Devils Like Me

AN ETL PRESS BOOK. An imprint of Plot Bunny Publishing. Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth Muse. All rights reserved. Thank you for purchasing an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of this book in any form without express permission from its author, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial use permitted by copyright law. Please understand that this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Design: Charlie Matthews Designs Co. Editor: Blanchard Editing ISBN: 978-1-957666-09-9 (Ebook) ISBN: 978-1-957666-10-5 (Paperback) ISBN: 978-1-957666-11-2 (Hardback) First Edition, 2023 www.plotbunny.co For Ali. I promise there’s no eye stabbies in this one. And for Sylvia. Thank you for telling me I had to finish this one first. The mayor of Simp Town exists because of you. She’s hell. He’s the devil. The demons see no end to this love. AMBER ANWAR A Note From The Author Devils Like Me is a dark Regency romance. As you can imagine, there are quite a few trigger warnings that apply to this novel. Please use this link or scan the QR code below to see the full list. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Epilogue Also by Elizabeth Muse About the Author 1 AMELIA Everything felt heavy. Rising from my bed felt an insurmountable task. Conjuring a memory that might rouse within me even a breath of motivation unimaginable. The goose down mattress and I were now one. But as had always been the case, the universe—in all its insufferable wisdom—had other plans. A light knock sounded. “Ms. Amelia, breakfast is nearly ready,” a shaky voice insisted. “Might I help you dress?” Home. Responsibilities. Expectations. Clearly, I had avoided all three as long as was feasible for someone like me. A lady. A ruined lady, but a lady nonetheless. And ladies did not sleep the day away. Besides, the ruined bit was cloaked in shadowy enigma. Whisked away to the countryside to care for my ailing grandmother, like the dutiful young woman I was, had been the particulars spoon-fed to the gentry in London to keep my secret safe. Now, only I and a select few knew of my indiscretion. And polite society knew nothing of my disgrace. Or how intimate I had become with Death himself. On more than one occasion, I had succumbed to his will only to be forced back into my aching body, with its shattered soul, by some well-meaning doctor only a second before I would’ve passed onto the next world. Another secret all the Haywards had stubbornly determined should be taken to our respective graves, lest we all burn for my crimes. “Come on, dear,” a familiar voice called. “Let’s get you up.” Two sets of feet padded softly across the lightly stained wooden floorboards toward me, the sound intermittently muted by the rugs spread throughout the room. “Yes, Ms. Clark.” The words, foreign and familiar in equal measure, fell from my lips easily. A reflex. Instinct, from another life. It was surely my voice, and the response was automatic, but I was so resolutely disconnected from my body, it was now moving of its own accord as I scooted on the edge of the bed and sat up. Survival. Nothing more. Nothing less. “Arms up,” my lady’s maid commanded gently, my hands shooting in the air without further conversation on my part. “Good girl.” The chilled early morning air bit at the bare skin across my chest and arms, causing me to shiver involuntarily. “It’ll be over shortly, dearest,” she assured me. Slowly blinking, I nodded. She smiled. I returned the gesture in a hollow sort of way, the expression never reaching my eyes. In return, tears swam in hers as she took me in fully for the first time since I’d rejoined my family. Scars. Bruises. And then her pity wafted toward me like the perfumed air in Hyde Park did in the evening during promenades. But I, of course, had neither the energy nor the inclination to resist its onslaught at the moment. “Lilac or periwinkle, ma’am?” an unknown voice questioned. “Periwinkle,” Ms. Clark answered. “It’s her favorite.” As it stood, I couldn’t remember an instance where the minute disparity between colors had mattered to me. Especially since currently the hues of my world blended together until it all appeared gray, but screaming at Ms. Clark, and the newest member of our household staff, about the stupidity of attempting to distinguish any of that was inadvisable. If I was truly meant to blend back into society this Season, my lips must remain closed. And my eyes open. The silk tickled my nose as it slid past my face and Ms. Clark pulled me cautiously to my feet, as if I might crumble before her if I was handled too roughly. But she went straight to smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in the superbly fitted gown before I had a chance to correct her. Or confirm her worst fears. Propriety. Decorum. Integrity. Those were the three pillars of high society. Regardless of your station, those words ruled the day. Always. Forevermore. And I was unsure whether the swiftness with which Ms. Clark had settled right back into fussing with the mundane details of my day vexed me and my already troubled mind further. “All right, dear?” My eyes fell to the hand she had presented me alongside her gentle, soothing tone. The one hovering almost