A frown creased Anne’s forehead when her gaze shifted to one of the women in the room. Betsy was the most recent addition to Holland’s League. The remaining women in the salon were there from the inception of the brothel. Until Betsy’s arrival two months previously, no witch had sought sanctuary. A witch with modest powers, Betsy was soft-spoken and unflinchingly did all that was asked of her yet several of the servants were made uneasy by her presence. Increasingly, Anne felt the same unease. She glanced at Bella before her gaze returned to Betsy. She caught the girl’s inquisitive look before Betsy averted her eyes. Not for the first time did Anne wonder if the young witch was more than she seemed.
“I think honesty is important,” Betsy said quietly. “As to a man’s worm, since I’ve not seen one I don’t think it wise to pass judgment.”
“A judicious reply,” Eleanor said with a chuckle. “Now, no more distractions, Angelica. I need to complete today’s lesson. Fetch me the reddish book from the cabinet, if you will, Bets.”
When Betsy stood and limped over to the cabinet, a shiver went down Anne’s back. Trouble was about to visit Holland’s League. She nervously rub her fingers along the hidden knife on her thigh as she watched the girl retrieve a book and hold it out.
“Is this the one, Miss Ellie?”
“Yes, that’s it. Bring it here.” Once she had the book in her hand, Eleanor patted the space next to her on the chaise. “Sit down. It is time to share with you the wisdom every courtesan should drink from her mother’s breast as a babe.”
Betsy’s confusion earned Anne’s sympathy. “Leave her be, Ellie. She is too new to the trade, and for Aretino’s instruction. In time she’ll be eager to learn what he has to teach.”
“A girl is never too young, Mistress Holland,” Celeste interjected. “Besides, she’s already caught the eye of several well-pursed gentlemen.”
Eleanor took Betsy’s chin in one hand and with the other removed her cap. “Celeste speaks the truth. Despite its shortness, Betsy’s hair rivals Angelica’s for blackness. And those eyes. See how they change colors. One minute pale blue and then a soft gray.”
She gently sucked her bottom lip. “Don’t be fooled. Betsy is a beauty masking as homeliness. With her dark coloring she easily could pass for a white Moor. A few baubles and silk and she’d rival Bella or Maggie for those foolish men seeking a pleasure they consider exotic.”
Betsy blushed at Eleanor’s words of praise, squirming nervously on the chaise. Celeste chuckled. “Aye, I think our sweet Bets is eager to see her first lesson.”
Eleanor opened the book, turning pages until she came to the ones she sought. With a wicked grin, she reversed the book so the pages were visible to Celeste and Betsy. Betsy’s startled gasp sent the two older courtesans into peals of laughter. Anne rose from her seat and moved to stand behind Betsy.
“Eleanor.”
“She doesn’t require innocence if she is to live among us, Anne. Study these three positions well, Bets. They can bring you riches untold. Return this book once you’ve committed each position to memory. Now, the second and most important lesson for today is to put little faith in a man’s promise, especially if he swears on his mother’s life.”
“Is there no way to know if you can trust a man?” Betsy inquired.
Cynical snorts of amusement fed her embarrassment. Then Bella’s low sensual voice intruded. “You can trust a man by the size of his prick.”
“So true, Bella,” Eleanor agreed with a brisk nod. “The bigger a man’s penis the less he has to prove. You don’t have to pretend satisfaction when you have a well-made cock in your panini, nor will you have to mouth the lies to keep him coming back. Definitely ask to see his staff before you agree to a price.”
More laughter floated across the chamber. Celeste reached over and ran a plump finger along Betsy’s jaw. “There is no need for embarrassment or shyness, not in this room. Bella speaks honestly. An ass with a shriveled penis will need his vanity stroked, while a well-hung stallion knows his worth. I do believe there is more to her question though, Bella. I would say trust no man.”
“There are some men I’d trust fully. I’d say with my honor but I’m a courtesan,” Angelica said drily. When the laughter subsided, she continued. “You know who I would trust implicitly? Those two handsome devils, Jack Cade and Demon Gabriel.”
Celeste and Eleanor grinned their agreement. “Yes, with my life and my pleasures,” Celeste declared. “You’re not going to find better men than Jack and Demon. Although maybe I should reserve judgement since I’ve never seen either man’s prick.”
She turned to peer at Anne. “Mistress Holland, what can you do to get Jack and Demon to spend their coin at Holland’s League?”
Eleanor tapped her finger against chin. “From what I hear they don’t visit any of the other houses and they only visit Holland’s League for the gaming.”
Anne was saved a reply when Betsy spoke her name. She directed her gaze at the shy girl, puzzled by the physical unease Betsy seemed to trigger more and more. It was time to take a closer look into the girl’s history. Determined to talk to Bella once the women went about their day, Anne said, “Yes, Betsy?”
“Is it true, Mistress Holland? What you once said about a man’s foot and his . . . his sex?”
Bella chuckled and wagged her finger at Anne. “Oh, the lessons we do remember. What is your answer, Mistress Holland?”
Anne shot her a dark look before she replied. “From all that I’ve learned, Betsy, I do believe there is a logic in the adage. Why do you ask?”
The reddish stains on Betsy’s cheeks deepened and she inhaled softly. “Once, when Demon Gabriel was at the card table, I noticed his . . . his boots.”
“I’m sure that’s not all you noticed,” Angelica quipped.
“Hush, Angel.”
Betsy gave Celeste a grateful look. “His feet appeared a good size, although since he’s quite large I suppose that is to be expected. Anyway, if what you said about the size of man’s foot and his . . . his . . . is true, Demon Gabriel’s must be rather large.”
“What you’re trying to say, innocent Betsy,” Eleanor offered, “is the word cock. If cock troubles you, then yard, rod, staff, member, prick or penis will do. You’re in a brothel, there is no shame in candor. ‘Tis best to learn these euphemisms since you may find yourself with a customer who prefers a specific name for his tool and of course you mustn’t laugh.”
Their talk was cut short when the tinkling of a bell sounded in the room. It was time for the women to make their preparations for their customers. In two hours, the brothel would be lively with men and a few discrete women seeking to lose their coin and their inhibitions to pleasure.
One by one the women left. Eleanor was the last to leave as she waited until Betsy was beside her. “Take Aretino with you, Betsy. Study each page well, although if you’ve already noticed Demon Gabriel’s boots I suspect you may not require it for very long.”
Betsy flushed and accepted the book. “Thank you, Miss Ellie.”
“I believe we’re all in for a surprise when Betsy decides to test her wings,” Bella said once she and Anne were the only women in the salon. “There is more to her than meets the eye.”
“Odd you should say that,” Anne replied, rising from her chair. She stared at the smooth stone that had mimicked a door and made certain the salon was protected against inquisitive demonic minds. While demons couldn’t enter the brothel, the safeguards didn’t prevent their attempts, which seemed to have increased over the past several months.
She walked over to a table and poured wine into a glass. Taking a sip, she stared at Bella. “O’Brien found another body early this morning.”
“Where?”
Anne reseated herself. “In the alley just past Old Meg’s cottage. She was young, maybe fifteen years. It was difficult for him to gauge since the blood had been completely drained. Her heart and liver were missing and she was marked.”
“This is the sixth b
ody in a month, Tamahaq. Was the murdered woman a witch?”
“No and that’s the puzzle,” Anne said. “Six women killed in the same manner and none were witches or supernatural. They were just ordinary human females murdered for no apparent reason, except for sport. The murders just don’t make sense. It’s as if the killer is toying with their victims, and us.”
Bella stared at her friend. “What makes you say that?”
“The killings are done too close to Holland’s League to be coincidence. Whoever is behind these deaths knows who we are and is taunting us.”
“You’re worried this follows on the heels of Betsy’s arrival. That she is somehow involved.”
Anne set the empty glass on a table next to her. As much as she didn’t want to be believe the girl was capable of such horrific crimes, it was odd that the deaths coincided with Betsy’s arrival. The interval between the murders had shorted and O’Brien or Malcolm were finding mutilated bodies near the brothel nearly every week. Far too close to give her comfort.
“I wish I didn’t. All I know with certainty is these murders aren’t random or committed by humans. They’re occurring too close to the brothel for me to ignore the possibility of a connection to Betsy. O’Brien is worried the next one will turn up on our door step and bring the constables down on our heads.”
Bella frowned. “Despite her innocence, I feel Betsy is not all that she appears. Cassie and Randall are terrified of her and avoid her whenever possible. I just wish I knew what gives rise to my suspicions about her besides a witch’s intuition.”
“Fate gives us intuition for a reason. I prefer to act on it before some catastrophe befalls us.” Anne sipped from her glass. “I have a plan but I fear it may be a case of the medicine will be far worse than the illness.”
Bella arched an eyebrow. “I assume it involves your cousin’s husband.”
“No, Demon Gabriel.”
Bella didn’t hide her shock. “Given your affection for the man, I don’t think that’s a wise idea, Anne.”
“Lust, not affection.”
“You can name it whatever you wish, Tamahaq. There is more to your feelings for the man than a mere desire to share his bed. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the secret spying you’ve engaged in when he comes to Holland’s League. Or, the fact you avoid meeting with him.”
Masking her embarrassment, Anne waved her hand dismissively. “None of that matters when it comes the safety of the women under my care. If Asiya were not pregnant, I’d seek Cadan’s advice. The next best thing is Demon. He and Cadan have spied for the king and Cadan trusts Demon with his life.”
She looked at Bella. “I dread being beholden to the man but I have no choice. Ask Malcolm to arrange a meeting with him.”
Bella’s intense scrutiny sent shivers down her back. It was obvious to Anne her friend was torn between her loyalty to the women of Holland’s League and her fear Demon was a threat. It was a trepidation Anne shared. Everything she knew about Demon Gabriel Elstone warned he was a dangerous man with secrets. She wasn’t certain she wanted to be the one to unlock them.
“What if he’s your life mate, Tamahaq? What if the reason you fear and desire Demon Gabriel is because he’s the one Fate has chosen for you?”
“Bite your tongue, Fatimah bint Abdullah,” Anne said with horror, calling Bella by her true name. “Fate would never be so cruel.”
Bella laughed. “Angelic brothers are at war, our people are enslaved, humans are pawns in a game not of their making, and demons hound our every step.” She shook her head. “Fate can be very cruel, shape changer. You should know that better than anyone.”
Dear Reader,
* * *
I know you have a choice in what to read and I’m so pleased you’ve chosen Fate’s Match. Please leave a review on your retail, blog, or book sites. Reviews help readers discover new books and voices, especially diverse and marginalized authors in the romance genre. Your reviews also provide feedback to authors and many of us appreciate it.
Author’s Notes
The Daughters of Saria paranormal series is inspired by John Milton’s Paradise Lost, with a major left turn. This series envisions Lucifer and Satan as identical twins where Lucifer is the firstborn. Angelic characters’ names and details are loosely based on descriptions in Ada Langworthy Collier’s Lilith: Legend of the First Woman, and the works of Dionysius the Areopagite.
The story of Amina and Michael has its roots in an historical and troubling narrative about a Black African woman (“the negress Maria”) and the Englishman Francis Drake (for more on this narrative see my “Feminist Historiography” in A Companion to Early Modern Women’s Writing Oxford 2002 and Jennifer Morgan’s ). After years of writing academically, I returned to my first love, writing romance, and began to ask “what ifs” in relation to Maria’s story. I realized very quickly it was impossible to recast her actual history as romance fiction and to give her the possibility of a HEA even under the guise of a paranormal world. So, while Fate’s Match is inspired by my familiarity with “the negress Maria” account, it is not her story. In the end, Fate’s Match, and the Daughters of Saria paranormal series, is my fictional homage to all women of African descent who enjoyed an HEA.
The Tamahaq Amina is a product of my imagination informed by historical research. I am indebted to Professor Ray Kea, who introduced me to the early modern history of the Amazigh peoples and the matrilineal aspects of their pre-modern culture. As aBlack academic and romance writer, I am far too aware of the problems of cultural appropriation. Hopefully, my respect for Amazigh histories and cultures shows in my modest appropriations. There are resources that shed light on the early modern histories of contact between indigenous African peoples and Europeans.
Acknowledgments
Very few writers can do without the support of a community. Much love and many thanks to the Las Vegas RWA chapter. The LVRWA chapter’s Thursday night critique group (the Thervs) embraced this story and gave me what every writer seeks: a writing home. Fellow romance writers Beth, Diane, Karen, Kristina, and Mia – you are inspiring, insightful, and awesome voices and readers of romance. The laughter, love for my characters, and honest critiques enriched my writing. I am fortunate to have found you. Karen, you left the Thervs far too soon. You are missed.
This book is indebted to a sixteenth-century African woman called “the Negress Maria” (see author’s notes). Without “Maria,” Amina would not have been born. I had great fun creating a heroine of African descent I want to see in historical romances. Because of Amina, I’m also indebted to my #ShakeRace and #LitPoc family for not letting me stray too far from my academic roots as I wrote this book.
The first version of this book was edited by Barb Wilson. She’s not seen this update. Hopefully, I have done her excellence proud. Any and all mistakes belong to me. Finally, cover artists work very hard to make real what is in the writer’s imagination. Thank you Rebecca Poole and Dreams2Media for the new cover.
About the Author
Elysabeth Grace writes paranormal, contemporary, and historical romances where love and HEAs accept no impediments. Her stories and characters are diverse, sensual, and occasionally wicked. A native Californian and emerita Professor of English literature, she currently resides in Las Vegas where she remains an unrepentant academic scholar of Shakespeare and other things. In addition to her four-book paranormal series Daughters of Saria, she is working on a contemporary series, Midsummer Sisters, and a pair of interracial historical romances set in the age of Elizabeth I.
For information on new releases, contests, and giveaways, please visit my website: www.elysabethgrace.com
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