Page 8 of Surrender to Sin

As soon as she said the words she wanted to take them back, it was hardly her business what happened here. But Sin didn’t look annoyed. More…pleased.

“Charlotte is our resident dominatrix. That is a woman who takes the lead role in sexual play. And yes, she often uses a riding crop or other toys. Many men and women find it incredibly pleasurable to be whipped.”

“They do? And what do you mean by toys? What kind?”

He grinned. “While I would adore to continue this glorious conversation and answer all your questions, I do actually have to get to the meeting.”

“Oh. Of course. Sorry!” said Grace, awkwardly scrambling off his lap. How on earth did one leave a lover, anyway?

“I’m the one who should apologize. Completely forgot I changed the meeting day. But I’ll suffer for my lapse,” he said ruefully as his gaze dropped meaningfully downward.

“Oh dear.” She bit back a wayward smile at the very large bulge between his legs. She, Grace Carrington, had caused that.

“Besides, we can meet again tomorrow, correct? I think we’ve got more to discuss about mild scandals before we go public. And we’ll need to practice our scenario.”

Indeed.

She couldn’t wait.

…

“Sin! Mary can’t sing, she has a head cold and sounds like an addled rooster.”

“Sin! Number 42 spurted all over my pirate queen costume, and now it’s ruined.”

“Sin! You tell Number 19 the next time he swings his cock in my face while I’m pourin’ drinks, he’s gonna find teeth marks and an inch missin’.”

As he took his chair at the front of the spacious chamber they’d converted into a meeting room, Sin shook his head and regarded his harem of ex-prostitute maids with an exasperated yet fond smile. Although they drove him to drink some days, every complaint, all the banter, each belly laugh was a victory against the demons of their pasts. All had been assisted away from deplorable situations of cruel violence, rape, starvation, and poverty, where they were left on the streets to die if they became ill or pregnant.

At Fallen, every maid was paid well and chose her own destiny, whether it was a quiet life of sewing and fussing over guests, taking a lover, indulging in party games, or a combination of all three. Watching them heal, become confident and outspoken, and gain independence was a source of profound satisfaction.

Sure, vicious threats came in on a daily basis from pimps and bawds; on several occasions Sin had been lucky to escape the hellholes of London with just cuts and bruises after brawling with people who made a rabid wolf look placid. The so-called do-gooders were almost as bad, all refined taunts and threats, frantic placard-waving, and a propensity for hurling handy objects. But under no circumstances would he stop. Actually, perhaps he was acting in memory of his mother as Devil suggested—although her situation had been markedly different to the maids of the harem.

Sin held up a hand in a half-hearted attempt to halt the chatter. “One at a time, you ornery wenches. I’ve heard less fuss from a migrating gaggle of geese.”

“Oooh, sounds like someone needs some warmed milk and a nap,” called one maid from the back of the room.

“More like he needs his pipe drained,” cackled another.

“Actually, it’s both,” said Charlotte, and he scowled at the gleeful look on her face, one that indicated she was about to update the harem in full graphic detail of what she had witnessed in the parlor. The domme dared a lot, thanks to her longstanding close friendship with Devil.

“All right, all right, let’s get this meeting started,” said Sin, hoping to distract her from her tale, and him from an erection that still refused to fully subside.

No such luck.

Charlotte beckoned the other maids closer. “Gather round, girls. Our Sinny has found himself a nice, young lady widow! Got her onto his lap and learning the true meaning of the word kiss, hell in a teacup, that much was clear. I knocked and knocked but they didn’t hear me, and oh, you should have seen her sweet face when I barged in to remind him of the meeting. Scarlet like a virgin, bless her. Do you have details to add, my lord?”

He smiled blandly. “Not a single thing.”

Immediately a chorus of pleas and arguments filled the room, along with chairs scraping and cambric gowns rustling as thirty-one determined maids settled into a semi-circle for a group interrogation. The whole bloody lot had been pestering him for years to find a ‘bride of his station’ and sire children for them to dote on. For some unknown reason, they couldn’t grasp that a ton wife would never work; even with his title, no well-bred woman would tolerate a scandal-rich, liberal-minded cit for a husband, a man not only the son of a courtesan, but firmly dedicated to helping prostitutes and running Fallen.

Hell, they only needed to look at Devil’s example. Their quiet, near-respectable mathematical genius tried marriage to a lovely society chit, and it had gone so catastrophically wrong that Eliza now lived hundreds of miles away. Besides, he was too much his father’s son to want a wife and a mistress, so it was far easier to remain a bachelor and meet his varied sexual needs with a succession of uncomplicated wanton beauties.

He was jolted back to the present as the meeting room protests reached roof-lifting proportions.

“Come on, Sinny,” demanded an older maid to his left. “Tell us. What is her name?”

“None of your bloody business.” He reached for a sheet of paper on the nearby wide oak desk, and dipped a silver pen into an inkpot. “Now, what must be ordered from the modiste apart from a come-free pirate queen costume?”