The Demon's Bride
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
AUTHOR’S NOTE
About the Author
Praise for the Novels of Jo Beverley
Forbidden Magic
“Stunning . . . sizzling.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Delightfully odd characters and a thrilling plot, along with a generous touch of magic, make this an enchanting read.”
—Booklist
“A charming, outspoken heroine, a magnetic, unconventional hero, and a diverse cast of well-drawn secondary characters come together in a fast-paced, intriguing plot with a holiday setting that features a touch of evil, a dash of bawdy humor, and enough of Beverley’s trademark page-singeing sensuality to satisfy the most demanding reader.”
—Library Journal
“A fabulous dream spinner.”
—Romantic Times
Emily and the Dark Angel
RITA Award, Best Regency
Romantic Times Award, Best Regency Rake
Named as one of Romantic Times’s Best Romances of the Past 20 Years “This marvelous love story has all the makings of a long-standing classic.”
—Romantic Times
A Lady’s Secret
“With wit and humor, Jo Beverley proves a wonderful eighteenth-century romance starring two amiable lead characters whose first encounter is one of the best in recent memory. The tale is filled with nonstop action.”
—The Best Reviews
Lady Beware
“Jo Beverley carries off a remarkable achievement in Lady Beware, the latest and possibly last in her Company of Rogues novels. . . . It is the unusual combination of familial comfort and risqué pleasure that makes this book a winner. . . . No doubt about it, Lady Beware is yet another jewel in Beverley’s heavily decorated crown.”
—The Romance Reader
“[E]nchanting . . . a delightful blend of wit (with banter between Thea and Darien), intrigue (as evil lurks throughout), and emotional victories (as love prevails in the end).... Watching Thea and Darien spar is entertaining, and watching them succumb to the simmering love and passion is satisfying.”
—The Columbia State (SC)
To Rescue a Rogue
“Beverley brings the Regency period to life in this highly romantic story [with] vividly portrayed characters. [Readers] will be engrossed by this emotionally packed story of great love, tremendous courage, and the return of those attractive and dangerous men known as the Rogues. Her Company of Rogues series is well crafted, delicious, and wickedly captivating.”
—Joan Hammond
“With her usual beautifully nuanced characters and lyrical writing, RITA Award winner Beverley brings her popular Company of Rogues Regency historical series to a triumphant conclusion ... [a] quietly powerful romance.”
—Booklist
“Lighthearted and serious, sexy and sweet, this exquisitely rendered story is a perfect finale to this classic series.”
—Library Journal
The Rogue ’s Return
“Beverley beautifully blends complex characters, an exquisitely sensual love story, and a refreshingly different Regency setting into one sublime romance.”
—Booklist
“Jo Beverley has written an excellent character study. One of the best books I’ve read this season.”
—Affaire de Coeur
A Most Unsuitable Man
“Picking up exactly where Winter Fire leaves off, Beverley turns a rejected ‘other woman’ into a fiery, outspoken, sympathetic heroine; pairs her with a dashing but penniless, scandal-ridden hero; and lets the fun—and the danger—begin. Once again readers are treated to a delightful, intricately plotted, and sexy romp set in the slightly bawdy Georgian world of Beverley’s beloved Malloren Chronicles.”
—Library Journal
“Beverley brings back some of the characters from Winter Fire as she takes her readers into the dangerous, intriguing, and opulent world of Georgian England. Her strong characters and finely honed dialogue, combined with a captivating love story, are a pleasure to read.”
—Romantic Times
“I found myself enjoying every minute of the relationship in this story of love, hope, and increments of witty humor. As usual, a Malloren novel is a keeper.”
—Rendezvous
“Expertly laced with danger and skillfully sweetened with sensuality, A Most Unsuitable Man is a most captivating romance.”
—Booklist
More Praise for Other Novels of
New York Times Bestselling Author Jo Beverley
“A delightful, intricately plotted, and sexy romp.”
—Library Journal
“A well-crafted story and an ultimately very satisfying romance.”
—The Romance Reader
“Jo [Beverley] has truly brought to life a fascinating, glittering, and sometimes dangerous world.”
—Mary Jo Putney
“Another triumph.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Wickedly delicious. Jo Beverley weaves a spell of sensual delight with her usual grace and flair.”
—Teresa Medeiros
“Delightful . . . thrilling . . . with a generous touch of magic . . . an enchanting read.”
—Booklist
“A stunning medieval romance of loss and redemption . . . sizzling.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A fast-paced adventure with strong, vividly portrayed characters . . . wickedly, wonderfully sensual and gloriously romantic.”
—Mary Balogh
“Deliciously sinful. . . . Beverley evokes with devastating precision the decadent splendor of the English country estate in all its hellish debauchery . . . a crafty tale of sensuality and suspense.”
—BookPage
Also By Jo Beverley
Available from New American Library
REGENCY
THE ROGUE’S WORLD
Lady Beware
To Rescue a Rogue
The Rogue’s Return
Skylark
St. Raven
Hazard
“The Demon’s Mistress” in In Praise of Younger Men
The Devil’s Heiress
The Dragon’s Bride
Three Heroes (Omnibus Edition)
OTHER
Forbidden Magic
Lovers and Ladies (Omnibus Edition)
THE MALLOREN WORLD
The Secret Wedding
A Lady’s Secret
A Most Unsuitable Man
Winter Fire
Devilish
Secrets of the Night
Something Wicked
My Lady Notorious
MEDIEVAL ROMANCES
Lord of Midnight
Dark Champion
Lord of My Heart
ANTHOLOGIES
“The Dragon and the Virgin Princess” in
Dragon Lovers
“The Trouble with Heroes” in
Irresistible Forces
SIGNET
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Published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in Moonlight Lover.
First Signet E-Book Printing, January 2011
Copyright © Jo Beverley, 1993
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Chapter 1
Suffolk, England, 1761
“So the girl was burnt to a cinder,” drawled Lord Morden impassively.
The Reverend Joseph Proudfoot rubbed his plump hands together. “Fascinating, my lord. Fascinating.”
The vicar’s daughter, however, gazed at the earl in shock. How could any human—even soulless rake—be so unmoved by such an event?
As if Rachel had spoken, the earl met her disapproving gaze with his startlingly blue and wicked eyes. He raised a brow and said with derisive gentleness, “It was nearly a century ago, Miss Proudfoot.”
Rachel hastily lowered her head and recorded the grisly details, wishing her color wasn’t always so ready to betray her. She found her writing was not as neat as usual, but it wasn’t all the fault of the disreputable earl. She had been prey to a morbid fear of burning to death since it had happened to an aunt when Rachel was but a child. She had not witnessed the event, but her parents’ whispered comments had made a deep impression. The thought of a poor girl being consumed by the flames of a Walpurgis Night bonfire was truly horrible.
“And no one was ever brought to book over it, my lord?” her father asked.
“Back in 1668 matters in this corner of the country were primitive, vicar. Inquiries were made, of course....“ The earl had been standing by the fire, one booted foot raised on the scuttle there, but now he moved restively to sit in a chair. “The people here are secretive by nature. They claimed that their innocent revels turned tragic when the girl fell into the fire. It may have been true.”
Rachel flicked a glance at Lord Morden. It was not just the local peasantry who were secretive, it would appear. She noted in her record that the earl had concealed something, perhaps some connection between his family and the tragic event.
Her father pursued it. “Do you doubt that it was a simple mischance, my lord?”
The earl made no other betraying move, but every arrogant line of his body seemed to say I have been gracious enough to consent to speak to you, and to tell you of the customs on my land. Do you presume to interrogate me?
Such a man could not be pressured for details, but a silence would often bring out information just as well as questioning. Rachel spent the small hiatus flexing her tired fingers and trimming her pen. Then she allowed herself the indulgence of admiring the pleasant room in which they were seated. The earl might be a rake and a wastrel—which is what local gossip said—but his house was very fine.
Instead of somber paneling, the small drawing room was finished in the new style, with white paint and plaster. It gave the chamber a sense of air and light even on a rather gloomy October day. With a large fire in the beautiful marble fireplace and a thick carpet over the floor, it was the epitome of modern comfort.
Rachel was not a young woman who hankered after luxury, but comfort was another matter, and sadly lacking in the vicarage. Their new home was a warren of small, darkly paneled rooms with bare floors and drafty windows.
Her wandering eye was caught by a portrait directly opposite her. It featured a handsome young man somewhat arrogantly posed beside a very fine black horse. His blond hair was carelessly dressed so that strands blew loose in the breeze, and his bright blue eyes shone with the joy of living. The artist appeared to have captured a moment when his subject had just dismounted after an exhilarating ride and was ready for more adventures.
It was astonishingly lifelike, and Rachel found the subject’s direct look and challenging half-smile compelling. It was as if he were about to invite her to share in his next madcap scheme. . . .
“Miss Proudfoot.” The earl’s voice abruptly captured her attention. “Are you admiring the artist, or the subject?”
Rachel colored, as much at having given the earl an excuse to change the topic as at being caught staring. “It is a remarkably fine portrait, my lord.”
“Indeed it is. The picture was executed by a man who lived locally, a Mr. Gainsborough. He has recently removed to Bath, where I predict a fine future for him. The subject is myself some twelve or more years ago—in my innocent youth.”
Rachel felt her face heat, and was hard put not to stare between the portrait and the earl in astonishment. How had the golden youth turned so to dross?
And yet now it had been pointed out, she could see the resemblance—the same lean, fine-boned features, startlingly blue eyes, and careless energy.
The earl spoke again, and Rachel concentrated on her recording.
“To answer your question, vicar, I have wondered about that tragic event. But Walpurgis Night is celebrated on Dymons Hill every year, and there is no other record of tragedy. The festivities appear innocent, or as innocent as such things ever are.”
The earl looked again at Rachel, but she was ready for him this time and smiled innocently back. She was twenty-four years old and had acted as assistant and amanuensis to her father for eight years. She was perfectly aware that these local revels always included excessive drinking and often grossly lewd behavior.
“Walpurgis Night revels are not unknown in England, my lord,” prompted the vicar. “And despite their roots in the worship of the demon Waldborg and their connection to witchcraft, I have found no case of one that was anything but an excuse for unseemly jollity.”
“Ah,” said the earl with a glint in his eye, “but here we have a refinement.”
Rachel came to full alert.
The earl smiled slightly, and seemed to be speaking directly to her. “There is a local tradition that when Walpurgis Night falls on the feast of the Ascension, it is of special significance. They call it Dym’s Night.”
“But St. Walburga’s Day is May the first,” said the vicar with a frown. “That would make Walpurgis Night April the thirtieth, which is far too early for Ascension Day, my lord.”
“I think you will find that is not, vicar.”
Rachel’s father performed some rapid calculations. “It would mean
that Easter would have to be . . . March the twenty-second!” he announced, eyes bright. “The earliest possible day! Rare, but it does occur.”
“The last occurrence being in 1668,” pointed out the earl gently. “The year the girl died in the fire. The next occurrence, I am told, will be in 1761. Next year.”
“By the stars!” exclaimed Reverend Proudfoot, sitting up straight. “This is most fortuitous, my lord. What an opportunity to record a rare ceremony!”
“Burning and all?” asked the earl dryly.
Reverend Proudfoot flushed. “No, no. But . . .” His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “My lord, you cannot suppose that we have here a tradition of human sacrifice?”
Despite her training, Rachel almost dropped her pen. She stared at the earl. Was it only in her imagination that his sardonic face became macabre? Despite the fire the room was turning decidedly chilly.
Then he looked at her, and she saw that he was enjoying his effect. Was his story even true?
“It does seem unlikely in this age of reason and enlightenment, doesn’t it?” he said. “It bears watching, though.” He turned to her father. “Perhaps by the shepherd of the flock?”
Rachel saw now why they had been so readily afforded this interview, and perhaps why her father had been offered this living. The Reverend Joseph Proudfoot’s interest in superstitions and pagan traditions was well-known.
Her father nodded. “I will keep a close eye on events, my lord.”
“It will have to be very close, vicar. The people here are wary of strangers. Even though my family have been here for nearly two hundred years, we are considered strangers still. And you and your daughter are very new here indeed.”