep up with the boy who’d grabbed her hand on the street and pulled her into the alleyway. She’d been almost finished making her nightly rounds at the rookeries, searching for children in need of what she had to offer when the lad had approached her.
“You the red angel what takes boys to a better place?” he’d asked, no doubt referring to the shade of her hair. She wore it loose and wild when she came to this area of London because she knew it distinguished her from others.
She’d been gratified to know that she was developing a reputation for helping the children. Thus far, she’d managed to take in only eight, but word was apparently spreading that she provided a safe haven. “I am. Do you want to come with me?”
“Nah, but Mick…I think ’e’s dyin’.”
As Frannie now knelt beside the child curled on his side, she feared his friend might be correct. He was battered and bruised, fevered and trembling.
“Can ye ’elp ’im?” his friend asked.
“Yes.” Or at least William Graves could. How would the poor and indigent feel to know that the man who treated their ills and never asked for payment also served as a physician to the queen? Twisting around, Frannie grabbed the older boy’s arm. “But I won’t help him unless you come with me as well.”
“Can’t do that. Sykes’ll kill me.”
She wasn’t surprised to discover that Sykes was his kidsman. Both lads fit his requirements: small and wiry. She also recognized his handiwork as exhibited on the hurt boy. “What did your friend do wrong?” she asked.
The lad shifted uncomfortably. “Didn’t steal enough naps.”
Handkerchiefs. The boy hadn’t met his daily quota. Sykes had probably charged him with being lazy and
had decided that nearly killing him would motivate the others. He placed no value on the lives of children. She suspected he placed no value on anyone’s life save his own.
“I won’t let Sykes harm you. I swear it.”
Shaking his head, the boy wiggled out of her grip and was racing into the darkness before she could stop him. With extreme tenderness, she lifted the hurt boy into her arms. With Bill’s help, she’d save him.
Then she’d return to the rookeries to search for more boys—in particular those who worked for Sykes. If she couldn’t stop his brutality, she’d seek to move beyond his reach as many boys as possible.
During the week following the ball, Sterling had lost an unconscionable amount of money at the gaming tables, hoping to catch a glimpse of Miss Darling—with absolutely no luck at either spying her or winning back his stakes.
Tonight was no exception. Sterling had purchased his chips on credit. Dodger’s was civilized in that regard. At the end of the month a statement of accounts owed would be sent out. Considering Jack Dodger’s reputation, Sterling doubted anyone ever reneged on settling accounts, but if he did, Sterling wondered if Miss Darling would attempt to collect. As bookkeeper, perhaps she’d come around herself . It would provide him an opportunity to see her which sitting here attempting to make sense of his cards wasn’t. His mind wasn’t focused on playing as his dwindling stack of chips testified.
With his limited vision, he knew that she might well walk right past him and he’d not notice her until it was too late. Numerous times he’d considered attempting to access the offices, but he’d seen Dodger use a key often enough to know the door leading to them was always locked. He knew the apartment she had was accessible through stairs on the outside and had considered waiting for her in the alleyway, but she’d given him her answer. He should respect it and get on with his own matters.
But the fervor with which she’d spoken about her orphans haunted him. Was there anything in life that he cared about so passionately? He cared for his title, to be sure. The estates were a source of pride. But nothing consumed him, not in the manner in which Frannie Darling was consumed with aiding orphans.