by Bec McMaster
Adele squealed with laughter. Pressing a kiss to his throat, she stroked her fingers down his cheek. “How was the queen this morning?”
“Furious.”
“Auvry—”
“I told her she had my blessings and that he was my choice all along,” he said quickly, kissing her fingertips. “I thought about what you said, and perhaps you were right. She deserves a chance to be happy, and she looked so utterly miserable.”
“How did she take such news?”
“She called me a ‘fairy godmother,’” he admitted dryly. “She thinks I’ve taken a sudden penchant to arranging marriages.”
Adele lifted her head off his chest, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Really?”
“Don’t laugh,” he told her in the most arrogant voice he could summon. “I am the power behind the throne. Blue bloods cower when they hear my name. Mortals quiver at the sight of my house sigil. This is appalling.”
Giggles spilled from her mouth. His lips twitched. Adele had a bad habit of snorting when she was overcome with laughter, and if anyone had told him a year ago that he’d find the sound adorable, he’d have insisted they were due a visit to Bedlam.
“Oh, Auvry.” Straddling his hips, Adele planted her hands on his chest. “How terrible. I’ve ruined your reputation utterly.”
He lifted up onto his elbows, tilting his mouth almost to hers. “Perhaps you should make it up to me?”
“With pleasure,” she purred, then leaned down and captured his mouth in a possessive kiss.
Hours later, Malloryn made his way downstairs.
“Baby Ivy.” Byrnes’s voice echoed up the stairwell. “And I’m going to be the godfather.”
Malloryn paused. He had babies on the brain. He could have sworn Byrnes had just placed a bet on the sex, name, and godparent of some unfortunate child.
Ava’s confinement was fast approaching, but they’d already debated the matter, and he’d managed to get a glimpse of the betting book that Byrnes was keeping quiet from Kincaid. They wouldn’t be speaking of it again, would they?
“Ivy?” Ingrid asked. “Why Ivy?”
“Because I like it.”
“Who in their right mind would name you as godparent to their child?” Kincaid growled. “Christ. You’d probably give the little bugger a knife for its first birthday.”
Kincaid.
His nostrils flared. Kincaid shouldn’t be here for this conversation if they were speaking of Kincaid’s child.
“You can never start them too early,” Byrnes protested.
“A little boy,” Charlie declared, and the sound of a pair of coins clinked as they landed on the table. “And Gemma will be the godmother.”
Malloryn’s brows drew together in a frown.
The others were all aware he viewed Gemma as some sort of… foster sibling. Surely not. Surely they couldn’t be placing a wager on—
“I’ll take you up on the sex of the baby,” Byrnes said, “but not on the choice of godmother. Gemma’s got it for sure.”
“Unless the duchess chooses her dearest friend,” Ingrid pointed out, “Mrs. Carver.”
Malloryn’s nostrils flared. Hell and bloody ashes.
“And Uncle Charlie is going to be godfather,” Charlie added.
“That,” Byrnes said, pointing at him, “is up for discussion. I’ll take that bet.”
The discussion grew livelier as they all debated the merits of this.
Malloryn had two options at this point.
He could quite thoroughly toss his crumpets and spew invective at the lot of them for presumably planting a listening device in his rooms, or he could ignore the violation and use it to his advantage.
Maybe toy with Byrnes a little, because he knew exactly which Rogue was the only one with the audacity to have planted such a device.
Malloryn sauntered down the stairs, arching his brow. “What on earth makes you think I’m going to allow any of you near my child, let alone name you godparents? Barrons is my closest friend. If I’m going to name anyone godfather, it’s going to be him.”
“Yes,” Lark hissed, making a little celebratory fist.
Charlie rolled his eyes and flipped a pair of coins in her direction. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”
A chorus of congratulations echoed around the table.
“I see there’s a new betting book being opened,” he said dryly. “If I find your listening devices, Byrnes, I will shove them down your throat.”
“Listening devices?” Byrnes protested. “Why am I always the chief suspect?”
“Because you’re always guilty.”
“Not this time,” Byrnes replied. He snorted and glanced toward Ingrid, who gave Malloryn a sweet smile.
“Your dear wife’s been casting up her accounts several times a day,” she replied. “She’s also suddenly obsessed with cake.”
“Adele is always obsessed with cake.”
“Not like this,” Ingrid said, looking impressed. “She asked Herbert to trot halfway across London in search of a particular honey cake she is absolutely fascinated with at the moment.”
“And she eats it with cheese,” Lark said with a shudder. “A foul sort of cheese that stinks the entire room out.”
How on earth had they all known before he had?
Lark smiled sweetly at Malloryn, failing to wilt under his stare, as anyone with reasonable sense would.
He was clearly losing his touch. Fairy godmother. Arranging marriages. Now this.
Flipping out the end of his coat, he took his seat at the head of the table. “Herbert, fetch us some tea. I can see that none of us are quite busy enough. That’s about to change.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The butler vanished.
“You have a job for us?” Byrnes asked, rubbing his hands together.
“I have a job for some of you.” Malloryn flipped a folder across the table toward Gemma. “Fancy a honeymoon?”
“I’m not even married yet.”
“You will be,” he replied. “And then you are going to be whisked away on an all-expenses paid voyage, complete with an entire new wardrobe and trousseau.”
“Ooh,” Gemma cooed, grabbing the folder. “You shouldn’t have. Where are we going? Somewhere warm, preferably?”
“Morocco,” Ingrid purred, closing her eyes as if imagining she was tilting her face toward the sun.
“Crete,” Ava said brightly. “Imagine all those ruins!”
“It’s going to be somewhere cold, dark, and bloody,” Byrnes said sourly. “I only just ordered a new pair of boots after the last set were ruined in Russia.”
“Yes,” Malloryn said, “I noticed that invoice.”
“They were ruined on your behalf, Your Grace.”
He ignored the comment.
Because some wounds were still fresh enough to bleed, and he didn’t particularly enjoy thinking of that period of time in his life.
“Stockholm,” Gemma announced, her tone neutral. Her gaze lifted from the paper she was reading. “A diplomatic embassy to Stockholm, and we’re to be included. This hardly sounds like our sort of thing.”
“That’s because you haven’t read the entire report,” he pointed out. “The queen is sending Will Carver, our verwulfen ambassador, to Stockholm to attend the renewal of the Treaty. It’s been a hundred years since the Scandinavian verwulfen clans hammered out a treaty with the Russian Blood court about verwulfen clans in the Grand Duchy of Finland. The Russian court is sending a large contingent of princes to renew the treaty, and both the Norwegian and Swedish verwulfen clans will be in attendance.”
“Sounds like the perfect stew of political mayhem,” Kincaid muttered.
“Blue bloods and verwulfen clans,” Gemma muttered. “My, my. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”
“It will be,” he conceded. “The ambassador is to renew relations with the Scandinavian clans and foster a potential trade alliance with them. He is also there to witness the naming of the new War Hammer. I n
eed for him to return alive and well. And not to break some Scandinavian verwulfen’s nose.”
Gemma winced. “That’s possibly going to be the difficult part. Mr. Carver has a temper.”
“You’re in luck,” Malloryn said. “His wife’s going with him. And their son. Not only is he going to be on edge with all the social niceties, but his protective urges are going to be in full force.” Malloryn smiled. “Imagine a volcano sent to parlay with a geographical faultline. And perhaps add in a bomb.”
Gemma gave him a long, steady look. “I thought you said this could be my honeymoon?”
“What?” he mock gasped. “I’ve practically gift wrapped a present for you. You’re bound to be shot at, at least once. Would you prefer taking in the waters somewhere? A nice, lazy sojourn to a cottage in Scotland?”
Gemma grimaced and clutched the folder tightly. “No. Being shot at is fine. Somewhat bracing for the nerves, but the aftermath is… extremely enjoyable.” She gave Obsidian a saucy wink.
Malloryn pretended he didn’t hear her. “Lark and Obsidian, this is also going to be somewhat of a family reunion. Your brother is reputed to be one of the Blood envoys.”
They both blinked at him, then exchanged looks.
“Nikolai?” Lark said.
“Play nicely with him,” he instructed. “I want a friend on the inside of the Blood court. There are rumors someone assassinated the tsarina’s favorite grandchild as they all vie to be named heir, and Catherine is on her deathbed. Russia’s more volatile than Will Carver right now. I want a prince in my pocket.”
“Have you met Nikolai?” Lark asked bluntly. “‘Nice’ is not a word I’d use to describe him.”
“Family trait, it seems,” Malloryn murmured. “Kincaid, you and Ava are on retirement for a few months. Enjoy it. I’m sure I’ll have need of both your services in the future.” Stealing the folder back from Gemma, he graced them all with a smile. “Now go and pack. Something warm, I’d suggest. I believe the spring in Stockholm is… bracing.”
“What about me?” Byrnes demanded.
“What about you?” he replied coolly as he pushed to his feet. “Someone has to mind the fort. And I’ll need Herbert in the field for this one.”
“Herbert?”
Malloryn examined his nails. “He has a certain level of diplomacy and subtlety you lack.”
“He blew up an entire factory full of munitions!” Byrnes exploded.
“Your Grace,” Ingrid said quietly.
Byrnes had earned it, but toying with Ingrid was beyond him. Malloryn tipped his head to her. “You’re both on personal protection duty. I want the verwulfen ambassador and his family to return without a scratch on them, and who better to trust than the pair of you?”
A slow breath escaped her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t kill anyone,” he said, directing the full attention of his gaze on Byrnes. “Don’t insult anyone. Don’t start any wars. Bring that big, hairy verwulfen bastard home to me in one piece, or I’ll never hear the end of it from Adele. She is quite fond of Mrs. Carver.”
“Why does everyone always look at me?” Byrnes protested.
“Cannot imagine,” Kincaid growled.
Ava coughed into her fist, hiding a laugh.
Malloryn leaned back in his chair. “Well, what are you all waiting for? The delegation leaves in five days. You have no time to waste.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Gemma asked, hovering above her chair.
Malloryn shook his head and laced his palms across his middle. “No. I just found out I’m going to be a father. I want to take Adele for a holiday to Bath, where we can take in the waters, lounge in bed, and she can eat cake and cheese until she’s heartily sick of it. Neither of us have had a moment to think since the tower was destroyed. I want a holiday. And I want a honeymoon. Try not to completely destroy Britain’s relations with two major European superpowers. I’ll be very vexed if I have to return to London and commandeer a dirigible to rescue the lot of you.”
Gemma granted him a curtsy and a devilish smile. “We wouldn’t dream of it, Your Grace. We’ll take care of everything. Two warring verwulfen countries bound by a treaty as thin as my corset laces, a scheming contingent of Russian blue bloods, and an ambassador who’s not going to listen to anything we say. What could possibly go wrong?”
He winced. “That’s why I’m sending Herbert. Dismissed.”
LONDON STANDARD
The Queen and the Royal Family are delighted to announce that the Queen was safely delivered of a daughter on March 13, 1892. Her Royal Highness, Princess Charlotte Anne Henrietta, was born at 6:02 am today.
The baby weighs 9lbs 9oz.
The prince consort was present for the birth.
Her Majesty and her child are both doing well.
BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE LONDON STEAMPUNK WORLD
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for following this entire London Steampunk journey! I hope you enjoyed the queen’s HEA—so many of you requested her story over the years that when it came time to sit down and write the epilogue, I simply couldn’t look past her.
Complete series available now:
Mission: Improper
The Mech Who Loved Me
You Only Love Twice
To Catch A Rogue
Dukes Are Forever
From London, With Love
Want to know more about future release dates?
Make sure you sign up to my newsletter to be the first to know when they’re available.
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I hope we meet again between the pages of another book!
Cheers,
Bec McMaster
P.S. Not ready to leave London behind? READ ON for an exciting preview of Shadowbound, the first in a sexy historical fantasy romance featuring three cursed brothers….
READ NOW
A stolen relic. A pair of enemies forced to work together. And a demon who must be stopped before it destroys London itself...
When a powerful relic goes missing from a secret society that dabbles in the occult, Miss Ianthe Martin is charged with finding it at all costs. She needs help, but all clues point to someone on the inside being the thief. The only sorcerer she knows that can't possibly be involved is the very man she saw locked in Bedlam a year ago...
The mad, bad, dangerous Earl of Rathbourne.
When the seductive Miss Martin appears in his Bedlam cell, Rathbourne fears he's finally lost his mind. The devilish sorceress played a hand in his incarceration, and now she comes asking for help? Perhaps she should begin by begging for mercy...
CONTINUE READING
London Steampunk was written in an alternate timeline, from which history diverged at a certain point.
Avid history buffs may note that Princess Charlotte, the beloved wife of Prince Leopold, died in childbirth (with the child) in our real timeline—therefore giving rise to Queen Victoria’s reign.
In the London Steampunk world, I like to pretend that she survived the birth along with the child—though due to complications, little Prince Frederick was the only child “Queen Charlotte I” would have had.
This is how Queen Alexandra I came to be, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Also by Bec McMaster
DARK COURT RISING
Promise of Darkness
Crown of Darkness
Curse of Darkness
LEGENDS OF THE STORM SERIES
Heart Of Fire
Storm of Desire
Clash of Storms
Storm of Fury
Master of Storms
Legends of the Storm Boxset 1-3
COURT OF DREAMS SAGA
Thief of Dreams
Thief of Souls
> Thief of Hearts
LONDON STEAMPUNK SERIES
Kiss Of Steel
Heart Of Iron
My Lady Quicksilver
Forged By Desire
Of Silk And Steam
Novellas in same series:
Tarnished Knight
The Clockwork Menace
LONDON STEAMPUNK: THE BLUE BLOOD CONSPIRACY
Mission: Improper
The Mech Who Loved Me
You Only Love Twice
To Catch A Rogue
Dukes Are Forever
From London, With Love
DARK ARTS SERIES
Shadowbound
Hexbound
Soulbound
Dark Arts Box set 1-3
BURNED LANDS SERIES
Nobody's Hero
The Last True Hero
The Hero Within
SHORT STORIES
The Many Lives Of Hadley Monroe
Burn Bright
Kidnapped by a dread pirate when she was a child, USA Today Bestselling Author BEC MCMASTER was raised on myth and legend, and offered her younger siblings to the goblin king many a time. Unfortunately, he did not accept.
Now she writes epic fantasy romance with a dark and sexy twist, which is almost as much fun. She has a secret weakness for villainous heroes, wicked fae princes and dangerous vampires, though in all her daydreams, she's the one rescuing them.
Bec lives happily-ever-after with her very own hero and princess-in-training in the wilds of Australia, where she can often be found drinking tea or plotting her next travel adventure.
