Page 26 of Surrender to Sin

Handing his and Grace’s packages to Diaz and two other footmen, Sin took a deep breath. “Ladies. Ladies! Firstly, I’ll speak to Vice, but do remember he is the public face of the evening, and he just wants it to run smoothly and successfully. Secondly, the valet’s contract forbids him speaking to the press, and if he does he will find himself in all sorts of serious financial and legal trouble. Thirdly…where the hell is Devil trapped?”

“His office,” piped up a young parlor maid. “Poor, sweet man did accounts all night and fell asleep at his desk again, so they tied him to his chair with their dressing gown sashes, gagged him with an empty money purse, and inked his whole face blue!”

“My word,” said Grace in a solemn voice, although her eyes were twinkling. “They do mean business. What are their demands?”

“Not very smart things, ma’am. A unicorn to ride into the House of Lords. Cook’s secret recipe for syllabub. Embroidery thread that never tangles, and, er…oh, yes, a Viking broadsword.”

“I see. Perhaps, Sebastian, I could try negotiating with Lord Grayson’s captors while you talk to Lord Vissen?”

Sin blinked, hoping his jaw hitting the floor hadn’t made too loud a crash. “You want to help?”

Grace frowned at him in a manner usually attributed to Alice. “Well of course I do. You cannot attend to everything at once, and I daresay there is much to be done before the extravaganza begins.”

Warmth suffused him, right to the tips of his toes.

Curling an arm around Grace’s waist, he pulled her close for a fierce kiss, tangling his tongue with hers, until she sighed and melted against him.

“Very well then,” Sin eventually murmured in her ear, ignoring the symphony of applause, catcalls, and whistles going on behind him. “Until later, my captive princess.”

She shivered, and he couldn’t resist a nip of her lower lip, the urge to mark her overwhelming. Finally he let her go and left the foyer, deliberately not looking back lest he give in to the strong temptation of putting all staffing issues to one side, dragging Grace to a chamber, and fucking her until they both couldn’t move.

A thought he’d had almost continuously since the day they met. Except it was far more than that now. Like when he’d shared the story about Sara and chosen to stay while Alice pinned and draped. He’d never done either with any woman, never wanted to, but with Grace it just felt right. Hell, everything with her felt right. On several occasions when he lay alone in his oversized bed, for he’d barely looked at another woman since meeting her, he found himself wondering what it might be like if Grace were curled up beside him. Not as his lover or mistress, but his wife.

Abruptly, double doors were flung open in front of him, and Vice appeared like an apparition from the underworld.

“Sin, you lovesick bastard. If you can remember how to bloody think, I need your opinion on the improved pirate ship. Extra construction is done, just have to fit the last of it, and we’re running out of time.”

Alarmed, he flashed his longtime friend a soothing smile. Usually immaculately attired no matter what the occasion or exertion, today the burly Scot looked like he’d taken a leaf from Devil’s ledger and slept under a bridge. His red hair hung loose from its queue, stubble darkened his jaw, his shirt and trousers were torn and coated with wood shavings, and his fiery temper clearly hung on by the thinnest of threads.

“Firstly,” Sin replied, “go fuck yourself. My thought process remains superior and intact. Secondly, by all means show me your masterpiece.”

Vice grunted and waved him into the ballroom.

Bloody hell.

One third of the room was tiered in wooden seats lined with black velvet and dotted with miniature tables for food and drinks. But the other two thirds had been transformed from the usual basic pirate ship to something out of a painting; the structure boasting soaring masts and rigs, a single painted railing, a large wooden wheel, numerous padded benches, two dangling iron cages, painted ceramic cannons, a silk Jolly Roger flag suspended from the stern, and the carved outline of a beautiful, naked woman decorated the bow.

“Well?” said Vice irritably, tapping his foot. “What do you think?”

Sin let out a low whistle. “I didn’t think you could better last year’s effort, but you have. And then some. It’s magnificent.”

“Had to hire dozens of extra laborers, but I wanted to make everything sturdier, especially the cages. They have to bear the weight of several people, nobody likes to be distracted by ominous creaking. Same for the masts. I added little knee pads so the pirate queen can use them for her floggings and whippings.”

“And a role play captive,” Sin said casually. “Say, a princess. Where might she be?”

“Depends on the circumstances,” Vice replied, giving him an unsaid ‘you stupid Sassenach’ eye roll. “Is the delectable Lady Carrington for everyone to share, to sample, or just to be seen?”

Sin gritted his teeth. “Under no circumstances is she to be shared. Sampled yes, but only by me and the lady of her choice. Since a failed finishing school experiment, she’s always wanted to try another woman, you see.”

“Interesting,” said Vice, clearly struggling to suppress a laugh. “So definitely to be seen then.”

“Yes. By as many gossips as possible. I want the loosest tongues, say Prinny and co, seated closest to the pirate ship…for the moment Grace takes off her mask.”

“Wait. What? Are you three sheets to the bloody wind? Nobody takes off their mask here. It’s the golden rule. Complete anonymity, remember?”

Heaving a sigh, Sin rattled off the situation in the calmest, most non-emotional voice he could muster, a slight victory considering he felt anything but composed. “And that,” he finished, “is why she cannot remain anonymous. Not tonight. Everyone has to know.”

“Jesus,” breathed Vice, rubbing an absent hand across his jaw as he slowly nodded in agreement. “Baxter and her father both need a damned good thrashing. Men like that give Englishmen a bad name.”