Free Demon's Bride by Zoe Archer Page B

to be solid. Yet in the time that he’d gained this gift, he’d been witness to scores, perhaps hundreds, of catastrophes. Difficult now not to see disaster everywhere, lurking around corners and in the shadows of crumbling bridges.
    The proprietor’s mouth opened in surprise. “You are very generous, sir.”
    The second time in a handful of minutes Leo had been called such. But his generosity extended only to the coffee house owner. What he had offered Norwood served merely Leo’s own appetite for vengeance.
    Donning his hat, Leo stood. “Point of truth,” he said to the proprietor, “I’m the most selfish bastard you’ll ever meet.”
    “My wife’s brother might have you beat, sir.”
    Leo’s laugh was genuine. They came so seldom, the sound astonished him. He left the coffee house, energy and urgency in his step. He needed to counterinvest in shipments of pepper from Malabar—the price would surely go up after the destruction of the Batavian cargo—and then he needed to get to the pugilism academy. He trained there daily after leaving the ’Change. A necessary outlet, for nothing exhilarated him more than good, ruthless business, and the gentlemanly sports of fencing and riding held no appeal. Peasant blood flowed in his veins, demanding the most primitive, brutal means of release. To hit, and be hit in return, and then emerge the victor, his opponent’s blood on his knuckles.
    He wanted to crow about his victory, but the only people he could speak to of it were his fellow Hellraisers. Anne would never know. She could not know. The realization struck him, swift and unexpected. Only yesterday, he had believed that he would not care if she learned about his magic. Her opinion of him had not mattered, nor the need to offer explanations. Now, however ... now he actually cared what she thought of him.
    The thought disturbed him. He strode off to seek the uncomplicated interaction of the boxing ring.

Chapter 4
     
    Anne paced the corridor, watching night fall in thick black currents. Her skin felt tight and confining. She was a ghost haunting her own home. Aimless. Uneasy.
    Keeping house for a man who seldom made use of it proved a more difficult task than she had anticipated. She had spoken to the cook about planning meals, only to learn that Leo sometimes took coffee in the mornings, but that constituted the whole of his requirements. The cook, in fact, had been painfully eager to talk with Anne, desperate for something to do. Just as Anne was. Yet she had no answers for the poor man. Could they expect guests? Possibly. Would the master be joining them for meals more often? Perhaps.
    The clatter of carriage wheels on the street drew Anne to the window. But it was only the man who lived across the street. She watched as he alit from the carriage, and the door to his house opened. A woman stood there, her shadow thrown in jagged increments down the stairs. Her shade swallowed the man as he climbed up to her, then, with their arms looped, they went inside together, and the door closed. The carriage rolled on toward the mews.
    Not a word from Leo all day. She’d had supper prepared and waiting for him at four. The hour had passed, and another, until there had been no choice but to eat alone, again, and have the remainder of the dishes shared amongst the servants.
    The more hours passed, the more she thought of the previous night. Leo’s warm hands and hotter gaze, the press of his body close to hers, and the even more intimate revelation about his parents’ marriage. A tentative step toward knowing each other. Yet as the day crept forward and Leo’s absence resounded in the empty halls of his home, she began to think of last night as a dream whose details faded after waking. Soon, she would begin to wonder if his touch and disclosure had happened at all.
    Anne turned away from the window and resumed her restless pacing. Back and forth, crossing the landing that had a view of the entryway below. Everywhere her