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Come here, sweet child
With voice so mild
The night is young
No need to hide
As long as you
Take hold, my hand
I'll not let go
And let you fall
Into the arms
of another lore
I'll be your guide
Into the night
Just stare into
Mine eyes that shine
Seduced by me
That, you will be
For a creature such as I
Feed on souls, so... petrified
But you, my dear
are a different kind
I'll make you mine
Yes you, my bride.
dottedhalfnote ||| dottedcreations A demon's seduction
For today's Snippet Saturday, I couldn't think of a better example of a bad boy than Leo Bailey, the hero of my May 1 release, Demon's Bride. Leo is one of the infamous Hellraisers, a group of rakes who scandalize and intrigue London society. Leo is also the only one of the Hellraisers who is of common birth—a fact neither Leo nor the rest of society can forget. Determined to carve a path for himself in the ranks of the elite, Leo has not just amassed a huge fortune, but he's also married a woman of noble birth.
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As if sensing her watching him, Leopold turned, his gaze holding hers. Anne could not look away as he murmured something to the guests and then walked toward her, weaving through the guests. He moved beautifully, with a sleek animal fluidity that suggested barely restrained power. His gaze never left her, as if she were the prize he was determined to claim. The thought both thrilled and terrified.
She saw now how he had risen from his humble beginnings to who he was now: one of the wealthiest nontitled men in England. He permitted nothing to stand in his path.
Anne’s pulse quickened as Leopold came to stand before her. Good Lord, how had she managed to wed this gorgeous stranger? He had none of the well-bred gentleman’s softness, no insipid chin from generations of selective breeding. A bold jaw, high cheekbones, firm mouth that boasted a full lower lip. His morning shave had already lost its battle, and Anne could mark the faint trace where his beard gilded his cheeks and chin. As if the veneer of civility could not last long, and the marauder beneath came to the surface.
At eight and twenty, he was only five years older than she, yet he had the air of a man who had seen and knew the world. She had known . . . only this. London. The circles of the polite. What she understood of life outside her conscripted patterns came from books, yet she knew that the world as depicted on the printed page did not reflect true experience.
Her new husband was experienced. Even a sheltered young woman like her could see it.
“Ladies,” he murmured, bowing.
Though Aunt Louise was surely on the other side of forty, and Lady Byton a good ten years older, both trilled and blushed as if barely out of the nursery. Anne could not fault their response. She was married to him, yet his nearness befuddled her senses to an alarming degree, and when he next spoke, her heartbeat raced.
“Might I speak with my lady wife in private?”
“Most certainly, Mr. Bailey,” warbled Aunt Louise.
“Emphatically, Mr. Bailey,” added Lady Byton. The two women nearly came to blows in their haste to curtsy prettily in their departure.
As her kinswomen drifted away, sudden panic gripped Anne. Don’t leave me alone with him!
She pushed that thought away. This man was her husband now. They would be alone together a great deal. And in all their interactions, he was always courteous. She had nothing to fear.
“The wedding breakfast pleases you, my lady wife,” he said. This was not a question, merely a statement of fact.
“It does, sir,” she answered. “I commend your household for assembling such a feast in so short a time.”
He turned to survey the long table that spanned the length of the chamber. Rather than look at the pyramids of iced cakes, the platters of roast pheasant, the bowls of negus, Anne gazed at her husband. He studied the table as if assessing its profitability, sharp and shrewd.
“It isn’t enough,” he said. “I’ll have servants go to the shops and get more.”
“No, please.” Anne placed a hand on his sleeve. She felt solid muscle beneath his velvet coat, then snatched her hand back, shocked by the sudden intimacy of touch. During their brief courtship, she had taken his arm a time or two when walking, but that had been before. Before they were married, and the promise of his body existed only in theory rather than the soon-to-be-realized future.
She also did not know how he would respond to being contradicted.
“That is, sir,” she murmured, “no one can fault you for your hospitality. There is plenty for all of the guests.”
He looked unconvinced, so Anne continued. “There is such surplus, Lady Taplow is putting cake into her pockets. I wager her panniers are stuffed with bacon.”
A smile curved at the corners of his mouth, softening the hardness of his expression. “I pity those who have to carry her home in a sedan chair. Perhaps we should send her in a dray.”
“Drawn by draft horses.”
His gaze now turned back to her, and she grew warm to be under his scrutiny. His deep-set eyes were clear gray, the sky moments after dawn, and they missed nothing. She rather felt like the table bearing the wedding feast, being assessed, her worth judged.
Apparently, whatever he saw when he looked at her pleased him, for his smile widened. “With the business of the day, I neglected to tell you how pretty you look.”
“You are gracious, sir, and a flatterer.” He might well compliment her on her appearance: everything she wore had been purchased by him, from her open sack gown of blue Spitalfieds silk, to the silver lace frothing at the sleeves and pinned in her hair, to the pearls at her throat and the satin slippers on her feet. Even her fine West Indian cotton chemise was provided at his expense.
The whole of the wedding had been paid for by Leopold. All her father had provided was her.
“Not at all,” Leopold said. “Plain speaking is my only form of address. I know no other way.” His expression darkened slightly. “A fault of my birth.”
“Honesty isn’t a fault.” She ducked her head. “Forgive me, I talk too boldly, and would hate to have you regret our marriage before it is scarce two hours old.”
“No.” He touched his finger to her chin and gently raised her head. “Don’t apologize for speaking your mind.” His gaze warmed. “You’re right. Honesty isn’t a fault—in and out of business. And I encourage you to always say what you think.”
Well—that was certainly different from the advice Anne had received from her mother. Tell him what he wants to hear. Always agree, never contradict. That is how one maintains tranquility in marriage.
Perhaps it was different amongst people without titles. She had so little experience with them, every moment was a discovery.
“If it pleases you, sir,” she said.
“It does. It would also please me, Anne, if you called me ‘Leo,’ not ‘sir.’ ‘Sir’ feels . . . cold.”
“Yes, sir . . . I mean, Leo.” Her own parents called each other my lord and my lady or, when they were especially vexed with each other, Lord Wansford and Lady Wansford.
She and Leo fell into a silence that was not entirely comfortable. So much of him remained mysterious to her beyond only the barest outline of his history, and even that was cloaked in speculation and uncertainty. Together, they watched the room as people ate and drank and an occasional laugh floated through the room.
“I must admit that many of these guests are unknown to me,” she finally said. Gentry she might be, but her family’s circumstances had been reduced for so long that they seldom had the funds to make suitable appearances. New clothes cost money, as did tickets to the theater. “Are they all your friends?”
“Of the men in this room, I could claim less than half as acquaintances.”
Her brows rose. “Then why—”
There was little warmth in his chuckle. “A business investment. That fellow, over by the sweetmeats.” Leo nodded toward the man in question, a stout gentleman leaning on a cane as he selected one of the little confections. “He owns warehouses here and in Liverpool. By inviting him to my wedding festivities, he’ll be more inclined to give a reduced rate to store cotton arriving in from the Colonies.”
“Cotton shipments in which you have invested.”
“Precisely.” Leo turned his sharp gaze toward a lanky man in rust-colored satin. “That’s Lord Medway. His estate is in the prime location for a canal that will help get tin from Cornish mines to London. He’s been balking at the idea of cutting a canal, but after today and the amount of claret he’s drinking, he might be favorable to the scheme.”
“Not everyone must be here for the advancement of business, surely.”
“Oh, no.” He flicked a glance toward a cluster of people, men and women Anne vaguely recognized as being well above her in rank, including a duke and duchess, and two viscounts. “Seven years ago, none of those people would have admitted me or my father into their kitchens, let alone their ballrooms. Yet now they gather in my house, eating my food, drinking my wine.”
The coldness of his tone startled her, as did the predatory animal lurking behind his wintry eyes. Good God, whom had she married?
“There must be some guests in attendance that are truly your friends,” she protested.
At this, his expression thawed. “Over there, by the windows. Those men are my friends.”
Anne followed his gaze, yet knew already who she would see. The only men other than her husband who drew attention. Certainly, even though the trio were merely conversing amongst themselves, all the guests kept glancing over at them warily as if they were dangerous beasts about to slip their tethers.
The Hellraisers.
****
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Genre: Historical Romance, Paranormal
Sensuality: HOT
Setting: 1763 England
RT Rating
Archer returns for the second installment of The Hellraisers series, featuring a group of men who have sold their souls to the devil for various powers. Leo Bailey is a highly intriguing hero, and Archer’s skill at building layered characterization grounds the story and adds to the peril facing her protagonist.
Born a commoner, Leo Bailey has been determined to rise in wealth and power and seek vengeance on those who considered themselves superior to him. Through a bargain with the devil, Leo has the gift of foresight, which has made him rich. Now he just needs a blue-blooded bride to gain access to the ton. Anne Hartfield is the daughter of an impoverished baron, and she knows Leo is her best shot at marriage. Neither of them expects the intense attraction between them, both physical and mental. Just when Anne starts to realize she is falling in love with her husband, she is approached by Lord Whitney, a former member of the Hellraisers with a devastating warning: Leo’s soul is doomed unless Anne can find a way to save him! (ZEBRA, May, 368 pp., $6.99)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
