Page 4 of Surrender to Sin
“Good morning, Lord St. John,” she replied quickly, trying to gather her scattered thoughts while ignoring her hardening nipples and an unfamiliar throbbing between her legs. “Thank you for seeing me at this hour and on such short notice. I know it is most, ah, irregular.”
One eyebrow arched, but there was an unexpected kindness in his crooked grin. “I must admit, my lady, you are not someone I ever thought to welcome through Fallen’s doors. Is there something I can assist you with?”
“Yes,” she blurted, but the rest of her carefully rehearsed speech dried up, and she wanted to scream in frustration. This devastating man would hardly be inclined to assist a stranger behaving like a gormless twit.
“And that is?” he prompted.
Feeling a blush storm across her cheeks, Grace swallowed hard. “Forgive my hesitancy. It is a most delicate matter.”
“Are you in trouble? Is your late husband’s family causing you grief?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s my father. He…he has contracted me a second marriage to a most unsuitable man and I simply cannot do it.”
The baron tilted his head, his expression curious. “Did you come here seeking an alternative husband, Countess? Because I have no desire whatsoever to marry, despite your obvious charms.”
“No! Ah, no, my lord…” Grace broke off, and took a long, deep breath. Courage, girl. “What I would like, is for you to partially ruin me.”
“Partially ruin you?” he said, amusement returning as he settled onto the nearby chaise, one booted foot resting casually across the other. “My dear lady, while you are absolutely in the right city and the right club for ruination, I’m not sure I understand the partially part.”
“Oh dear, that did sound odd, didn’t it? What I meant was, creating a mild scandal with, no offense intended, the most notorious rake in London, believable enough for my new fiancé to be so horrified he cries off and leaves me in peace.”
“Countess—”
“Please, do call me Grace,” she said, daring to take a few steps closer.
“Very well, Grace. You realize this plan has numerous glaring flaws? If this fellow is a man with any sort of sense, he wouldn’t give you up for anything. Not even a, er, mild scandal with…come on, I’m only about fourth or fifth on London’s notorious rake list…hmmm, perhaps third. But you’re a widow, with a widow’s experience and needs, not a silly chit fresh out of the schoolroom.”
“The gentleman in question is Lord Baxter.”
Lord St. John’s lips tightened, and just for a moment something dark and dangerous swirled in his amber eyes. “Baxter?”
“You know him?”
“Indeed. A creature of the most stringent taste and morals, dedicated to cleansing society. That we could all be as purebred and without taint as him.”
For the first time in days, true hope flared. “The wedding date is set for June first. I was permitted to come to town with just my maid-companion to have a new wardrobe measured. She is completely loyal and will make excuses for me if needed. And…and I can pay you! Here, take this, it is all I saved from my allowance,” she said, striding forward to drop a drawstring purse into his lap.
“Grace,” he said with a sigh, tossing the purse back to her. “Keep your pin money. If your mild scandal idea does work, we’ll discuss terms once your situation is settled. Besides, I have a weakness for beautiful damsels in distress, and ladies forced into situations they have no desire to be in angers me. Especially when said situation involves men with…a highly inflated sense of entitlement.”
She choked on a relieved sob. “Oh th-thank you. Thank you, thank y—”
“All right, pet, enough. Now, come and sit down and tell me exactly what you consider a mild scandal for partial ruination to include.”
Lord St. John’s tone was idle, yet those fascinating eyes were fixed on her with an unsettling directness, the kind of focus that implied he learned a person’s strengths and weaknesses, truth and falsehood, in a heartbeat. If she answered with anything less than absolute honesty, he would know, and probably change his mind.
Grace sank onto the chaise next to him and stared at her clasped hands. “I’m not sure. But I know it must be public. Perhaps kissing and touching at a ball or in a carriage?”
His lips twitched. “Kissing and touching. I see.”
“Is that so unexceptional here?” she said hotly, hating her own naïveté. “Do people walk around Mayfair wearing nothing but rouge and a smile nowadays? Are there lewd displays atop horseback on Rotten Row?”
“Restricted to Thursdays,” St. John said, nodding gravely. “And not so popular a pastime in the winter months. Embarrassing for certain gentlemen, you understand.”
“But never for you,” she replied, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Where on earth had that comment come from?
He burst out laughing, a delightfully warm and hearty sound that spoke of humor regularly indulged. “Thank you, but saddle chafing and windburn are rather off-putting. I must admit to a definite preference for indoor fucking. Beds, desks, window seats, walls, chaises…”
Like this one? Grace’s cheeks heated to boiling point. “I’ve only known the marriage bed. And that taught me relations between a man and woman meant enduring pain in darkness twice a week. But I’m sure there is so much more. There must be. My maid tells me women flock to you quite willing to risk all, so I imagine you offer a far different experience.”
