Surrender to the Devil (20 page)

“Come with me. My servants will pamper you and so shall I.”

“You’re the one who’s hurt, the one who should be tended.”

He grinned as though she’d fallen right into his trap. “Fine. You may pamper me.”

“I’ll at least escort you home,” she conceded.

“And stay.”

“Until dawn. Just to make certain you’re all right.”

He smiled a devilish grin that seemed to imply that she’d granted him exactly what he wanted. It wasn’t until they arrived at his residence and he was helping her out of the coach that he said in a low, sensual voice, “Fortunately for me you didn’t specify which dawn.”

It was nearly two in the morning, but Greystone’s butler greeted them in the entry hallway to take Frannie’s wrap and Greystone’s bundled jacket and waistcoat. His bloodied shirt, however, remained on his person.

“Good God, Your Grace. I’ll send for your physician immediately.”

“No need, Wedgeworth. I’ve already been tended and it’s really nothing to worry over. Miss Darling will be staying the night in Lady Catherine’s room. Assign one of the maids to see to her needs while she’s here.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

It was strange, but as Greystone led her up the sweeping stairs, she didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable approaching the floor that contained the bedchambers, and yet she thought she should have. She thought of the last time she’d been here and all that had happened. He might tell her that he expected nothing from her, but she knew it was a lie—and she wasn’t bothered by it. The one person with whom she’d always been honest was herself. She was here because there was nothing he wanted of her that she wasn’t willing to give.

“Have I mentioned that I’m very glad you’re here?” he asked.

Raising her gaze to his, she smiled. “I don’t believe you have.”

“I want you to be glad to be here, Frannie.”

The top of the stairs opened into another huge corridor. It was so large that tables and chairs lined the walls, yet people could still walk easily four across. She imagined during balls that ladies tittered as they came up here to see after their toilette.

“This bedchamber here,” he said, leading her to an open doorway.

She peered in at the artwork on the ceiling, the grand canopied bed, the luxury she’d not experienced since leaving Claybourne’s. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s not to your taste, though, is it?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’ll manage.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman walking sedately down the hallway, having come up the servants’ back stairway. She was surprised Sterling didn’t turn toward the approaching girl.

“Your Grace,” she said with a bobbed curtsy.

Only then did Sterling choose to acknowledge her. “Agnes, you’re to serve Miss Darling’s every need while she’s here.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

“Miss Darling will be making use of Lady Catherine’s wardrobe.”

“That’s not necessary,” Frannie said.

“Suit yourself. Just know that Catherine left behind clothing that she’ll no doubt never use again, and her clothes—like everything within this residence—are here to serve at your pleasure.” He took a step forward, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. “And now, Frannie, I fear I must retire and shall leave you to do the same.”

He appeared exhausted and she realized his discomfort was taking a toll on him. “I came to watch over you.”

“Get some sleep first. If you fall ill, Swindler will kill me. Besides, I need to wash up and get out of these bloody clothes.”

Giving a nod, she watched him cross over to a room opposite hers. She truly hadn’t planned to stay beyond dawn, and she hadn’t anticipated sleeping here. Hearing a drawer open, she turned to see Agnes taking out a nightgown. With a shy smile, she said, “Would you like me to have a bath prepared?”

“Oh, no, it’s too late to bother with that.”

“It’s no bother if that’s what you wish.”

Frannie took the gown, surprised by the softness of the cloth. It would be like sleeping in a cloud. “Return to bed. I can see to myself.”

“But His Grace—”

“Will never know.”

Agnes gave a quick curtsy. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

After changing into the nightgown and brushing out her hair, Frannie crawled into bed. She stared at the canopy for a while. Then she rolled over and studied the light coming in through the window. Was it moonlight or lamplight? Did it matter? She was in Greystone’s residence. If she was staying only until dawn, she certainly didn’t expect the sunlight to find her in this bed.

Throwing back the covers, she got up, lifted the lamp from the bedside table, and went into the hallway. She laid her hand flat against his door. She thought of him entertaining the lads with his stories at the Great Exhibition, thought of him sending for her instead of a constable when he’d discovered a thief in his residence. She thought of him putting himself in harm’s way tonight. She thought of the pleasure he’d brought her the night of the opera.

He’d given her confidence that she was a woman a man might desire. While he would never marry her, perhaps another would. But life was precarious and opportunities were never guaranteed. Here was a man for whom she cared a great deal. Whatever they could share, it would be enough.

As she opened the door and walked in, she felt Greystone’s gaze come to bear on her so quickly that she was fairly certain she hadn’t awakened him. She glided over to the bed. “I wanted to check in on you. Are you in much pain?”

He shook his head. “My valet spooned me up some laudanum.”

“You should have no trouble sleeping, then.”

“What about you?”

“I should be fine now that I know you’re all right.”

“You told me once that you took comfort in sleeping—just sleeping—with someone. I’m wearing trousers if you want to—” He lifted the covers in invitation.

“You knew I’d come.”

“I hoped you would.”

She set the lamp on the table, slipped into bed beside him, and laid her head on his shoulder. His arm came around her, cocooning her in comfort.

“You see? I told you we’d find more comfort here,” he said slowly as though he had to push the words through the fog of drowsiness brought on by the medication. “I want to know how you truly are, Frannie. You act as though what happened earlier affected only me, but you must have been terrified.”

She skimmed her finger over his chest. “I think I was furious, more than anything else. I’ve been so careful when I go about the rookeries, yet there I was caught by surprise. When he mentioned Sykes I wanted to tear into him with everything I had.”

“These trips you make to the rookeries—do you make them at night?”

She had yet to lie to him. He nudged her arm. “Frannie?”

“Sometimes.”

“Alone?”

She nodded.

“Dammit, Frannie, do you know how foolish that is?”

“Children won’t approach me if I’m not alone.”

“They are not more important than you. Hire someone, for God’s sake, who can skulk about without being seen, but can keep an eye on you.”

“You’re getting as bossy as Feagan’s lads.”

“Because you’ve become very precious to me.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Please don’t go there alone anymore.”

She nodded. It was easier to break promises when they weren’t voiced.

“What’s that creature on your back?” she asked quietly, hoping to turn the subject away from her.

“A dragon.”

“Did you see one in your travels? Does it exist?”

“As far as I know, only in legend. Are you not familiar with Saint George? He slew one, you know.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Perhaps I’ll tell you the story some day.”

“Will it fade? The tattoo?”

“No.”

“Why would you want it on your shoulder like that, something that will forever be there?”

“As I recall, I was quite drunk at the time and thought it a good idea.”

“Why a dragon?”

“Symbolic. We all face dragons in one way or another, at one time or another.”

“So it’s not a good thing.”

“Depends whether or not we slay them. It all made perfect sense when I was drunk.”

“Did you slay yours?”

“I thought so at the time.”

His hand was gently strolling up and down her arm, and she found herself wishing that the gown had no sleeves. Lying with him was nothing at all like lying with the boys when she was a young girl. His scent, his body, the length of him was that of a man. “I could have killed you.”

His hand stilled, his arm tightened around her. “But you didn’t, and if you had it would have hardly been your fault.”

“They might have hanged me anyway—for killing a lord.”

“Swindler wouldn’t have let that happen.”

He was right, there. Jim would have protected her. He did it for so many others.

“I shouldn’t have liked it if you’d have died,” she said quietly.

“I wouldn’t have liked it much either.” She felt his chest rise beneath her cheek as though he were in the midst of a sigh that stopped abruptly as his wound protested. “I’m not certain I could have said the same a year ago.”

Rising up on an elbow, she gazed down on his heavy-lidded expression. “That’s an odd thing to say. At the worst times of my life, I’ve never wished for death.”

“You’ve no doubt seen worse things than I have. How can you remain so optimistic?”

“Feagan used to say, ‘No matter how bad things get, Frannie darling, they can always get worse and they can always get better. Expect worse and you’ll never be disappointed. Expect better and you’ll always have something to look forward to.’ I prefer living in anticipation of the better.”

“Where were you when I was an angry young man?”

“Probably at Claybourne’s knowing that what he was giving me was better than I’d ever had and not liking it one bit. I missed Feagan. Claybourne forbade us from visiting Feagan while we lived under Claybourne’s roof.” She nestled back into the comforting crook of Greystone’s shoulder. “I’m fairly certain it didn’t stop Jack, though. He never was one to take orders well.”

“I’d take that wager.”

“Have you heard that he recently married?”

“No. God, who would have him?”

She released a small laugh. “Truly, you must think better of my friends.”

“When they stop threatening me, I shall.”

“Are they still threatening you?”

“Not lately. So who is the unfortunate lady?”

“Lovingdon’s widow.”

“Olivia? That’s a surprise.”

“I daresay that’s an understatement, but I believe they’re very happy.”

“You take delight in others’ happiness.”

“Of course. Shouldn’t we all?”

“I don’t suppose I’ve really given it much thought.”

With her finger she lazily drew circles on his chest. “I should probably let you sleep.”

He closed his hand over hers, stilling her actions. “Stay with me while I do.”

She listened as his breathing quickly became slow and even. She knew if he woke up first, he’d not take advantage of her. Luke had ensured it by telling Greystone about her past, but she suspected he’d have not taken advantage without the knowledge. Yes, he was a lord. Yes, he was accustomed to power. But he was also a gentleman.

As she drifted off to sleep, her final thought was that he was her gentleman.

Sterling awoke to find himself resting on his good side, his arm curled around Frannie, his hand nestled innocently against her breast. Not a position he had ever been in before with any other woman. He always touched a woman with purpose, with desire. He had to admit that he wanted to touch her that way again, but it had to be at her pace, when she was ready. Her backside was spooned against his hips, and his body’s reaction there wasn’t innocent at all. He eased back a little because he didn’t want her to awaken to find herself being poked—

Only with a sigh, she snuggled back against him.

Lovely. Here he was, trying to be a gentleman, and she was ensuring that he not be. He concentrated on the sound of the rain pattering against the window, which made him think of water, and subsequently, his thoughts turned to her bathing, her silhouette behind the screen, and he grew achingly harder. He began cataloging all the treasures he’d brought from his travels: vases, pottery, statuettes, jewels. His body began to respond to the lack of exciting images. He thought of the bone-jarring trek on the camel. He thought of the fear that had fissured through him when a tiger attacked him and Wexford had shot it. If Sterling had died, he would have missed out on lying here with Frannie in his arms, her scent gracing his pillow, her delicate body separated from his by nothing more than a thin layer of cloth…

He cursed under his breath as the ache returned.

“Do you always awaken in such a foul mood?” she asked.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.”

She rolled away from him and off the bed. The drapes were drawn, but the lamp still burned and he could see her clearly. “In spite of what happened when I was a girl, I don’t fear intimacy. I fear a lack of honesty. Always be honest with me.”

Running his gaze along the length of her, he said, “I want you. Desperately.”

She gave him an impish smile. “I know. Unfortunately for you, at the moment I want breakfast.”

He rolled over to his back, started to laugh, then cursed that unfortunate reaction that caused his side to ache.

“Perhaps it’s fortunate for you that I want breakfast,” she said.

He slid his gaze over to her. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’ll stay until dawn tomorrow.”

With that she quit the room. Sterling stared at the deep purple canopy. He planned to have the speediest recovery on record.

Sterling had promised her pampering so he saw to it that she was served breakfast in bed—even if it was in his with a tray of food between them. She sat at the foot of the bed wearing one of Catherine’s simple day dresses, while he leaned against a stack of pillows at the headboard. His valet had changed his bandage, then helped him into trousers that didn’t look as though they’d been slept in and a billowing shirt that made him feel more carefree than he had in some time.