Текст книги "Demon's Bride"
Автор книги: Zoë Archer
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“You aren’t dancing,” Leo noted. “You always dance.”
“Now my dances are reserved for Rosalind.”
“Dancing only with your wife? How provincial.”
Edmund merely smiled. “With her, I am content to be the most unfashionable of men.”
“You should have brought her.”
At this, Edmund’s usually cheerful expression dimmed. “Having her attend a social function such as this so soon ...”
Leo nodded in understanding. Rosalind’s first husband had died in a carriage accident not two months earlier. A month after that, she and Edmund had wed. There had been scandalized murmurs about how quickly the marriage had taken place. A few had even suspected that Edmund had somehow engineered the accident in order to finally gain the hand of the woman denied him years ago. The rumors never took seed—nobody could believe such an amiable man as Edmund could possibly do something so brutal and calculating.
But Leo knew the truth. As did Bram and John. And they would tell no one. For it was their truth, too. One far beyond the understanding of ordinary folk.
Whit also knew the truth. Yet he could do much worse than damage their reputations.
“Join me and Bram and John in the study,” Leo said now. “We need to discuss the traitor.”
Edmund nodded tightly, determination writ plain on his face. As Leo and Edmund skirted the edge of the chamber, the dance ended. Anne glided toward him with an anxious frown.
“Is everything well?” she asked.
“Private business, my dear. Between old friends,” he added, with a glance toward Edmund.
“Of course.” She was quick to make herself amenable, which oddly disturbed him. He supposed most men desired an acquiescent wife. Yet he found just then that a display of spine might suit Anne. He admired strength and determination in others—his wife would be no exception.
Hell, he hoped his choice in a bride hadn’t been a mistake, guided by his own sense of retribution.
“Only,” she added, “there is talk of putting us to bed soon, and it would be rather awkward if there was no groom to join me in the bedchamber.” Pink flooded her cheeks, yet he was pleased to see that she did not look away, but held his gaze. Tremulously.
“You will find me at the head of the procession.”
She smiled, relieved, and dipped into a curtsy. “I shall see you then.”
“A very sweet girl,” Edmund said after Anne moved away. He raised a brow. “How very unlike you.”
Leo scowled. “I desire sweetness, too.”
“Have a care with her.” Edmund’s normally genial expression grew serious. “Women are not trade routes to be aggressively negotiated.”
“And my brutish peasant hands might crush her.”
“Don’t be an ass.” Even affable Edmund could lose his temper. “Only, use that clever brain of yours to see your wife. What she thinks. What she feels. You will find it a better path to happiness.”
Leo laughed. “I’m married now. Happiness has nothing to do with it.”
Edmund shook his head, yet he followed as Leo led him from the chamber and down the corridor to his study. Sounds of music and merriment faded the deeper he went into his house. The sounds of an unknowing, innocent world, beholden to no one, subject only to reason and scientific principles. But Leo and the other Hellraisers knew differently.
A thought leapt into Leo’s mind: What if Anne learned the truth about him? About the nature of the meeting he was about to have? What might she do?
He shrugged. If Anne ever discovered his secret, she could do nothing. He was the one with the power. Even if someone believed her allegations—which they never would—she had no leverage and could not harm him. No, the bigger threat came from Whit.
Within the book-lined room, he found Bram and John already there, illuminated by a single candle on his desk. Full night had fallen, and shadows were thick in the room, so that in the light of the candle, Leo and his friends appeared to be shades emerging from the Underworld.
Leo locked the door, and made sure all the windows were closed, the curtains drawn. With actions deliberate and ceremonial, he poured five glasses of brandy and handed them to his fellow Hellraisers.
“There’s only four of us now,” John said, eyeing the remaining glass.
As if Leo, or any of their company, could forget. That was what this private meeting was about. Whit’s absence, and its tacit condemnation, howled like a cavern. Three months had passed since Whit had severed his ties with the Hellraisers, had urged Leo and John and Edmund to turn their backs on the source of their power. But Whit had been troubled, and misled. Especially by that Gypsy girl.
Leo had the scar on his shoulder as proof of his erstwhile friend’s perfidy. Whit had made his choice, and no one had seen him these past months. Running scared, Leo supposed.
Only to himself did he admit that he missed Whit, his company, his counsel. Leo could not step into White’s and see the hazard tables without thinking of Whit, for he had been a familiar figure there, wagering outrageous sums of money only for the thrill of risk. Gone now. All gone. Once inseparable, the five of them had been cleaved apart, never to be whole again.
Whit was a danger, one that had to be found and contained. And Leo knew the best way to find him, but he required assistance.
“For our guest,” said Leo. He drew a breath, then spoke. “Veni, geminus.”
The candle guttered. Went out. The room became a black chasm, and the scent of burnt paper thickened in the air.
By touch, Leo struck a flint, lit a tinder, and brought it to the candle.
The doors to the study were locked, the windows shut. No one could get in or out of the room unnoticed.
Yet now a fifth man stood before Leo and the others. As always, the man wore elegant, expensive clothing, and he glittered as he bowed.
“Compliments, Hellraisers,” the man said, smiling and making his leg. “And compliments from my master, the Devil.”
Chapter 2
“The Devil?” Leo felt his mouth curl. “Your master’s usually more discreet with his name. Last we were informed, he preferred to be known as ‘Mr. Holliday.’”
The geminus smiled. Or rather, Leo had the sense that the thing smiled, for try as he might, he had never once truly beheld its face. It was always ... blank, and Leo’s gaze kept sliding away from it, as though trying to find purchase on a slick incline.
“He cannot resist a moment of theatricality, my master, and I am always obliging.” The geminus eyed the three other Hellraisers. “Good sirs, this is a rare occasion to be summoned before the entire company.”
“Not the entire company,” said Bram tightly.
At this, the geminus made a clicking sound of displeasure. “Our prodigal. Lord Whitney.”
“Thus my presence here, and not at my own wedding.” The sounds of revelry could be heard only faintly through the door to the study, like vestiges of memory. “We need intelligence—the whereabouts of Whit. What can you or your master tell us?”
“Very little,” said the geminus.
“Bloody nonsense.” Cerebral as John usually was, he also possessed a temper of quick and biting ferocity, and it snapped from him now like a whip. “We’re to believe that the Devil himself—a being of unimaginable power—he and all his minions have not the means between them of locating one damned man?”
“His Gypsy girl, too,” added Edmund.
“Without a lick of magic between them,” Leo said.
“Lord Whitney did surrender his power to manipulate chance,” the geminus conceded. “The Gypsy, however ...” It shrugged. “She can still manipulate fire. Her ability did not come from my master. The one who bestowed that ability on her is also the one who shields Lord Whitney’s location from my master.”
“Damned mad Roman ghost,” muttered Bram.
Its tone belying the studied indolence of its pose, the geminus pressed, “Has Valeria Livia Corva appeared to any of you of late?”
All of the Hellraisers, including Leo, answered, “Nay.”
“Can’t say as I miss her presence,” said Leo. “Hovering at my bedside, babbling at me to turn my back on the Devil and renounce my magic.” As though the words of an insane specter could possibly induce Leo to give up his gift of precognition. “I make my damned fortune investing in the future. And she thinks I’ll willingly give up my ability to see that future? She is mad.”
“Power,” said John with a cutting smile. “No greater gift.”
“Aye.” Leo had dreamt about power, obsessed over it. And the Devil had given it to him. “And because of that, here I am, with the elite of Society celebrating my wedding to a peer’s daughter.”
Like hell would Leo willingly give up that power. To keep it, he would do anything.
“The ghost has been absent, however,” noted Edmund. “Her strength’s diminished.”
“My master senses that she is but gathering her resources after she depleted them in Manchester.”
“You were there,” said Leo, turning to Bram.
“Witness to part of it, nothing more.” Bram’s voice was as dark as the shadows. “Whit and his Gypsy wench, they destroyed a gaming hell belonging to Mr. Holliday. Whit and the girl barely escaped with their lives. I saw a chance, a final chance, to bring him back to the Hellraisers. Talked to him. But the bastard remained adamant. Wanted all of us to give back our magic, and to join him in the fight against the Devil.” The scorn in Bram’s words left no question as to how he felt about Whit’s entreaty.
“You should have used your gift of magic,” John snapped. “Persuaded him to return to us.”
“Don’t you think I wanted to?” Bram fired back. “But I’d used it on him in Oxford, when he gave Leo that souvenir.”
Leo’s hand rubbed at his shoulder. The scar from the rapier blade had faded, but it would never disappear, nor the memory of the Hellraisers fighting Whit outside the Oxford tavern. The final break in their friendship, cauterized by the Gypsy girl’s fire and Whit’s steel. “You didn’t have to force him to fight us. He didn’t want to.”
“Whit either stands with us, or he’s our enemy. There’s no middle ground. No possibly, no perhaps. Not when it comes to being a Hellraiser, and the power we have.”
“Yet you didn’t use that power on Whit in Manchester,” John persisted. “It could have allied us once more.”
Tightening his jaw, Bram glared first at John, then the geminus. “I can only use my ability once on someone. A limitation of which I had not been informed.”
The geminus said, bland and mild, “The gifts my master has bestowed on each of you cannot be without boundary, else you may do yourselves a terrible injury.”
“Considerate of your master,” drawled Leo. His own magic had its particular constraints, but he learned them quickly and made the necessary adjustments. In truth, Leo could not be overly critical of Mr. Holliday, for though there were restrictions to Leo’s ability to see the future, the benefits far outweighed the limitations.
Leo knew one benefit: his wedding celebration happening at that very moment. He thought of Anne, his pretty, genteel bride, a woman he would never have had the temerity to talk to, let alone court and marry. Leo had grown up amidst the smell of leather and a single, smoky brazier filling a cramped little house. A saddler’s son. But Adam Bailey had possessed ambition, and his son had even more.
The Demon of the Exchange. Even before he had received the gift of foreknowledge, Leo had earned this name. Fearless, ferocious, and uncompromising in his investments.
He made the wealthy peers shake in their silver-buckled shoes. Just as he desired.
His bride was afraid of him, too. He saw it in her eyes, the look of a woman confronting an animal she wasn’t sure was tame.
He wasn’t certain he wanted a wife who feared him. It seemed a petty, mean way of conducting a marriage, the sort of thing a bully desired—exerting one’s might over a creature that constituted no threat.
Anne could not possibly hurt him. But there were others who could.
“How much danger does Whit pose?” he asked the geminus.
“If any of you gentlemen see Lord Whitney, do not engage with him. Summon me or any of my gemini brethren immediately, and we shall attend to the matter.”
It won’t tell us precisely how dangerous Whit is. Nor that we should come into direct contact with him. Which means it’s truly afraid.
“I’m keeping Rosalind,” said Edmund, fierce. “Whatever’s necessary, I’ll do it.”
“Whitehall is almost mine,” John said. “Almost. But if I can’t read others’ thoughts, it could all be lost, like that.” He snapped his fingers, the noise sharp in the quiet of the study. “I’ll be no closer to a ranking Cabinet position than a damned pig farmer. I cannot have him, or any of you, compromise that.”
Tension thickened in the room. Everyone glared at one another. Hell, they’d start scrapping with each other in a moment.
“When the time comes, all of us shall do what is needed to protect our magical gifts.” Leo smoothed the scowl from his expression, and made himself smile. “For now, lads, be at ease. This isn’t merely a counsel of war. It’s an offer of thanks. For with assistance”—he nodded in turn at Bram, Edmund, John, and the geminus—“I was able to speed the process of my nuptials along, and bring sooner this happy day.”
Bram’s ability to persuade anyone to do anything had enabled Leo to get a special license rather than go through the lengthier process of having the banns read. Edmund had used his wife’s distinguished connections to sufficiently pad the wedding feast with the wealthy and the powerful. John’s contribution had been the reading of Anne’s father’s thoughts, which, combined with Leo’s own intuitive ability to gauge people, enabled Leo to say precisely the right things to secure the hand of Lord Wansford’s daughter. And, of course, it had been the gift of magic from the geminus’s master that increased Leo’s fortune.
His wife knew none of this, naturally. She had no understanding of his double life, nor the world in which she had now stepped.
Recognizing the joint efforts to hasten Leo’s marriage, the hostility between the men slowly seeped away.
Though Edmund had not the ability to read minds, he seemed to know the train of Leo’s thoughts. “How will you explain your markings to your bride?”
Leo’s hand drifted to his back. “Markings?”
Bram snorted. “No need for coyness, Master Bailey. You know we all have them.” He tapped his chest, just over his heart.
Edmund absently rubbed at his hip, and John pressed his knuckles to his ribs. Each of them, it seemed, carried the mark in different places upon their bodies.
The Devil’s mark. Images of flame drawn upon his skin. They had appeared on Leo’s back the day after he and the other Hellraisers had received Mr. Holliday’s gifts. The mark had been much smaller then, confined to the area between his shoulder blades. Day by day, however, it had grown. Increased by an unseen hand. Fortunately, Leo’s valet knew not to ask questions. Spinner was the only person who ever saw the markings. Leo was at all times careful not to bathe in the presence of others.
But soon his wife would see him unclothed.
“What say your courtesans and opera dancers when they see your markings?” Leo asked Bram.
His friend offered a careless shrug. “Nothing, of course. They are too well paid to offer opinions. And those that do venture to speak believe the markings to be some vestige of my time amongst the Natives in America, a primitive means of adorning the body. I do not bother to correct them.”
“Your new wife may act as my Rosalind does,” said Edmund. “She has seen the markings on me, naturally, but is far too decorous to speak of them.”
Following Bram’s example, Leo shrugged. “In a way, Anne’s compliance has been purchased, like Bram’s opera dancers. If I give her no explanation at all, she must be content.”
“A sensible way to conduct a marriage,” said John approvingly.
“As though you would have any experience on the subject,” Edmund said with a shake of his head. He held his glass of brandy aloft. “As the only other married Hellraiser, I welcome Leo to the blessed state of matrimony.”
“Better you than I.” Yet John smiled, and also lifted his glass. “Felicitations.”
Bram did not raise his glass, however. “Does this mean you shall become as dull as Edmund?”
“The dullard in question is every bit a Hellraiser,” Edmund said, scowling. “Merely because I refrain from sticking my cock in every available quim doesn’t signify I am any less of a Hellraiser.”
“What’s the point of being a Hellraiser, then?”
“Freedom,” said Leo. “And from that freedom, power.”
“The groom speaks good sense,” John said. “And with that, I urge a truce between Bram and Edmund. We cannot afford any more dissention in our ranks.”
Leo and the other men murmured in agreement.
“Then lift your glass, Bram,” said John, “and wish Leo happy.”
With a grudging smile, Bram did so.
Leo turned to the geminus. “The other glass is for you.”
“You are all kindness.” It bowed. “But the gemini do not partake of mortal food or drink.”
“Just take the damned glass,” growled Bram, “and join us in a toast. Don’t have to drink a bloody drop.”
“Of course, my lord.” The creature was all solicitousness. “I am most eager to bestow my congratulations.” It took the remaining glass.
“To Leo,” said John.
“And Anne,” added Edmund.
“May you each receive precisely what you deserve.” This, from Bram.
“Good God,” said Leo, “what an ominous toast.”
Edmund hastily amended. “May you grow rich in wealth and happiness.”
Leo grinned. “I am rich.” In money, at any rate. Happiness would come ... later.
“Richer, then.”
The geminus had its own offering. “My master’s favor upon you and your new bride.”
“To the bride and groom, Mr. and Mrs. Bailey.” With John’s words, everyone brought their glasses together. The sound chimed through the room like a brittle dream.
As the brandy was downed by everyone but the geminus, the creature asked, “My master would like to know when you anticipate returning to the Exchange.”
“Bloody hell,” sputtered Edmund. “The man is but hours newly married. Mr. Holliday cannot expect him to work. Not so soon.”
Leo raised his hand. “Peace, Edmund.”
“But you haven’t even left for your bridal journey—”
“There isn’t going to be a bridal journey.”
“Why ever not?”
Leo shrugged. “Anne never asked for one, and I am disinclined to be away from business for so long.”
Shocked, Edmund turned to Bram and John, looking for reinforcement.
“I am happily wedded to politics,” said John. “The bachelor state is all I shall ever know.”
Bram’s mordant look made plain his feelings about the nature of matrimony.
Lacking support, all Edmund could do was splutter his indignation. He shook his head and poured himself more brandy.
“Why should the Devil care whether or not Leo is at the Exchange?” John asked the geminus.
Again, Leo felt rather than saw the creature’s cold smile. “The further building of Mr. Bailey’s fortunes is always a concern of my master. And,” it added, “my master does enjoy it greatly when Mr. Bailey compromises the fortunes of others.”
“On that matter,” said Leo, “your master and I are in agreement.” For the pleasure in amassing wealth paled beside the lurid glow of bringing down those who held themselves superior to him. He could buy their estates and have surplus in his coffers, yet all the aristocracy saw when they looked at him was tannery dye staining his fingers. No matter that he’d scrubbed the discoloration away over a decade ago. No, he was nothing but a laborer, a saddler’s son, and thus undeserving of the honor of their approval.
His body felt the familiar charge of energy when he contemplated whom he might destroy and by what means. Better to be the Demon of the Exchange than the Upstart Peasant.
He had money. He had an aristocratic wife. And he had magic bestowed upon him by the Devil.
And when the noblemen who sneered and spat came crawling to him on their bellies, pleading for loans, for mercy and compassion ... he would laugh and kick them away, his boot in their faces, and tell stories to his father’s headstone.
We’ve beaten them, Da. It was beautiful to see. Beautiful.
He would not waste precious time on something as inconsequential as a bridal journey. What was a tour of the Lake District compared to the destruction of a thousand years of privilege?
Anne anxiously scanned the drawing room. Still no sign of Leo. He had been sequestered in his study with his friends, and the guests began to notice. Of greater concern to her was his expression—dark and preoccupied. Something weighed on him. But what, and why on this day? She asked no one for answers and none came.
Falling back on years of schooling, Anne made herself circulate through the wedding feast, smiling and murmuring nonsensical pleasantries. A great deal of wine had been drunk, and the guests grew boisterous as the night deepened.
“Where’s that blasted husband of yours?” Lord Runham stumbled into her path, red-faced and expansive. “’Sabout time to put you two to bed. Unless he don’t fancy the job.” He reached for her, this man old enough to be her father—who, in fact, was her father’s friend. “Volunteer myself for the position.”
Anne took a step back to evade Lord Runham’s grasping hand. Then a lean, solid form stepped between her and the drunken baron. She had an impression of wide shoulders covered with golden velvet.
“No need. This is a duty I happily reserve for myself.” Leo’s words were affable but his tone was biting steel.
“To be sure.” Lord Runham chortled, more in fear than merriment. Anne could not blame him for his alarm. The tension in Leo’s posture and hardness in his voice left little doubt that he was but a hairbreadth away from violence. Almost as though he welcomed the opportunity.
“Pray, enjoy your wife’s company,” said Lord Runham. “I shall merely—” He didn’t finish his sentence, but rather trundled away as quickly as his legs would allow.
Leo turned to face Anne, and she resisted the impulse to look down at her clasped hands. He was too imposing, too handsome, too ... everything. How could she find him so attractive and so intimidating at the same time? Yet, sainted heavens, she did.
“Are you well?”
Her eyes widened at his heated tone. For a moment, she thought he might be angry with her, but then she saw that his anger was at her defense. It warmed her, though she could not be entirely comfortable in his presence.
“Other than a surfeit of iced cakes, I am perfectly well.” She made herself smile. “I trust your ... meeting was successful.”
“Tolerably.”
He seemed disinclined to say any more on the subject, and she was reluctant to press further. After all, their names were still drying on the parish register. She could not make demands of her husband so soon. According to her mother, at any rate. Throughout the day, Anne had received much advice from married women, most of it contradictory.
Be at all times silent and agreeable, else your husband will think you a termagant and shun your company.
Never allow your husband to dictate your actions or he will consider you weak and trifling, and shall not esteem you. Nothing ruins a marriage faster than lack of esteem between a man and his wife.
Which was it? Anne’s head spun with words, so many words, sly winks, and knowing smirks. Up to this day, she had passed her life in relative anonymity. Now it seemed the whole of her existence became the fodder for dozens of opinions, scores of eyes. She felt rather like a newborn vole forced out into the light, naked, blind, wriggling. Ideal prey.
From across the overheated chamber, Anne’s mother and several of her female relatives began walking toward her and Leo. The knowing smiles on their faces left little doubt as to their intention.
“I believe it is time for them to put us to ... bed.” Good Lord, she could barely get the word out, and she felt by turns hot and cold. The man standing beside her was about to join his body to hers in the most intimate way possible—and though she found him attractive, she barely knew him.
“This distresses you.”
She did not want him to think her unwilling to perform her marital responsibilities. After all, she had been taught that therein lay a woman’s primary function: the easing of a man’s desires and the bearing of children.
“Not at all, sir ... Leo. Only, there are certain aspects of a marriage that are ... private. And this”—she waved her hand toward the advancing women—“makes it all so very ... public.”
“Then I’ll tell them to go to the Devil,” he answered at once.
A shocked laugh escaped her. “You can do no such thing.”
He raised one brow. “This is my house. You are my wife. I’ll do anything I bloody well please. And if it makes you uncomfortable to have the whole damned household shoving us into bed together, then it won’t happen.”
She stared at him. Many things he said astonished her. Not merely his rough language in the presence of a woman, but his willingness to flout convention. Gazing up into his cool gray eyes, Anne could see how such a man not only blazed a path for himself through the old, ancient forest of entitlement, but also how he had earned the name Hellraiser. A man who cared little for others’ opinions, who did as he pleased—the world was his to use or discard as he wanted. Without a backward glance for the smoldering devastation he left behind.
What a heady power that must be. And he was willing to exercise it on her behalf.
“Truly, I do not mind.”
“As you like.” He shrugged, the pull of velvet across his shoulders a testament not only to the tailor’s skill but the physicality of the man beneath the fabric. Pure feminine appreciation tugged low in her belly. What must he look like without layers of clothing?
She realized in a mix of panic and anticipation that she would find out very soon.
“Come, my child,” Anne’s mother sang out, nearing. “We must make you ready.”
A chorus of cheers and some rather lewd suggestions resounded. Anne wondered if she might reduce to a pile of embarrassed ashes within the cage of her whalebone stays.
“Head up, my lady wife.” Leo’s whisper feathered warmly across her cheek, and edged excitement surged within her at the sensation. “Show ’em your spirit.”
She tilted her chin up, determined to prove herself as brave as she wanted to be. For Leo’s sake—and her own. This day marked her entry into true womanhood, and she was intent on crossing that threshold with a firm and unwavering step.
As she put her shoulders back, Leo’s gaze gleamed with admiration. He gave her a small nod, and she drew courage from it.
Anne allowed herself to be led away by her mother and her giggling kinswomen. The musicians sawed wildly on their instruments, filling the chamber with raucous sound, and the coarse laughter of men pushed Anne toward the door. Before she left, she sent one final glance over her shoulder, toward Leo. Men surrounded him, including the Hellraisers. A good thing Leo had a strong body, else he would have been on the floor from the force of the pounding on his back.
His darkened gaze met hers. Breath caught in her throat. Wickedly handsome. Her husband. Her body belonged to him now. Who is he?
And then she was pulled from the chamber. He disappeared from her sight. The next time she saw him, he would be there to take not just her maidenhead but the last vestiges of her innocence.
The voices in the corridor drew nearer. Men laughing and singing. Anne could not make out the words, though the few words she had been able to distinguish through the door had made her face heat. Soon, the men would be at the door, bringing with them her new husband.
“I hadn’t expected this to be so ... medieval.”
Her mother ran an ebony-handled brush through her unbound hair, tugging hard enough to make Anne wince. “Traditional, Anne.”
“And will everyone be back in the morning to examine the bedclothes?” Pain. There was going to be pain, and very soon. Her heart felt ready to detonate within her chest.
Her mother made that soft grunting noise she always made when annoyed. “There’s no need for such vulgarity.”
“Since the men outside seem to be taking care of that well enough.”
Another grunt from her mother. “You might have spared yourself this. I have heard it is the modern fashion for newly wed couples to embark on a bridal journey immediately following the wedding breakfast.”
“Leo did not suggest it.” And as he was paying for everything else, from her garters to the wine, Anne had been loath to ask. Hearing the rowdy male guests approaching now, she began to question her diffidence.
“She looks beautiful, Eleanor.” Aunt Louise sailed over to where Anne stood in the middle of the bedchamber and idly toyed with the sleeve of Anne’s silk nightgown. “How I envy you, child. There are few excitements in a woman’s life like her first taste of her womanly duties.”
“And how many times did you first taste them, Louise?” asked Lady Byton from her position on a footstool in the corner.
Before Aunt Louise could spit out a reply, Anne’s mother said, “They are nearly here. To the bed, Anne, with haste.”
Anne was herded to the bed, amidst much giggling from the women in the chamber. Her mother flipped back the heavy silk counterpane and pristine white sheets, and all but threw Anne between them. She arranged Anne’s hair so that it covered her breasts. Anne supposed her mother’s eagerness to see the marriage consummated stemmed from the desire to ensure no annulment. Once Anne became Leo’s wife, she was no longer Lord and Lady Wansford’s problem. The responsibility and cost of her upkeep fell to Leo.
Still, it was highly disturbing, contemplating her mother’s eagerness to have Anne couple with a man. And she could not help but feel like a sacrificial animal, tied to a stake and bleating its distress before the inevitable doom. Was it going to hurt very much?
The door to the bedchamber slammed open. A crowd of men shoved Leo forward, though Anne could not see any of the Hellraisers amongst their numbers. Leo managed to keep his footing, despite the crowd’s rough treatment of him. The song the men sang reached its conclusion, and between the presence of everyone in the bedchamber, the lyrics of the song, and the knowledge of what was about to happen, Anne had never blushed so furiously in her life.
Leo smiled and laughed, but Anne had the feeling he merely made the necessary adjustments to his face and voice so that people would believe him in a good humor. Yet even across the room, Anne saw impatience in his gaze. As though he merely tolerated these antique practices, and wanted to get on with the business at hand.
