Page 23 of Surrender to Sin

“Diaz, I have told you repeatedly to call me Sin, like everyone else does.”

The butler folded his meaty arms and scowled, turning an already intimidating visage into quite possibly the stuff of nightmares. “And I have responded repeatedly, señor, that no Castilian would accept such familiarity between employee and employer. I will not disgrace the memory of my family with such behavior.”

“Irritable bastard. After tonight, I’m giving you two full days off with pay. Find a nice woman, or man, if that is your preference, and enjoy yourself.”

“No thank you, my lord. I am more than content with my life and hours here.”

Sin tilted his head and studied the bald man-mountain in front of him. “You know, Diaz, if I didn’t know better I might say you stay close to Fallen for a reason other than job satisfaction. Perhaps you’ve found that nice woman or man already?”

Something like pain flared in the butler’s eyes, but it was gone in an instant. “The visitor, my lord?”

“Who is it?”

“Lady Carrington.”

Sin cursed and leapt to his feet. “For God’s sake, man, you don’t announce Grace, you escort her straight in. Even when unexpected. Understood?”

Pushing past the other man, Sin hurried toward the foyer, anticipation and dismay fizzing in his veins. He hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to Grace after bloody Baxter dragged her away, and ten o’clock in the morning was very early to be paying an unscheduled call. Had she come to confirm victory and say a last goodbye? Or something else?

“Grace?” he called, rounding the corner at such pace his boot heels skidded on the marble floor.

“Sebastian,” she said, and seconds later she hurled herself into his arms and buried her face in his shoulder.

Christ Almighty. She was crying.

“Darling?” he said in alarm, carefully scooping her up and carrying her back to his parlor. “Tell me what is wrong.”

As they settled on the chaise, and he chafed her cold hands in his, Grace’s tearstained face lifted to his. “T-tomorrow at eleven o’clock in the morning, I am to be m-married to Lord Baxter.”

“No!” he snarled, the words like a fierce jab to the stomach. “We fixed it…Lady Miles and her fucking awful friends saw…”

“Except it seems they all owe great sums of m-money and favors to Lord Baxter. He has them on the tightest of leashes, you should have seen their faces later. It was bizarre—like what we did never even happened! If anyone did say a word, I think he would destroy them in a heartbeat and not break a sweat.”

Sin clenched his jaw. “Damn it, he would, too. Baxter has a habit of surrounding himself with weak people easily led and influenced, or those in desperate financial situations. Power is everything to him, that is why he hates and rarely spends time with those who have more. Did he say anything else?”

“That now my willful and d-depraved nature is revealed, I need stern, resolute correction. My blasted f-father and stepmother agreed, so the wedding isn’t cancelled, but brought forward.”

His hands tightened around Grace’s. “Like hell you need correction. No. Not going to happen. No way are you getting shackled to that cane-happy bastard.”

“Cane-happy?”

Unable to look at her as memories scraped him raw, Sin stared at the floor. “Baxter’s correctional tool of choice. A long time ago he was engaged to a friend of mine. Sara. He hurt her. And one day she…she died. I’ll never forgive him for what he did, nor will I stand back and let him crush your spirit. You are too…warm. Too alive. To never hear that wicked laugh, or see your eyes sparkle again…hell.”

“Look at me.”

She said the words quietly, he could pretend he hadn’t heard them, at least until he got himself under control. At the present time his eyes burned and his chest felt like it was clamped in a fucking vice. But then Grace dislodged her hands from his and scrambled into his lap, her warm, soft hands cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet her open, compassionate gaze as she gently kissed him.

“Don’t,” he said in a strangled tone as the burn grew worse, and his breath came in short, choppy pants.

Her lips brushed his ear. “Sara’s death wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it was my fucking fault. I took too fucking long to get there. A carriage. Who takes a carriage? I should have ridden. Changed horses and ridden the whole way. It wasn’t that cold, just some rain. Because I was a fucking milksop, I was too late. He knew I hated him. And he smiled. He fucking smiled when he told me the news. If that happened to you, I couldn’t…I couldn’t b-bear it.”

Horrified at the sound of his voice cracking, and his blurred vision, Sin attempted to wrench away. But instead she forced his head into the crook of her neck, stroking and smoothing his hair, and he shuddered as moisture dampened his skin and hers.

Exactly how long they sat like that, he couldn’t say. But eventually Grace leaned back and looked at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. “It won’t happen to me. We won’t let it. I have the start of an idea, but I need your help.”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Whatever it is.”