Title: Love Spell in London
Author: Shereen Vedam
Genre: Fantasy Regency Romance
FACT: If it doesn't open, it's not your door.
In 1816, having stolen a lovesick warlock's last two hellhounds, Grace Elizabeth Adair, a healing witch, has been lying low in Callington for months, half fearing, half hoping their passionate master will show up to claim his hounds and perhaps notice her. The day he arrives, not only does she catch his eye, but also that of his fiendish dark fae mother.
Devlin Chase Dewer is bent on retrieving his hellhounds from a thieving witch so he can complete a mission to rid the Tower of London of an infestation of underworld creatures. If he succeeds, he will gain the approval of the Warlock Council, and be in a better position to wreck his revenge on the Coven Protectress who broke his heart and the Church Guard she chose over him.
All his plans for reprisal wash away, however, when he is unexpectedly drawn to the enchanting light-fingered witch. Still, Dewer knows this new ill-thought longing is unlikely to lead anywhere. If witches and warlocks constantly warring with each other wasn’t enough to spoil any chance at his and Grace’s relationship lasting longer than a one night encounter, his witch-hating mother has shown up, intent on putting a spoke in his romantic inclinations.
“Silence.” Dewer gripped Farfur’s neck fur, but his gaze was rooted on the young witch in the doorway. The Honorable Grace Elizabeth Adair, stealer of hellhounds and witch-healer extraordinaire, had returned home.
Even though he had been expecting her, girding himself to meet her, convinced his long-distance infatuation would die a quick death the moment he laid eyes on her again, his pulse still sped up. Since he handed Merryn his heart on a platter and she flung it into the gutter, along with his dignity and poise, he had learned his lesson about craving unattainable women.
It took him more months than he cared to count to regain his sense of self. Still, try as he might, he could not tear his gaze from Grace Adair’s mesmerizing gray-green eyes, moist full lips and a bosom that was properly covered but as lush as he recalled from his last brief glimpse of her.
His blood hummed in response.
In search of a distraction, his focus seized on the bristling hellhound at Miss Adair’s side. Bartos. It was good to see him alive. An unexpected bolt of pleasure struck Dewer’s heart. He had tried numerous times to heal this hound and failed miserably. Yet, this witch had accomplished what he, with his vast knowledge of hellhound physiology, could not.
Positioned protectively in front of the young lady who personified the be that prefaced witch, Bartos’s left hind leg did indeed look completely healed. His scrying had not been mistaken in that estimation.
“Grace,” her mother said in a curt voice. “This is Mr. Devlin Chase Dewer. Mr. Dewer, my daughter, Miss Grace Elizabeth Adair.”
The stark introduction did not do justice to the young lady in the doorway. She stood with her left knee slightly bent, ankle provocatively tilted. She had raised her chin and head, emphasizing an exquisite neck, while her wide eyes observed him with direct, inquisitive scrutiny.
“He is here to reclaim his . . . beasts,” her mother said.
In Baroness Mandell’s hesitation over the word “beasts,” Dewer heard “demons.”
Her snub of his hellhounds slid off his back like a bead of oil. It wasn’t her first insult since his arrival. He had been here for forty odd minutes – feels like a month – awaiting this enchanting creature’s return home. All that while, Lady Mandell refused to be seated, as if admitting him into her home was an affront she could not take sitting down.
The baroness’s upright stance had meant Dewer must also remain on his feet. Not a terrible inconvenience as he had sat more than stood since leaving Wales yesterday morning. For the last five minutes, however, Lady Mandell had been shifting from foot to foot; suggesting their Napoleonic standoff would end shortly with either his departure or her capitulation by taking a seat and thus allowing him to do so as well.
“I have sent for a fresh pot of tea,” the old witch on the sofa said. Lady Mandell’s mother was apparently oblivious to the baroness’s intention to discourage their guest lingering.
Dewer was glad of the tea idea. He may not need to sit, but he was thirsty, for the raven-haired vision in blue in the doorway left his mouth as parched as a desert.
It was hard to mistake the family resemblance between these three females. All had high cheekbones, tall statures and a natural sensuality that age had not appreciably diminished. All similarities ended on the visual plane.
Miss Adair seemed intrigued by his presence, but wary. Well she should be. Thief.
Her mother, Baroness Mandell, had been itching to toss him out since he first stepped into her home. Harridan.
The eldest witch was the most approachable. Unfortunately, she was currently leaning forward to entice Farfur with a crumpet. Crumbs littered the Persian carpet between his feet and hers, as she made atrocious smacking noises from between pursed lips. Definitely Dotty.
Dewer took hold of Farfur’s scruff again, to ensure Dotty, his only ally in the room, would not lose her fingers if the hellhound decided to accept her insanely ill-thought-out offer of a treat.
“We must leave for London forthwith, Grace.” A negligent flick of the Harridan’s hand, and the crumbs on the carpet vanished. “I hope your morning visit with your cousin was elucidating and makes Mr. Dewer’s visit timely.”
So, that is why Harridan permitted him to enter her home. She wants the hellhounds gone. Excellent!
Grace’s full mouth firmed, her hands clenched and that tempting ankle straightened, signifying that no matter her mother’s preference, Dewer was not about to depart with his hounds without protest. The young witch’s stormy gaze met his in a battle cry that tightened his chest muscles. He repressed the urge to smile with relish at the looming fight.
“Grace, we must go to London.” Dotty gave up befriending Farfur and popped the crumpet into her mouth. She then eyed the hound with a sly gleam as she licked her lips with blatant enjoyment.
Farfur whined ever so softly. Dewer only sensed his frustration by the vibration under his fingertips. A pang of compassion stirred. He released his hold and held his hands at his back. It would not do to become attached to a hound he intended to use to achieve his aims in London.
Especially if what the Warlock Council told him yesterday proved correct. If so, Farfur might not live long enough to ever enjoy a crumpet. Dewer was unwilling to lay his heart on the line again, not for a hellhound, and never again for a witch.
All he wanted was to regain control of his property. Unfortunately, he could not simply take them from the lovely Miss Adair. In a moment of pique, he had unwisely gifted the hounds to her. To get them back, she must willingly gift them back to him. Convincing her to do so would obviously be a challenge. Besting this witch might also be pleasurable.
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):
Buy Link: https://books2read.com/LoveSpellinLondon
Why is your featured book a must-read?
The wedding in this book involves not only witches and warlocks but fae and gods.
Enter to win an e-book bundle of all 30 books featured in the Celebrate Weddings Bookish Event:
Runs June 9 – 12, 2020.
Winner will be drawn on June 19, 2020.
Once upon a time, Shereen read fantasy and romance novels to entertain herself. Now she writes heartwarming tales braided with threads of magic and love, and mystery elements woven in for good measure. She’s a fan of resourceful women, intriguing men, and happily ever after endings. If her stories whisk you away to a different realm for a few hours, then Shereen will have achieved one of her life goals.
#LoveSpellinLondon #TheCauldronEffect #ShereenVedam #ImajinnBooks #fantasyromance #Regency #regencyromance #regencyfantasyromance #historicalfantasy #romance #romancereaders #readromance #weddings #weddingromance #readers #books #bookish #book #mustread #CelebrateWeddingsBookishEvent #CelebrateWeddings #giveaway