“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.