Demon's Bride

by Zoë Archer

  “Please pardon me, gentlemen.” Anne disengaged her hand from his arm, and he felt a strange compulsion to snatch it back again.

  “Are you well?” he asked. Though she had insisted that she had recovered from whatever mysterious ailment had troubled her earlier, he didn’t want to risk a relapse.

  “Yes, yes certainly. I just need to ...” She glanced toward the corridor, which led to the ladies’ retiring room.

  Within the chamber they now stood, servants were removing furniture and rolling up rugs in preparation for dancing. Anne saw this, and said, “Perhaps when I return, we might dance.”

  “I don’t know the steps,” Leo said.

  “I could teach you.”

  “Many things I’m willing to try, but I’d sooner kiss John than learn to dance in public.”

  “Flattering,” drawled John.

  Yet Anne looked disappointed. Clearly, the girl who had hesitantly danced at their wedding celebration had transformed into a woman more comfortable in herself. Leo felt his own stab of remorse. He wanted to please her.

  “John, you had a dancing master.”

  Seeing the direction Leo was heading, John spread his hands. “Monsieur Desceliers never had a less apt pupil than I. It is rumored that, in despair, he fled back to the Continent and became a rat catcher. Or a drunkard. Or both.”

  “I do not want to cause mass drunkenness,” said Anne. “Nor would I appreciate the spectacle of my husband kissing anyone but me.” She blushed, but did not lower her gaze. “We shall save the dancing for another occasion. Pardon me, gentlemen.”

  Both Leo and John bowed as she took her leave. Leo watched her as she circled the room, noticing how she kept her chin tilted up, her tread confident. When they had come in, less than an hour earlier, she had kept her chin tucked low, and her step had hesitated. She grew before his very eyes, as if he could somehow watch a rose unfurl its petals within the span of a moment.

  “Oh, for the love of sin,” muttered John.

  Leo tore his gaze away as Anne left the chamber. “The hell are you going on about?”

  “You’ll be as bad as Edmund soon.” John batted his eyes.

  Leo scowled. “Edmund is besotted.”

  To which John only gave him a very droll look.

  To which Leo gave John a very rude hand gesture.

  John smirked, but his humor did not last. In the glare of candlelight, his long, thin face and deeply set eyes looked almost macabre. “How fared you the rest of the day? Did you accomplish what you needed to do?”

  Sobering, Leo answered, “Whit won’t be received at any of the gaming clubs. Not White’s, nor Boodle’s, nor the others. It took just a handful of suggestions that he played dishonestly, a few fraudulent written testimonials, and a promise to make several valuable investments on behalf of the club managers.”

  John nodded, pleased. “I went to several of the taverns and coffee houses he frequented. Did much the same.” His smile widened. “Reading minds gives one tremendous insight. It makes it so much easier to say to exactly what one needs in order to render a particular result.”

  “What am I thinking now?” John’s a scary bastard.

  His friend glowered. “You know I cannot read the thoughts of the Hellraisers. One of my gift’s limitations. Further,” he added, “you were probably thinking something boorish about me. The gift’s other limitation is that I cannot read thoughts if they are about me.”

  “Seems our mutual friend Mr. Holliday gave us all slightly flawed gifts,” Leo murmured.

  “Of course he did. Only an idiot would bestow unlimited power on someone.”

  “And Mr. Holliday is certainly not an idiot.”

  “He chose us as the recipients of his gifts, did he not?” John grinned. “Clearly, he possesses superior intelligence.”

  The dancers gathered in the middle of the chamber, forming rows for a set. They looked like troops assembling for war, troops clad in silk, armed with cutting glances instead of sabers.

  Leo’s attention wavered as he saw Anne reenter the chamber. Her gown was not the brightest in the room, nor did she wear the most jewels, and there were other women who might be called more beautiful, but when she paused at the entrance of the room, he could not look anywhere but at her. Just as her gaze automatically found him. Warmth spread through him when she smiled in response.

  And he was not alone in his attention. She drew the gazes of many at the assembly, especially the younger men. One of the bucks approached her, hand out. Asking for a dance. Anne immediately looked to Leo—seeking permission.

  Leo’s first instinct was to cross the room and plant his fist in the bloke’s face. He already felt his hand curl in preparation.

  But this was not the street. Nor even the pugilism academy. A punch laying the gent out might satisfy Leo, but damn it, he had to at least pretend to be civilized.

  More to the point, Anne wanted to dance. The buck with the padded calves offered to dance with her, when Leo could not.

  His neck felt stiff as whalebone as he nodded, the barest inclination of his head, granting her leave to accept the offer.

  She looked momentarily surprised, then took the gent’s hand. Leo ground his teeth together as she and her partner took the floor. They faced each other. The air began, and Anne curtsied as her partner bowed. Leo did not miss the way the gent’s eyes strayed to the soft shapes of Anne’s silken breasts above the neckline of her gown. He calculated interest rates to keep himself from tackling the bloke.

  “Christ,” muttered John. “You haven’t heard a sodding word I’ve spoken.”

  “Something about Whitehall, something concerning Bram and Edmund.” Yet Leo continued to watch Anne as the dance began, and the dancers moved in their intricate patterns.

  John exhaled in annoyance. “Only a few days ago, you talked of her like a promising piece of land, and now you stare at her as if she were the North Star.”

  “I don’t need her to find my direction.” In truth, he saw that his sense of direction had already begun to alter since their wedding night. He felt himself gently veering off course.

  “She’s only a woman.”

  “She’s also my wife—and far more complex than I had thought.”

  John snorted. “I’ve yet to meet any women of complexity.”

  A corner of Leo’s mouth turned up. “Perhaps you need to reconsider the female company you keep.”

  “Hell, the very last thing I crave is an added complication. I have my work in Whitehall, and if I want for female company, ’tis an easy matter to purchase precisely the kind I desire.”

  Not so long ago, Leo held the same outlook. The edges were beginning to fray. He wondered—should he rush to stop the tear, or allow the fabric of his existence to be rent apart?

  He knew two things: Whit would not be allowed to take his magical gift from him. For it brought Leo far more power than he had ever anticipated, and with that power, he could give Anne more and more. He found he wanted as much as he could grab, not for himself alone, but for her. A new development.

  The other thing Leo knew: he couldn’t watch his wife dance with another man any longer.

  Without saying another word to John, he strode away, directly into the movement of the dance. The dancers stared at him, their patterns stuttering to a stop in half-finished arcs and turns. He shouldered past Anne’s partner. A vicious satisfaction in seeing the nob stagger. Then Leo stood before Anne.

  She, too, stared at him, her eyes wide, her hand suspended as she waited for the next form in the dance.

  Leo took her hand in his, and stalked from the dance floor, towing her behind him. Like roaches, guests skittered out of his path. He moved on, out of the chamber, into the hallway.

  “Get Mrs. Bailey’s cloak,” he snapped to a waiting footman. “And summon my carriage.”

  As the servant darted off, Anne said, “That was rude.”

  “I’ll give him a generous vail.” One always tipped servants when visiting
another’s house, and Leo tipped liberally.

  “Not the footman.”

  He turned to face Anne as they stood in the entryway of Lord Overbury’s home. Leo searched her face for anger, even as he knew he didn’t care whether or not she was angry. He had acted, primal instinct pushing his body into motion, heedless of consequence.

  Her eyes were bright. But not with anger. Something far more visceral. Excitement.

  “Tomorrow.” He advanced on her, stalking her, yet she did not back up in fear. She met him straight on, until their bodies were less than an inch apart. “You teach me how to dance.”

  “You have taken a sudden interest in it.”

  He shook his head. “If anyone partners my wife, it will be me, and no other.”

  Color stained her cheeks. “Dancing exclusively with one’s spouse is considered unfashionable at best. Gauche at worst.”

  “Don’t. Bloody. Care.” He brought his mouth down on hers. Her lips were soft, silky. And eager.

  Her fingers threaded into his hair, holding him close, as she met his kiss. In the span of a day, already transformation had begun. For she knew him now—not perfectly, not entirely, just as he still did not fully know her—but this, the touch of lips to lips and the consuming of each other, this was known and explored further.

  His blood was fire, his body instantly awakened and aware. He gathered her close and hated the elaborate cage of her gown, for he could not feel her completely, locked as she was in stays, panniers, and petticoats. The rustling of her silken dress sounded louder than a tempest. It maddened him, suggesting the movement of her body beneath her clothing.

  He walked her backward, until the wall met her back. Pressed himself against her. This primitive need—it overwhelmed him. Never had the hunger for a woman been greater, the demand to take, and to give, in return. His cock was thick and impatient as he positioned himself between her legs, and as he rocked up, she gave a low, soft moan.

  Hellfire, he wanted her. Like this. Now.

  “My gracious!”

  Leo swung around, snarling. Lord and Lady Overbury stood nearby, frozen in shock as they took in the sight of their guests on the verge of coupling right in the foyer. Several other guests gathered behind them. And the footman, holding Anne’s cloak.

  Releasing Anne, Leo held out his hand toward the servant. The footman hurried forward with the cloak. Leo took it from him, then draped it around a stunned Anne’s shoulders.

  “My carriage ready?”

  The footman nodded and held open the front door. Leo flung a shilling at him before tucking Anne’s hand into the crook of his arm. They strode from the entryway, out into the night. He did not wait for the footman to open the waiting carriage door, but tore it open and helped Anne inside. With her seated, Leo threw himself into the carriage, sitting opposite his wife.

  As the footman shut the carriage door behind them, Leo caught a glimpse of the assembly guests all standing in the doorway of Overbury’s house. They stared at the carriage as if it were the vehicle of the Devil himself. Leo smirked. They had no idea.

  He rapped on the roof of the carriage, and it drove away, heading northeast toward Bloomsbury.

  In the shifting shadows within the carriage, Leo’s arousal did not diminish. It grew only stronger. He thought about reaching across the space of the vehicle and gripping Anne about the waist, hauling her over so that she straddled him. Sex in a carriage could be damned enjoyable.

  But a slight movement captured his attention. Anne was shivering within her cloak. And not from the cold.

  Damn it. He had scared her. Again.

  “You’ve nothing to fear from me.” His voice was rough, and he heard the hard consonants of his old accent.

  When she spoke, her words were soft, barely audible above the rattle of the carriage wheels on the cobbles. “It’s what I want that frightens me.”

  Chapter 7

  Anne felt a change during the ride back to Bloomsbury. A crisis point, after which nothing would be the same. She didn’t know if it was him, or her. Perhaps they were both transformed. The carriage ride felt both interminable and brief. Across from her sat Leo, and passing torchlight flickered on and off his face. One moment, he became a vision of golden masculinity, the next steeped him in darkness, save for the gleam of his eyes. Both aspects frightened and intrigued her.

  For the whole of the ride, he did not attempt to touch her. Neither spoke. Despite the chill outside, the atmosphere within the carriage felt hotter and heavier than any tropics. She breathed in, and felt every one of her nerves absorb the heat.

  From the time she left her home this evening to now, she had transformed in a way even she did not fully understand. She felt the profundity of her body, its taut anticipation, and also the barely leashed hunger in his.

  “Sit beside me,” she said into the darkness.

  “Can’t.” His voice was an almost subterranean rumble. “I touch you, I won’t stop. And I’ll not take your virginity in a carriage.”

  Anne did not know one could engage in lovemaking in a carriage. Now that he had introduced the idea, though, her mind filled with possibilities. It wasn’t capacious, but surely there was room enough, and the curtains could be drawn ...

  “Stop.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know what you’re thinking, and if you keep thinking it, I’ll make it happen.”

  “Perhaps I want you to.” God! She could hardly believe she had said that! Yet this night was abounding with possibility, just as she was.

  Leo growled a curse. “Not in a damned carriage. Not the first time.”

  A sultry need spread through her when she considered that at some point in the future, he might very well take her in a carriage. Or she might take him. Anything could happen.

  She felt giddy with power. Hers, and his. For she had discovered her own potential at Lord Overbury’s. She had revealed her deepest secrets to Leo: that her love of cartography had led to thievery. Yet he had not chastised her, nor expressed disgust at her actions. He admired her for all of that, and she learned to value herself.

  Never before this night had men looked at her the way Leo had. And he wasn’t the only one with frank interest in his gaze. When she stopped concerning herself with how others saw her, suddenly there were men everywhere, even asking her to dance.

  She drew a visceral, primitive thrill from watching Leo stalk across the chamber to claim her, taking her away from her dancing partner. Nothing refined or cultured in his behavior. He simply took what he wanted. And what he wanted was her.

  He still did. And Lord save her, she wanted him.

  At last the carriage rolled to a stop outside their home. Before the footman could come and open the door, Leo already had thrown it wide and had leapt down. He reached in for her. His hands spanned her waist, swinging her down onto the sidewalk. She had no awareness of the street, of the servants, of anything but him staring down at her.

  “You aren’t afraid.”

  She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

  Animal need flared in his storm gray eyes, and his hands tightened around her waist. “To hell with waiting.”

  He released his clasp of her middle, only to thread his fingers with hers, then took the steps with long-legged strides. Fortunately, Anne felt the same urgency, and kept pace. In a moment, they were inside and hurrying up the stairs leading to their bedchamber.

  Leo pushed the door open. Only the fire was lit, and the room held a dark, flickering glamour, like stories of ancient fairy kingdoms beneath the hills. In those stories, young girls wandered into the kingdoms, lured by sinister, beautiful Fae princes to become ageless consorts. Their families in the mortal world mourned their disappearance, little knowing the truth behind the loss.

  As Leo drew her deeper into the bedchamber, its red walls bathed in firelight, she felt herself one of those folktale girls beneath the hills, and could not mind that she would never again see the sun.

  Meg appeared in the doorway.


  “I don’t need you tonight.” Anne’s gaze never left Leo.

  “But your gown—”

  “I’ll see to it,” said Leo. He, too, did not look away, but stared at Anne with fire in his eyes as they stood by the foot of the bed. “Close the door.”

  If Meg answered or did as she was bade, Anne never knew. She saw only Leo, heard only the harsh rasp of his breathing and the thick beat of her heart.

  Leo stepped toward her. She met him halfway.

  Anne wrapped her arms around his wide, hard shoulders, sank her fingers into his hair after tugging it free of its queue. His hands splayed across her back, pulling her tight against him. They were large, and rough, yet she felt both fragile and resilient beneath them. They each drew in a breath, taking air from each other, and their mouths met.

  What had begun in the Overburys’ foyer served merely as prelude. The heat and need that had been building gradually over days, weeks, lifetimes finally ignited. Their lips shaped each other’s, testing, tasting. Exploratory and claiming. She felt his hunger, his demand, and it didn’t frighten her. Her own desire did not send her, shivering and protective, into herself. She drew on their mutual need, took sustenance from it.

  His tongue slicked inside her mouth, and she stroked it with her own. His response came in his growl, and his hand moving down her back to pull her hips snug against his own. As snug as he could, given the mass of her skirts, panniers, and petticoats.

  He broke the kiss with a snarl. “I need to feel you, damn it. See you.”

  They both battled with her clothing, undoing the hooks beneath her stomacher, loosening ties, undoing tapes. Together, they peeled away rustling layers of silk, the gown pooling on the floor. She stepped out of her shed clothing, kicking off her heeled slippers, and stood before him in her underclothes.

  Craving his touch once more, she moved toward him, but he gently held her back.

  “Let me see you, Anne. Let me see my prize.”

  Her face flamed with a combination of embarrassment and desire, yet she kept herself still and let him look his fill. He was all bestial hunger as he stared at her, his gaze roving over her with hot possession. She knew she could show herself like this to him—these past days had shaped a trust between them, and she gave herself to that trust.