Page 31 of Surrender to Sin

Chapter Eight

He was so damned proud of Grace.

They way she’d embraced her sensuality and tried a new experience. Well, not just tried it but participated fully in front of a crowd including bloody Baxter, took daring and courage. And the way she’d laughed her glorious laugh and bobbed an impudent curtsy afterward, not to mention that loving, rather possessive kiss on his mouth…fuck. Actually, of all people, he owed Prinny a brandy, too, for starting the applause.

Shaking his head, Sin rubbed a hand over his face and grinned as he was finally able to politely leave a group of captives. It would probably take a chisel to remove the expression. And more than a lifetime to stop wanting Grace. He liked women, always had, and it brought him a great deal of satisfaction to assist them. But what he felt for Grace went way beyond that. Damnation, he loved being inside her just for the connection. And rather than being indifferent or against the idea, the thought of someday making her belly swell with child, hell, it was exhilarating. No doubt about it, he was smitten. And not the temporary kind, but bloody well happily hooked forever like his father had been with his mother.

Another two giggling captives stepped into his path, but he directed them to another pirate and marched toward the makeshift cabin. They’d won—Baxter had slunk for the door after Vice escorted Grace away.

Ducking around a heavy black curtain, Sin blinked in the shadowy darkness. “Humblest apologies, darling, I was unavoidably detained…”

His voice trailed off. He was alone in the tiny room. Confusion turned to unease when he saw the discreet maid’s door wide open instead of latched shut. But when his gaze dropped to the wooden floor, unease became terror.

A scrap of torn silver muslin. Two spots of blood. A temporary pass to Fallen.

“Fool,” he spat, hating himself for being so damned stupid and cocky. Baxter was as cold and cunning as a sewer rat, not some idiot dandy. And now he had Grace.

With a bellow of rage, Sin shouldered his way through the maid’s door and barreled down the hallway. The shattering of an urn and two vases registered faintly in his mind, but he didn’t slow.

“Sin! What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Devil’s voice was loud in his ear, and he clawed shirt and skin in an attempt to shove past him. “Not now,” he snarled. “Baxter has Grace. He stole her…blood on the floor…I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“Hell,” said Devil, his expression horrified. “Baxter is…hell. Which way did they go?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to look outside.”

“All right. I’ll fetch reinforcements. We’ll get her back, Sin. I promise.”

Bursting out the side entrance door, Sin looked left and right, searching frantically for any sign they had come this way. A sapphire blue slipper lying on the graveled path was his first clue. A groaning footman clutching his bleeding shoulder the second.

“Where did they go, lad?” he barked.

“The street. I saw your lady friend and she looked ill, all floppy and such, so I tried to stop them. Got in one punch, but the bugger stuck me with his cane tip! I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Get inside and have that shoulder seen to, and tell them to bring around a carriage at once.”

The footman bowed and staggered away. Sin sprinted down the lamp-lit path toward the street. Every scrape and chuff of his boots against the gravel made him wince, but he quickly reached the solid brick wall, flattened his back against the edge, then stole a glance around it.

Tonight the moon was his friend, and he clenched his fists in fury and relief at the sight of Baxter about thirty feet away, half-walking, half-dragging Grace toward a town carriage. About to chase after them, Sin stumbled when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around.

“What the bloody hell is going on, Sin?” hissed a curt voice. “Where is Grace?”

The tall man wore a club-issued mask, but in the shadow of the wall Sin couldn’t read its number. A pirate costume, tricorn hat, and wig didn’t help with identification, either.

“Not your business, sir. Just go back inside,” Sin snapped.

“Like hell it isn’t.” An outraged female appeared beside the man, also dressed as a pirate. “She’s our niece!”

Sin choked on a cough when the pair ripped off their masks and hats: The powerful Duke and Duchess of Waverly. Though fury consumed shock when a glance over his shoulder proved Baxter had reached the carriage and opened the door. “She’s over there, being abducted by that bastard. And you two are preventing me from rescuing her!”

The duke cursed, smacking his palm against the wall. “Come on.”

The trio ran out onto the street. But even as they made good ground, Sin could only watch as Baxter shoved a limp Grace into the carriage, swung himself inside, and slammed the door shut. A whip crack echoed through the still night, and with a clatter of horse hooves and creak of lacquered wood, the carriage departed with gut-churning haste.

“No,” screamed the duchess. “Grace!”

Before he could reply, the sweetest of sights arrived—Devil and Diaz atop Dev’s latest investment, a curricle with the comfort of a carriage, but designed and shaped for speed and agility.