Devil’s Kiss by Zoe Archer Page A

answered. Bram might ruin reputations, and Leo might trample upon the pecuniary fortunes of his enemies, but the dark voice within Whit demanded that he cut a wide and devastating swath through the gaming hells of London. He could win anything. Not just money, but prized possessions, property and heirlooms. He had Mr. Holliday’s gift of mastery over odds. And he also possessed the gift of Zora. Soon, he would learn every one of her secrets. Her card tricks. Her fierce heart. He would have all of her, laid bare for his pleasure.
    Whit started toward the stairs that led out of the chamber.
    “Enjoy your Gypsy girl,” Bram called after him.
    Whit paused on the stairs and grinned at his fellow Hellraisers. “I shall. As we all should enjoy our newfound gifts.”
    “Now we are Hellraisers in truth,” said John, laughing.
    Whit smiled, though he did not laugh. “So we are.”
    “There are no obstacles in our paths,” said Edmund.
    “Godspeed,” Leo called.
    “God has nothing to do with this.” On that, Whit strode up the remainder of the stairs and emerged into the chilled night, utterly transformed from the man he had been only hours earlier.

Chapter 3
     
    Zora’s head cleared, vision and sense returned. Yet what she saw next made her dizzy all over again. She knew only that one moment, it had been the middle of the night and she had been standing in that horrible gorgio chamber full of heavy gilded wood, a chamber full of reckless men and awful women. The Devil presiding over all of it.
    She’d had a dim sense of motion around her, as if she had observed movement on the bottom of the ocean. Voices had come to her, muddied, muted. The words had made little sense. Fleeting impressions of a horse’s hooves, land rushing past her, the open country being gradually choked by buildings, until she was in the thick of a monstrous, sprawling city. There had come a distant impression of entering very grand squares surrounded by massive homes. The horse’s hoofbeats had slowed, then stopped. She felt herself carried up a flight of stairs.
    Then, the next moment, she was in a room.
    Spinning around, she found herself not three feet away from Whit. He looked windblown, his mahogany hair coming loose from its queue, his fine hunting clothes travel-worn and rumpled. In fact, he breathed heavily, as if he’d been riding and then running at top speed. He stared at her with ravenous blue eyes—so different from the cautious attraction with which he had regarded her back at the encampment. Though he wore the same face and had the same long, strapping body, he was not the same man who had sat upon the ground, who had played piquet with her and playfully demanded her secrets at cards.
    This man standing before her was far more dangerous.
    She found herself instinctually backing up, until she collided against some furniture and could go no farther.
    “What is this place?” she demanded.
    “My home.” His voice was rough silk. He gave her a small bow. “Welcome.”
    Zora cast a quick glance around, assessing. This chamber she did not find half as revolting as the other beneath the ruin. The room in Whit’s home was smaller, yet the walls were paneled with rich, dark wood that reminded her of the forest. A fire burned lowly in the hearth, but there wasn’t a single cooking pot or tub of washing hanging over the flames. One small table held a chess set, yet the only real furniture in the chamber was a circular table surrounded by half a dozen chairs. Decks of cards were stacked upon the table. Everything in the room was of the finest quality, far more grand and sturdy than anything any Rom might have. The room smelled of strong drink and tobacco.
    Through the tall, velvet-curtained windows, the dawn cast pink light. It was still too dark outside for Zora to see exactly where she might be. Somewhere in a large city. Far from home.
    Because of Whit. The Whit who had been changed by the Devil’s dark sway.
    She whirled back to