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Authors: Zoe Archer

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“I would have thought you might favor a more robust girl.”
Over the rim of his glass, Leo watched his new wife move through the patterns of a dance. It was the Friar and the Nun. Or maybe Gathering Peascods. He could never remember all the names of the dances, nor their figures. It mattered little—he never stayed at assemblies and balls long enough to dance, and other, more important thoughts filled his brain. The cost of transporting pepper from Sumatra. The profitability of shipping English ale to India.
Today, he’d done his duty and danced one figure with Anne, then quickly retired to the side of the chamber, leaving the celebrating to others, including his wife.
She
was
a delicate thing. When Leo had first seen Anne Hartfield at an assembly, she’d made little impression on him. Small of stature, her hair somewhere between blond and brunette, eyes more distinctive for their liveliness than their hazel color. There were other girls, girls of more vivid beauty and sparkling dispositions, who giggled and artfully fanned themselves whenever he made mildly flirtatious remarks. Anne had only smiled and looked away, as if uncertain how to respond.
Even now, partnered with one of her elder brothers, she moved tentatively through the steps of the dance, though it was part of every genteel girl’s education to have a dancing master and learn to make pretty figures at assemblies. Her family’s reduced circumstances were no secret, however, so perhaps she never had a dancing master.
“I’ll own,” he said lowly, “that when I decided it was time to wed, there had been other girls that first attracted my notice. But I came to see that Anne was perfect.”
Bram looked skeptical. “Some of your Exchange logic?”
“I’m never without it. It was simply a matter of the best return for my investment.”
“An aristocratic bride—I see the reasoning behind that decision.”
As one of Leo’s closest friends, Bram could read his heart well. Nor did Leo make much secret of his demands. He burned for entry into a world long denied him. That could only be achieved by marrying a peer’s daughter rather than a daughter of one of the wealthy ironmongers or heads of a trade corporation. Such a marriage might net him wealth, and valuable business connections. But he already had wealth. He had connections. What he wanted, demanded, could only be gained through blood ties.
He would not gain a title, but by the Devil’s fire, he
would
have what his father had been denied: a place in Society.
And he refused to let Whit endanger that.
“Yet why not pick a bride with a fortune?” Bram asked. “Why the daughter of a baron treading the waters of genteel poverty?”
“For that very reason.” When Bram continued to look unconvinced, Leo continued. “Had she come with a fortune of her own, one that matched or was greater than the one
I
possess, it would serve only to divide us. She would hold it over my head as proof of her superiority.”
“I had no idea you were so mercenary, young Leopold.”
Leo looked askance at Bram. “A lecture? From the man who has debauched most of the female populace of London?”
His friend chuckled, though the sound was more a shadowed representation of laughter rather than the thing itself. “No lecture.
All
of us Hellraisers live in glass houses.”
“Damned drafty, those houses.” Leo shrugged. “Yet they’re better than dull, dense piles of stone.”
Bram patted an ornate plaster embellishment on the wall behind him. Everything in Leo’s home was new, this portion of Bloomsbury having been developed within the past few years. He had considered purchasing a townhome in Mayfair or Saint James’s. He had the money. Yet he wanted his own place, something entirely his.
“Now you have your house
and
your aristocratic bride. What more could you want?”
Now it was Leo’s turn to laugh. “There is always more. You, of all people, should know that.”
Understanding darkened Bram’s face. “Perhaps that is why Mr. Holliday picked
us
to be recipients of his gifts.”
The mention of the Hellraisers’ benefactor reminded Leo that the threat could no longer be ignored. “Find John. I’ll collect Edmund, then we shall all meet in my study.”
“Leave your wedding celebration?”
“For a few moments only. We must discuss Whit.”
Bram’s expression tightened. Of all of the Hellraisers, Bram had been closest to Whit. The betrayal had cut Bram deeply. Even months later, Leo saw the pain was still fresh.
Bram strode away in search of John, while Leo went to find Edmund. As he strolled through the chamber, guests continued to come up and wish him joy of his marriage. He accepted their felicitations, and felt a hard, sharp thrill to see his noble guests’ silken finery strewn with crumbs and stained with wine from
his
table.
Eat and drink, you bastards. Stuff yourselves stupid, drink yourselves senseless. You’ll be too fat and drunk to notice me tearing you to pieces.
He found Edmund watching the dancers and clapping along with the music.
“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.
“Rich
er
, 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.”

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