September 8th will mark the release of the third book in the Society of Wanton Widows Series. You’ll meet Victoria and the handsome, but dangerous, Declan in this steamy late-Victorian romance.
This story stands independently of the rest of the books, because I love to write stand alone series. So you don’t have to read The Duchess Pursues Her Pleasure and The Viscountess in Bloom to enjoy The Marchioness Makes a Bargain. But I would highly recommend you read them all in order to get the full impact of the characters and the machinations of our favorite crime lord, Simon Oh, the Lord of Devil’s Acre.
So if you’re looking for high steam, intrigue, a little mystery and a ton of secrets centered around a group of widows in their forties, I highly recommend checking out the Society of Wanton Widows.
Enjoy a fresh baked scone and pour a cup of tea-then indulge.
An unlikely romance rises when the marchioness makes a deal with the devil.
Victoria Smythe, Dowager Marchioness of Winstead, had always longed to start her own bakery. During her short marriage to a man twice her age, she discovered her love of creating complex pastries and cakes. When her husband passed without an heir, Victoria continued to indulge in her secret passion. Until the perfect opportunity arose from an unlikely ally.
Declan Harrow uses his wits and fists in service to the Lord of Devil’s Acre. As the crime lord’s right-hand man, he takes on many unsavory tasks—like protecting his employer’s investments. But his priorities shift when he meets the lovely Marchioness of Winstead. His protective nature drives him, but he cannot allow it to consume his sense or he’ll fall completely for the delectable widow.
When a mysterious threat appears to have taken aim at the marchioness’s new bakery, Declan decides his services are better served in protecting her instead of his lord’s investment. But being in such close quarters ignites a burning desire that neither can deny. Will their unconventional romance bring her ultimate ruin?
Tropes you’ll enjoy:
- Age Gap
- He Falls First
- Dark Secrets
- Different Social Class
- Different Backgrounds
- Widow Finds Love
- Forbidden Love
- Secret Feelings
- Slow Burn
- Morally Gray Hero
I’ve included the first scene from Victoria and Declan’s story. Enjoy, my darlings.
Chapter One
London, January 1898
“This very well might be the most reckless thing you have ever done,” Eleanor Maldon, Dowager Countess of Amesbury, murmured beneath the veil she wore.
Victoria Smythe, Dowager Marchioness of Winstead, inclined her head, a motion hidden beneath the covering of her own veil. “Are you insinuating that I am also reckless on other occasions?”
“Not at all,” Eleanor replied simply as she adjusted her skirts. Her black hair hidden beneath the veil, blue eyes fixing on her companion. “It’s merely that—well, asking the Lord of Devil’s Acre for aid in funding a bakery seems dangerous.”
The sway of the carriage did nothing to soothe Victoria’s restless nerves. She took a deep breath and sighed. “I have no other recourse. I cannot do it myself, and I have none other in whom to place my confidence to undertake such a transaction.”
“What makes you think the notorious crime lord would make a suitable partner in such a risky endeavor?” Eleanor asked.
“He has aided us in our time of need before, and in doing so he has given us no reason not to trust him.” Victoria had repeated this multiple times over the past several weeks, weighing the benefits against the possible negatives. It seemed her dream—her desire to create something that would give back to those who needed it most—trumped her common sense and self-preservation.
“But a bakery?” Eleanor seemed unconvinced by Victoria’s assertions. “Are you willing to make a deal with the Devil himself for something so common?”
Victoria bristled at her friend’s words. While they held a bite of truth, she could as easily sever a limb from her body as divest herself of her mission. There was little she loved more than spending her time in the kitchens, creating art with flour and sugar. Society would be truly scandalized if they knew the depth of her dedication to this hobby. But Victoria longed to share her knowledge and her influence to those who needed it most. Those who required a skill to survive.
“I apologize. That was quite rude of me.” Eleanor sighed, twisting her gloved hands together in her lap. “I know how much you adore baking, and how skilled you are in the creation of those delicate pastries. But to put yourself at the mercy of a man you have never met, a man whose reputation strikes fear into the heart of even the nobility—it’s unconscionable.”
“I have no other recourse, Eleanor.” Victoria reached for her friend’s hand, squeezing gently. “But I do appreciate your show of solidarity in joining me tonight.”
“A clandestine meeting with London’s notorious criminal mastermind was certainly not how I had hoped to spend my evening.” Her voice relaxed as she held Victoria’s hand. “I pray our trust is not misplaced by venturing into the Devil’s lair.”
“Hyacinth, Lilah, and Cassandra have all met with Mr. Oh. They have assured me that he is a gentleman and will grant us an audience without any threat of violence or intimidation.”
“It seems strange that few have actually seen his face, and those who have refuse to speak of their encounter with him beyond the obvious facts.” Eleanor pondered aloud, causing a spark of curiosity to course through Victoria. “Do you think he is horribly scarred and that is why he keeps to the shadows? Like a specter from those Gothic tales you adore.”
A wisp of longing swept through Victoria. The other ladies teased her mercilessly for her love of Gothic literature and tragic romance. “I highly doubt it. Besides, Hyacinth mentioned that he is not at all what we will expect—and that he has a wife.”
“Well, him having a wife doesn’t mean he’s not awful. Let us hope he is at least a man of reason,” Eleanor replied.
A nagging shiver of guilt and uncertainty slid over Victoria. Was she doing the right thing? For weeks she believed so, bolstering her courage to a nearly fantastical proportion. But now, on the precipice of such a monumental moment, a shard of doubt had somehow wedged into her conscience.
Her late husband, Samuel, had adored her creations, even encouraging her to pursue her passion. Their marriage had not been for love, but one born of mutual respect and understanding. He’d pursued his own passions, leaving her to her own devices. When they’d first met, he was twenty years her senior. A bachelor who’d never expected to gain the title—until it had fallen in his lap, being the only surviving son of the previous title holder—Samuel had found the pressure to select a suitable wife had become overwhelming. They’d met over a delightful selection of desserts at the Countess Daryrample’s annual holiday fete. No one had wished to dance with the spinster of five and twenty, and fate, it seemed, had a solution for both of them.
Unfortunately, Lord Winstead’s sister, Diana, a countess married to the Earl of Balrot, had not approved of Victoria’s sudden marriage to Samuel. She’d made her dislike known at every event they’d shared. While Samuel had defended Victoria’s honor, it had made no difference to Diana. To this day, years after her brother’s death, Diana made no attempt to hide her obvious disdain for Victoria. It was quite surprising she had not found some way to smear Victoria’s reputation and ruin her completely.
If she ever discovered the bakery—well, that was highly unlikely in any event. They’d rarely spoken before her husband had died, and since then, Diana had ignored her completely, treating her like a distant blemish on her family’s history. The title belonged to their cousin now since Victoria and Samuel could not conceive a child.
Samuel had taken far more interest in food than he had his duties to sire an heir. Physical intimacy between them had been scarce—and quite dull. He’d adored food and ultimately, a chicken bone had ended his life. Fortunately, she had not witnessed the horrid event. Such a sad fate, truly. Her delectable pastries could never be as dangerous.
The carriage came to a halt, shaking Victoria from her thoughts. A flutter of nerves took flight in her stomach.
“Come, then. Let us make a bargain with the Devil.” Eleanor tugged on her hand.
Victoria and Eleanor stood side by side in front of the brick structure tucked into the heart of the slums called ‘Devil’s Acre.’ A shiver wracked Victoria at the thought of what could happen to them had they not been under the Lord’s protection.
With a deep breath, Victoria knocked on the door. It opened, revealing an older gentleman—a butler, by the looks of him. She blinked in surprise at the unconventional situation but recovered quickly.
“I believe Mr. Oh is expecting me.” She cleared her throat, attempting to sound stronger than she felt. “Lady Winstead and companion.”
The butler stepped to the side, gesturing for them to enter the house. A footman took their outer garments as the butler assessed them briefly. “This way.”
He led them down a narrow, dark corridor. The muted ornamentation left the house feeling cold and barren. Surely, this was not his home—there was no sign of a woman’s touch.
They entered a study, complete with tall shelves lined with books, a few strategically positioned works of art, deep mahogany furniture, and a settee sitting opposite an oversized wingback chair centered before a warm fire. Victoria took in the details. The butler closed the door behind him as he took his leave. She drew back her veil and Eleanor did the same.
“Wh—” Victoria began to ask as the shadows in the corner near the window shifted, forming into a tall, intimidating figure. She jumped, pressing a hand to her heart.
“My apologies for startling you, Lady Winstead.” The man stepped into view, making her gasp. His gaze drifted to Eleanor. “Lady Amesbury.”
Eleanor stiffened beside her but remained silent, her gaze narrowing.
Not that Victoria could blame her friend. She was still searching for the right words to describe the man before her. Hyacinth had been right. This man was not what she had been expecting. She had assumed him to be an older man with a paunch and little hair atop his head with a cigar dangling from his fingers and a sneer on his lips.
Mr. Oh was quite possibly one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Tall with broad shoulders and long, raven hair pulled back into a queue at the nape of his neck. His sharp gaze narrowed on her as he came closer. The muscle in his chiseled jaw twitched as he pressed his lips together and gestured to the settee.
“Please, sit.” The invitation almost sounded like an order.
Victoria and Eleanor dropped neatly into the settee, basking in the warmth of the fire.
“Would you care for a drink?” he asked. “Tea, perhaps?”
“No, thank you.” Victoria’s voice trembled slightly. “Perhaps we could discuss the reason for my visit.”
“Of course.” Mr. Oh sank down into the wingback chair, crossing his legs and stroking his jaw with his long fingers. “How can I be of service?”
“I was told you may be able to help me secure a location and funding to begin a business.” Victoria straightened, her determination set in stone. There was no retreat now.
“What sort of business?” Mr. Oh asked, steepling his fingers.
“A bakery.” Victoria swallowed the lump of uncertainty rising in her throat.
A smile ghosted over his lips for a brief moment before he inclined his head. “And what purpose would a bakery serve you, Lady Winstead?”
“Not many know of my passion for the art of baking.” She folded her hands in her lap. “But I have long dreamed of owning my own shop.”
“Will you work there? Toiling for hours each day?” he pressed further.
“If I must, then I will.” She licked her lips. “But my intention is to hire women in need of honest work.”
“I see.” He leaned forward. “And why ask me to fund your project? Surely, you have means and support from your friends and family.”
“I do not wish to involve them.” Victoria remained firm. “And even though I bear the title of dowager marchioness, it is merely a courtesy since my husband’s passing. He left me a sustainable sum on which to support myself, but not enough for me to pursue the dream that has plagued me since I was a young woman.”
“What do you propose?” Firelight painted his face in dancing shadows.
“A partnership.” She held his piercing gaze. “Provide a location and funds to build the bakery, and I will repay you—with interest.”
“Do you not intend to make a living off of your bakery, my lady?”
Victoria shook her head. “I will pay my employees a fair wage, and after your cut, I will donate the rest of my earnings to women and orphans in need across the city.”
“You do so much good work already with your Academy for Young Ladies, I wonder at your desire to invest into the less fortunate.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Do you wish to be sainted?”
“I do not want my name or my title tied to the bakery.” She heaved a sigh. “I will remain in the kitchens, away from customers.”
“You will need to place your bakery in a location that does not garner attention from the nobility.” Mr. Oh tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Are you certain you wish to make such a bargain?”
“Sir, I have lived the entirety of my life at the whim of society. Seeing the transformation in my friends as they grasp the opportunities life has presented them has opened my eyes. It has given me hope. I long for nothing more than to bake and bring that same hope to those who had none before.”
“A truly selfless request.” He nodded. “I admire your determination and the courage it took for you to come to me with such an interesting proposal.”
“My friends assured me that you would be fair in your consideration and counsel.” Victoria smiled. “I can see they were not mistaken.”
Mr. Oh stood, adjusting his waistcoat. “I will take the evening to think on your proposition, Lady Winstead. You will receive a letter tomorrow with my decision.”
Blinking twice at the dismissal, Victoria rose to her feet. Eleanor came alongside her.
“Thank you, sir,” Victoria said. “I appreciate your time and consideration.”
At his nod, Victoria turned toward the door with Eleanor following closely behind.
Once they’d stepped out into the cold January air, Victoria paused on the step. Her heart still hammered in her chest, her hands trembling. She’d done it. She’d actually done it. Hope flared inside her, overwhelming the nerves still threatening to consume her. How could she possibly sleep tonight when the weight of her whole world rested on his impending decision?
The carriage rolled into view, stopping before them. She glanced around, noting how quiet the streets were in the blustery cold. Her gaze snagged on a shadowed figure leaning against the neighboring building, a cigarette smoldering in the darkness.
Victoria suppressed a shiver at the man’s attention. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was watching them. Without another thought to the stranger, she stepped into the warmth of the carriage and sighed. Her mind quickly grew overwhelmed with anticipation.
“That went better than I expected,” Eleanor said, relief evident in her voice.
“Yes, it did.” Victoria chewed on her lip. “But will he agree?” The carriage lurched into motion, and Victoria tried not to worry. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Kirsten S. Blacketer 