Page 25 of Surrender to Sin

As Grace took a breath, silence rushed to greet her. But before she could flee in mortification, Sebastian began applauding. “Bravo! Single best costume story I’ve ever heard.”

“Most certainly,” said Madame Alice, her lips twitching. “That was marvelously specific. I think I know just the pattern. Now trot along, Sin, there are cheroots, decanters of brandy, and today’s newspapers waiting in your usual spot.”

“No. I believe I’ll stay and supervise.”

The modiste’s eyebrows nearly flew into her hairline, but after a moment she nodded and beckoned Grace and Sebastian to follow her to a section of the warehouse separated out by a heavy black curtain.

“All right,” Madame Alice said briskly. “Lady Carrington, let’s get that insult of a gown off you. Good, good. Now, dearie, hop up onto that low stool and I will take some measurements. Sin, my boy, if you get in the way, I will stab you with a hat pin.”

Sebastian looked up from where he now lay sprawled on a velvet chaise, and held up both hands in surrender. A gesture utterly undone by a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Alice my sweet.”

The older woman harrumphed, but her gaze was tender as she turned back to Grace with a thin length of measuring tape. “That man. Stole my heart on the day we met, and somehow I’ve never wanted it back.”

Grace bit her lip before she blurted something foolish, like she knew the feeling. But she couldn’t stop glancing in his direction, both wanting new garments to make his jaw drop, and wishing Madame Alice would give them some privacy so they could hold each other again like they had in his parlor.

Never had she felt so safe. So cared for. But at the same time, so needed and free to be herself rather than a bloodline or pretty face. Still though, she couldn’t help yearning for more than this evening’s plan—listening to a lunatic part of her mind that whispered another way to ensure Lord Baxter would never be her husband was for Sebastian to marry her himself.

“Ungrateful idiot,” she muttered under her breath. Lord Sebastian St. John had done more for her than anyone on earth apart from Nell. Not to mention he’d made his thoughts on marriage very clear, even if he did care for her.

“Lady Carrington. Lady Carrington! Yoohoo!”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly to Madame Alice, heat scorching across her cheekbones. “You were saying?”

“I asked if you had a preference for cut. You know, anything you want to show off or keep hidden.”

“Um, of course I bow to your expertise. But I need something outrageous that emphasizes my bust and legs. Like a corset but far more comfortable. And a train that swishes when I walk.”

Madame Alice winked at her. “Well I never. You do have plans for the evening, don’t you dearie! Reminds me of all my wonderful years on the stage. Now, one last question. What color would you like your princess costume? Lavender and gray are banned as options.”

Pure longing curled her toes as she thought of tearing up all her wretched mourning gowns for the gorgeous fabrics and colors in the warehouse. Ruby red? A golden buttercup yellow? Hunter green or chocolate brown?

“I’m not sure. Sebastian?”

“Sapphire blue to match your eyes. Satin bodice, silver trim and crystals,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. The modiste inclined her head and ducked under the curtain, her retreating footsteps echoing on the stone floor as she clapped her hands and yelled for several seamstresses.

“I haven’t worn blue in forever,” said Grace softly. “Carrington didn’t like it.”

“Criminal waste,” replied Sebastian, getting up from the chaise and prowling around her like a hungry lion. “Can’t wait to see you in something other than half-mourning, although I admit, naked will forever be my favorite.”

“I must concur when it comes to you, my lord.”

His eyes glittered, and she took a shaky breath as he slid one hand under her chemise and trailed his fingers along her inner thigh, higher and higher until he brushed her mound. “Tonight is so very far away.”

As his fingers deftly circled her clit, Grace closed her eyes and moaned, unsure whether in ecstasy or despair. The evening didn’t seem so far away at all, but surging toward her like a tidal wave. If the third attempt, by far the boldest and most wicked plan yet, succeeded, Sebastian’s promise was finally fulfilled and their time together ended. If the plan failed, she became Lady Baxter.

Either way, she lost.

…

Returning to Fallen was like stepping into a tavern brawl.

As soon as he and Grace walked through the front door, laden down with boxes, string-wrapped parcels, and drawstring purses near to bursting with spare crystals, paste jewels, and ribbons for the harem, a swarm of frazzled honey bees descended upon them.

“Sin! Vice is being a right bastard and won’t stop shouting.”

“Sin! That new valet tried to steal tonight’s apple tarts. Cook brained him with a bag of flour, and now the valet says he’s goin’ straight to the scandal sheets to complain.”

“Sin! The four girls and footmen who play pranks on each other…well it got out of hand. Devil found in favor of the footmen, so the girls took him hostage. A list of demands got passed under the door, but they’ll only talk to you.”