Free Demon's Bride by Zoe Archer Page A

need to cut you out of the profits, not when my own are so abundant. There is plenty to share.”
    If Norwood understood that Leo threw his own crime back at him, he made no sign. Slowly, he nodded. “Everyone has said that lately your investments never fail.”
    Leo always possessed good sense, but with the Devil’s gift, he had become infallible. The gold in his coffers and the country estate he had purchased for his mother’s use testified to this.
    “Unburden yourself,” he urged Norwood. “Make use of my council.”
    After taking a sip of his coffee, the other man proceeded. “Three ventures have applied to me for investment funds. A housing development here in London, sugar from Barbados, or a pepper shipment from Batavia.” He spread his hands. “They have all presented themselves in the best possible light, and I have done as much research into each business as feasible, yet I cannot decide which shall be the recipient of my capital. For I can invest in only one.”
    Leo kept his outward appearance calm. He crafted his expression into one of contemplation. Within, however, he felt the quick, exhilarating anticipation of a predator lying in wait. He had merely to let his prey wander farther into the kill zone, and the deed would be accomplished, his claws bright with blood.
    “All three have their merits, their potential.”
    “But one must be better than the others, surely?”
    How long could Leo toy with him? A pleasure to draw it out, knowing that the blow would come, or strike quickly, and then watch the carnage? Both appealed.
    “Housing developments are certainly intriguing,” he said. “Every day, more and more people come to London, looking for work beyond tenant farming. They all need places to live.”
    “So, that should be my investment?”
    Leo feigned deliberation. Finally, he said, “Choose the pepper from Batavia. The appetite for spice goes unabated, and it always finds a buyer. With the desire for French cooking growing, especially amongst the swelling ranks of the bourgeoisie, such goods can only increase in value.”
    “Are you certain?” Norwood’s brow pleated.
    “A better investment cannot be found.”
    For a moment, Norwood simply stared at Leo, as if trying to make sense of a labyrinth. He released a breath. “You are ... generous.”
    “This surprises you.”
    “No. Well ... aye. You’ve something of a reputation.”
    “The Demon of the Exchange.” Leo laughed at Norwood’s pained expression. “I know every name I’m called.” Including upstart, peasant, lowborn bastard. Leo had once overheard Norwood call him that. The lowborn bastard won’t know the difference in the balance sheets. A simple matter, and the profits are ours.
    Abruptly, Norwood pushed back from the table and stood. He held out his hand. “My thanks to you, Bailey. You’ve done me a kindness.”
    “Nothing kind about it.” Leo resisted the impulse to crush Norwood’s hand in his own, and merely shook it instead. “I have a very good feeling about your investment.”
    “I wish you great happiness in your marriage.” With that, Norwood bowed before hurrying out of the coffee house.
    Leo sat alone, with two cups of coffee growing cold, yet within, he was a volcano of hot, vicious joy. He took from his pocket Norwood’s coins, the thruppence and tanner, and set them on the table.
    Seeing the coins, the proprietor quickly walked over and hefted a steaming pot. “More coffee, sir?”
    “Consider that a gratuity.”
    “All of it?”
    “I’ve no use for the coin.” Not anymore. It had given him precisely what he needed, for his gift of prescience required him to touch an article of money belonging to an individual, and from that, he would have a vision of their future financial disasters. Seldom did he not encounter a disaster, for they marked everyone’s lives, and he’d gained most of his fortune since by counterinvesting. On the rare occasion when he saw no calamity, he knew the venture