In Bed With the Devil(26)

She dared to look over her shoulder at him. Dark and formidable, he stood there in the shadows.

“You don’t have to tell me the details, but if he took your virtue against your will, you have but to give me his name now, tonight, and your portion of our arrangement will be concluded, and I shall immediately see to mine.”

Her throat tightened painfully with the realization of what he was asking and what he was offering. Surely he was not as noble as all that. “Are you saying you’d not require me to teach Frannie before you took care of the matter?”

“I am.”

How easy it would be to just say yes. To have the matter taken care of expeditiously and quickly. She would never see him again. And if she’d not witnessed his odd honesty, if she’d not begun to question her opinion of him, if she’d not begun to realize that he possessed a moral code that was to be admired, she might have taken advantage of his offer. But the truth was that she selfishly didn’t want this moment to be the last she ever saw of him.

Earlier he’d spoken about wanting something so desperately as to be willing to do, to believe, anything in order to obtain it. He felt that way about Frannie. She was his deepest desire, marriage to her the dream he wanted realized. And he was willing to give it up, for Catherine—who meant nothing to him—if she’d been wronged.

Claybourne quite simply fascinated her. She’d never known a man who seemed quite so complex, a man who seemed to have so many varying facets to him. He was not all evil. Nor was he all good. It was an immensely captivating combination.

“My virtue remains intact.”

He seemed to wilt just a bit as though he’d been preparing himself for the blow of learning that she’d been harmed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my lord.”

He bowed slightly. “Tomorrow.”

She went in through the gate and closed it quietly behind her. She didn’t wish to acknowledge how his concern had touched her.

Claybourne was far more dangerous than she realized. Whether a sinner or a saint, he held her interest as no other man ever had.





Chapter 6




Frannie Darling stepped out of Dodger’s Drawing Room—the elegant name she’d suggested for something rather inelegant at its core, as though pretty words could make sin acceptable—and walked toward the stairs that led to the small flat where she lived. It was still part of Dodger’s, but the outside entrance at least made her feel as though she were stepping away from the dregs and into a better life.

Not that she didn’t have the means to live in a fancier dwelling. She did. Feagan’s lads treated her as an equal, and she shared in the profits from their ventures. She could live in a palace if she wanted, but the money she earned was never for her. Others were far more deserving.

As she made her way up the stairs, she smelled the familiar richly scented tobacco. It was a much more pleasant aroma than it had been when they were children. Jack could afford the very finest customized tobacco now.

Yet still he packed it into the long clay pipe he’d begun using when he was a lad of eight. It wasn’t unusual for Feagan’s lads to smoke and drink spirits at a young age. Kept them warm. The pipe was part of Jack’s past, a reminder of what he’d been before Luke’s grandfather had offered them a chance at a better life. They’d all brought something with them.

Jack had stayed in the residence in St. James’s only long enough to learn what he needed in order to gain what he wanted. He’d never been happy living with the Earl of Claybourne. But then as far as Frannie knew, he’d never been truly happy anywhere—except for the slight contentment he seemed to have with Feagan. Jack had been the most skilled of their little band, always bringing in the most coins and handkerchiefs, always sitting by the fire with Feagan—Feagan drinking his gin, Jack drinking gin and smoking his pipe—both of them whispering late into the night. As far as Frannie knew, Jack’s was the only opinion Feagan ever sought.

“’Ello, Frannie,” he said as she reached the landing. Outside the gaming hell, he was never the businessman he was indoors. Still, he was astute. Always looking for the angle that would give him more than he held.

“Dodger.” In their youth, he’d been Dodger more often than Jack. He’d been skilled at dodging the hands that wanted to grab him when the target realized his pockets were being picked. It was usually the other thief who clumsily tipped off their intended prey. They’d all scatter when that happened.

Only once had Jack gone back to try to help a thief who wasn’t quite as nimble. He’d gone back for Luke. It had been the only time Jack had ever been caught.